Any Excuse To Go Fishing

Doesn't have to be the Fourth of July, Flag Day, or any other occasion for me to love my country of birth. No, for once on this blog, I'm not speaking with the voice of Alan Partridge, the British character played by one of my favorite UK comedians, Steve Coogan. I'm speaking as myself, Andrew John Kamateros, the Philadelphia-born young man of Greek heritage who grew up in this wonderful nation of ours.

What prompted me to feel so patriotic, so in love with our beautiful country? Well, upon returning from the Montgomery Mall with my wife, as we were heading home, we took a little detour through Peace Valley National Park. It was the first time my wife saw the lake. What a sweetly tranquil sight! Though we did not see any of the colorful sailboats that usually dot the lake in midsummer, we did spy a couple of fishermen looking to catch the local fish. My wife turned to me and said, "Why don't we fish here someday?" Wow! I was amazed. My wife actually wanted to go fishing with me and all because of the beautiful scenery.

That is what makes America so special, the land and the people. I can understand why some folks even say that America was blessed by God. How can you not feel that way when you travel throughout this lovely land? From national parks like Peace Valley and Yellowstone to the rugged mountains of Colorado and the beaches of the Jersey shore, there's always a place you'll find in America that will take your breath away.

Who needs to travel to foreign lands? We have everything we need right here at home! Happy fishing!

~Andrew K.

Duran Duran and the Heterosexual Male Fan

Nothing epitomizes the 1980's quite like big hair, leotards, punk mohawks, and synthesized music. No band had captured the decade's sound better than transatlantic British rockers Duran Duran. With lead vocalist Simon LeBon as frontman, the band fit the mood of the times and reflected the radical look of the 80's youth scene. For those who remember the early years, Duran Duran actually started out as a typical boy band, with their catchy tunes and lyrics meant to inspire teenage girls or avid readers of Tiger Beat magazine. It wasn't until the band caught on that male fans began to follow their music.

Duran Duran did not settle with merely attracting thousands of giddy schoolgirl fans. No, by far, they were focused on constantly improving their music and evolving their sound. They pushed the envelope with MTV when it came to showing topless models in their music video "Girls On Film," a bit controversial for its time. And they were successful in performing one of the more iconic theme songs for a James Bond movie in "A View To A Kill." No doubt, they were growing leaps and bounds from their boy band image to a maturing adult 80's band for all audiences.

Perhaps their best creative effort--and the one that clearly showed Duran Duran's maturity--came in the form of the album Medazzaland, a bizarre yet mezmerizing collection of anesthetized sounds manacled together with moody lyrics reminiscent of a mental patient being prepped for a full frontal lobe lobotomy. The #1 single to come out of this album was the dance hit: "Electric Barbarella," which is basically a love song to an inflatable doll. If you consider this departure from their original image as a boy band to grittier lyrics and mature beats, then you can see how and why they developed a loyal heterosexual male fan base.

Guys like me can appreciate the adult lyrics and surprisingly modern sound. Though Duran Duran is most often associated with musical hits of the 1980's, the truth is that the band has come out with more modern albums, like Pop Trash, Astronaut, and their recently recorded All You Need Is Now album, which offers listeners tracks that capture the catchier tunes of the band's heyday. Since their music has evolved over the past three decades, a nostalgic individual can listen to Duran Duran's earlier songs as well as their newer songs and feel at peace. There is no dissonance in sound. The music has a clear direction. You can follow them over the years or focus on one album, but the musical experience feels complete every single time you crank the volume up to 11.

In the final analysis, as a full-blooded heterosexual male, I'm not at all ashamed to admit that I enjoy listening to Duran Duran. Even if schoolgirls have long since abandoned the band to the musical relics of the 80's, the freshly modern sounds and adult-themed lyrics have kept me in a trance since the first time I heard Simon LeBon's dulcet vocal chords sing "Come Undone." Yeah, that's right, no man crush here. Move along now.

~Andrew K.

For Richer or Poorer

Slot Machines, the Porn of Idle Hands

There are days when I fool myself into thinking that a casino is better than the state lottery, because at least I'm getting some entertainment value from playing a slot machine than just wasting money on a little piece of paper known as a lottery ticket. But they're the same thing, i.e., spending my hard-earned cash in the hopes of making more money. Faith (mis)placed in a devil called "Chance."

I never win. Oh sure, I'll make a few dollars in profit through the one-armed bandit and his cohorts, but he takes it all away in the end. Dazzled, dazed, and disoriented by the colorful swirling lights and cling-clanging sounds of the various slot machines is like a water torture ordeal that leaves my wallet feeling very dry. I know my limits, but what of the others I see? Like zombies, they play with dire hopelessness by pressing a combination of buttons and mumbling to themselves about "just one more" and "I'll hit it big on the next spin." But they never do win, just like poor unlucky me.

What happened to the smiles of people who first enter a casino? As their wallets or purses quickly dry up, so do their merry expressions. I have never seen a sadder group of people than the elderly slot players who use up their retirement benefits just to make a few extra bucks. They almost never hit it big and the odds are clearly stacked against them. The process leaves them poorer than they were before. They know that, but they cannot seem to stop. For the senior citizen gambler, it's an unfortunate addiction that costs him or her a livelihood and an only means of income. They know what they're getting into, so I don't really hold any pity for grandma. Sorry you lost, but them there are the breaks!

September 24 is my wife's birthday. We're here in Atlantic City at the Trump Taj Mahal hotel & casino staying for two nights to celebrate her special day. Nothing says "love" than giving your spouse some cash and watching her lose it in a flash on a slot machine she doesn't even understand how to play. Thanks, my honey! I guess we'll be eating rice again for dinner this week.

...for richer or poorer...

~Andrew K.

Infomercials

You've seen them. Fall asleep on the couch with the television turned on and wake up in the wee hours of the morning, you'll recognize those 30 minute "shows." From the smiling bearded guy selling you a miracle oxygenated cleaning powder that makes dyes disappear in a bowl of water to the fast-talking, street-wise punk selling you a super absorbent sponge-towel that can suck spilled soda through carpet fibers, you'll find yourself mezmerized by their hypnotic pitches.

Of course, they make all the products they want to sell you seem perfect or indispensibly useful. The rotisserie grill that fits on your countertop can flawless cook a whole frozen chicken in minutes as long as you don't notice the potential fire hazard of the cheaply made parts. The obscenely designed exercise equipment that requires you to "shake it" like your lover's reproductive member in order to obtain amazing upper-body strength is really a joke in and of itself. And then there's the cuddly robe-shaped outfit meant to keep you warm as you recline on your couch to watch more of these ridiculous infomercials when you could have saved a few bucks and just cut holes in your favorite blanket.

Perhaps the most suspicious selling technique of all is the "limited-time only" buying gimmick, which usually involves the pitchman asking the viewer to call within a few minutes and the company will literally double the offer. Double? Two of the same item at the same price? You don't see automobile dealerships with such selling practices. Imagine going to your local Nissan dealership to buy the new model 370Z sportscar and being told that you'll get another one at no extra charge just because you bought it within the span of a 30 minute TV spot. If a company is willing to offer you twice the product for the same amount, then it must be something that is either not good quality or something where they have a lot of stock and they need to get rid of it, i.e., not a best-seller. In other words, just stay away from these items.

Despite all the warning signs and clearly obvious flaws in these mass-produced, cheaply-made, semi-innovative items, the infomercial racket is a multi-billion-dollar business making money hand-over-fist through the unwary, sleepy-eyed or sleep-deprived viewers who have a compulsion to buy the latest gadget "as seen on TV." Sometimes, it's just better to turn off the tube and keep your wallet fat and happy.

~Andrew K.

Addicted to the Claw

Hi, my name is Andrew. And I'm a claw machine addict. I stand before you as a broken man. A man who has spent his hard-earned money on claw machines since a very young age, that is, even before I earned any money. As a young child taken to places of amusement, I would always beg my mother for a couple of quarters so I could win something from the claw machine. Didn't matter what it was, I just wanted to win. An addiction that would carry over into adulthood.

Why does a grown-up man still play with such a machine? I don't know. It's certainly fun, there's no denying that. I guess if you think about how much money an adult would spend trying to win a prize, it would be the equivalent of spending a few bucks on lottery tickets. So I guess people like me have disposable money. I'd burn a hole in my pocket if I didn't put that money to some good use. But a claw machine, why?

Does the claw machine contain any item of value so as to make it worth spending a few bucks just trying to win the elusive prize? Well, quite frankly, no. The claw machine prizes are usually stuffed animals of varying size and quality. The 25-cent machines usually contain small prizes, like stuffed animals the size of beanie babies or even candy, which God only knows how long that stale and decaying food has been locked up inside the glass box. The 50-cent machines have prizes slightly larger items, from better quality stuffed animals to toy balls (plush or mini basketballs or baseballs) to plastic squeak toys, which look suspiciously like the same squeak toys you'd give to the family pet. And if your addiction takes you to the $1 dollar machines, you could win prizes as large as a house cat, ranging from full-sized teddy bears to pillow-shaped objects bearing sports team logos. Yes, that's right, most of the items are junk, unless you have a fondness for stuffed animals, which I do and which still doesn't make much sense for a grown man to collect, unless I consider myself a hoarder.

And there lies the problem, hoarding the items one wins from a claw machine. What good does it do to collect so many stuffed animals when I don't even have any kids? "What a horrible waste of money!" you say? Well, not so. Even though I have a terrible addiction, playing claw machines that contain items I'm not even remotely interested in, I still have a good plan for the prizes I win. You see, to control my hoarding and turn my bad habit into a positive hobby, at year's end (i.e., Christmastime), I like to donate a sizeable amount of the stuffed animals I win to the U.S. Marine Corps Reserve's charitable program "Toys For Tots" box found at my workplace. I take a bag full of these cuddly little critters and dump them into the box every December, knowing full well that some needy child somewhere will treasure the little prize I won from the claw machine. My addiction is their reward.

Can anyone spare a quarter? I see an Angry Bird plush toy in that claw machine over there.

~Andrew K.

Finish Her!

Before I met my wife, I was an avid gamer. I started way back when Atari 2600 was the only system on which to play. I eventually graduated to a Sega Genesis. When I got my first computer, I learned the difference between ROM and RAM thanks to computer games. After a while, I got tired of my computer hardware not meeting the high-end specifications for the latest PC games hitting the market, so I bought my first PlayStation 3 a few years ago and have been an avid RPG'er ever since.

Don't get me wrong. I love role-playing games, but I moved to the PS3 because of fighting games as well. Most of the time, I would play against the AI (or the game's artificial intelligence). Sometimes, I might even go online to compete with others combatants across the globe. But I gave up that quest when I had my ass handed to me repeatedly and ignominiously everytime I showed up in the online fighting area.

Enter the Dragon. No, not Bruce Lee, but my wife. She's not into video games as much as I am. But that changed when she saw me playing one of my favorite fighters. I was playing as Scorpion against Mileena in Mortal Kombat for the PS3. She liked the fatalities and bone-crunching moves. At first, she thought I could only play against the AI, but I told her, "No, you can also fight against another player."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "Can I try to beat you, honey?" I laughed, though mostly to myself since I didn't want to upset her. I mean, she's never operated a game controller before, let alone figured out the button combo to perform a successful sai throw. But there she was, challenging me. Oh, this should be good!

As to be expected after the first few games, I beat her. No, not the spousal abuse kind of "beating," but the kind that involved intense finger mashing and special attack moves. Honestly, I didn't have to try hard. I was letting her win, but she couldn't finish me off. Then it happened. She got better. She quickly adapted to the controller and scored some awesome moves of her own. Before I knew it, I had a real battle on my hands. My wife was beginning to kick my butt. I wasn't trying to let her win anymore, but just trying to stay alive. I wasn't expecting what would happen next.

She beat me. Oh, she beat me bad! My wife humiliated me on a PS3 fighting game after only a few rounds. Either I was really bad at Mortal Kombat or she was just too smart and strong for me. A quick learner, no doubt. I wish I could take the credit for teaching her, but she basically figured it out all on her own. Actually, I could take a few lessons from her. Maybe she can become my sensei.

I had learned a few things about myself, about chivalry, about the nature of couples, and about not taking lightly my wife's role in our marriage. In the end, our games of "Marital Kombat" taught me as much about sexual politics and which gender has dominance in a relationship as Chaucer's The Wife of Bath's Prologue and Tale.

She who controls the game controller must be obeyed.

~Andrew K.

The Dishwashing Machine

Today, I almost got into a fight with my wife, and over the silliest thing. What is the point of having a modern kitchen appliance and not using it? You see, we have a dishwashing machine. It's not a fancy machine, just one of those that can do a good job if you know how to use it correctly. Basically, you open the dishwasher door, place on the inside upper and lower racks your plates, pots and pans, and even utensils (they go in a special basket to keep them secure and away from any moving parts), close the door, then press three buttons in succession, which starts the dishwashing cycle. About 30 minutes later, the machine is done and your plates, pots, pans, and utensils are nicely washed and all you have to do is dry them (if they're still a bit wet) and put them back in their appropriate cabinet or drawer. Voila! Problem solved. Now off to watch a sports game on TV or something.

But what you say got my wife out of sorts? Well, she wanted to wash the dishes. Why? I have no idea. She won't tell me. I guess I'm the one who doesn't know how to communicate, right honey? Oh, I hope she's not the kind of wife who feels that technology is taking her place. Is the dishwashing machine the enemy? Is the domestic goddess feeling a challenge to her household immortality? Why stand there and suffer, cleaning the dishes, when we have a kitchen appliance that will do the job and not complain? Sometimes, we fail to take advantage of the advantages we have in our modern-day lives.

Certainly, we must acknowledge that machines like dishwashers, dryers, laundry machines, microwaves, even blenders and beaters have made our lives simpler, less tiring, and have saved us precious minutes in our lives to do something else more interesting. The funny thing is that I'm suppose to take my wife out shopping today for some winter clothing. Honestly, doesn't she appreciate my efforts to save her time in the kitchen so she can spend that time (and my money) at the clothing store? I guess she's upset because I didn't give her want she wanted, the ability to say "I can do it all."

Yes, honey, I know you can do it all. That's why I love you and that's why I married you. Don't see this as an attempt for me to undermine your authority in the kitchen. We have a machine, it washes dishes, let it do its job so we can spend more time together. Capiche? Good. Now let's go get you some winter clothes.

As we leave the kitchen, I hear the dishwashing machine let out a little "whirring" sound, as if to say, "I won."

~Andrew K.

Never Again

The recent violence and killings in the Middle East over Muslims protesting a low-budget movie in which the Prophet Mohammed is depicted in a negative light reminds me of a minor incident in my life many years ago.

Sometime around the year 2000, I was working in the lab at Abington Memorial Hospital as a Lab Client Representative. One of my duties required me to accept and sign off on specimens sent from outside locations, particularly nursing homes. Only lab personnel were allowed in the lab, but there was a waist-high windowless counter where anyone from nurses and doctors to outpatient patients could come and pick up lab results or drop off specimens. At the time, and I don't know if they still operate, but there was a courier service called "Medex," which operated much like Fedex, but they specialized in the transportation of medical specimens (e.g., vials of blood or plastic container cups filled with urine or stool samples). Basically, I had to accept the delivery and sign off the slip so the Medex driver could get credit for his delivery. After which, I processed the ordering of the tests for the sample into the hospital's computer system and then took the specimen to the proper department for testing, which was usually Urinalysis or Microbiology.

One day, a man from Medex walked in to deliver some specimens. Different drivers worked different nights or drove different routes, so you never knew who would show up with a delivery. Sometimes it was someone familiar and other times it was a new guy. But I had seen this man before, chatted with him briefly, signed off on the specimens he delivered, then said "goodbye" as he left the lab counter area and went on his next delivery. Never thought anything about him other than he seemed a friendly guy just doing his job by delivery specimens to a hospital lab. Well, my opinion of him changed after this one incident.

As I stated before, I had seen this man before and we had very brief but friendly chats while I would sign his yellow delivery slip. He would tear off the "client copy" and give it to me before he left. On this one night, he decided to actually read my name, ostensibly for the first time. Odd that he never took any notice of my signature before, but this time, he seemed curious as to what was my last name. As anyone who has seen my signature knows, I have an autograph that is not very cursive. My surname is easily discernible from my penmanship. So it came as great surprise to him when he identified my last name as being of Greek origin. Yes, my background is Greek (both mother and father), but I was born in the U.S.A., in Northeast Philadelphia in the now defunct JFK Memorial Hospital. So, I do consider myself to be a proud American, but of Greek bloodlines.

The Medex driver, who normally displayed a cheerful disposition, changed his expression to one of curious displeasure and asked me: "Ay, you Greek?" Not wishing to make a long discussion out of the matter by explaining that I'm American by factor of my birthplace, so I replied curtly: "Yeah." His eyebrows quickly rose in disbelief, then he took a step back—almost bumping into the wall behind him—and pounded his chest with his fist, saying "I'm Turk." Oh, I see! Just because you're a Turk and I'm a Greek, that means we should fight now or something? Due to his quasi-threatening actions, particularly in beating his chest, I told him (mindful of the hospital setting): "Look, we're both in America, so cool it." He left quickly, quite literally in a huff.

I don't know what was going on in his mind. Was he truly upset because of my Greek heritage? If that was the case, then I should be more upset about his heritage considering the atrocities committed by his people against my people. Maybe he was taking things deeper and—in a moment of contemplation—he didn't like that a Greek was in a higher position than him, i.e., that I worked in a hospital lab and he was just a lowly delivery guy. Whatever the case may be for his misplaced and sudden anger, I never saw him again.

In light of the Middle Eastern violence involving homicidally angry Muslim individuals, I really have to wonder if this is not an epidemic of hate fostered by cultural or religious bigotry. I had my little incident way back when, but what does this say about our world today? Is Islam the new threat to World Peace? Must all peace-loving, civilized nations unite together and defeat this barbaric threat before more people—millions more—lose their lives to senseless violence? Honestly, I don't know what's to be done. I can only ask questions.

As Americans, we all know after September 11, 2001, to say "never forget," but as the Jewish people know all too well, having survived a Holocaust by Nazi Germany in the 1940's, we must renew the slogan once more so that the message is loud and clear to our intolerant, uncivilized, chest-thumping enemies: "Never again."

~Andrew K.

The Pennsylvania Lottery

I don't understand it. Plonking down your hard-earned money to get a little slip of paper with random numbers on it in the hopes of winning more money than you originally plonked down. Ponzi scheme? In a way, but more like another government entity that serves to separate gullible or vulnerable citizens from their money. As I heard someone once say, playing the lottery is like "paying the Stupid Tax." True, it's the only "tax" (that I'm aware of) for which people willingly and enthusiastically pay. Kind of stupid, I agree.

Yet what government does with that money is to redistribute a portion of it; for example, the Pennsylvania Lottery claims that profits benefit senior citizens. But if that's the case, then why are most lottery players elderly? They're just spending the money that is suppose to benefit them in the first place. I suppose the government doesn't give them enough in their Social Security checks so they gamble what little they get every month with the hope of making it big. Perhaps they want to win the jackpot so they can give something to their relatives, a sort of farewell gift for an elderly person who has lost touch with his or her family. It's sad any which way you think about it. Even winners, particularly multi-million-dollar winners, have had their lives changed. Some for the better, but others for the worse.

It's really dirty money if you think about it. How many poor people play the lottery? I'm fairly certain that a large percentage of people who play the lottery are desperate people, perhaps on their last few dollars with little, if any, money to feed themselves or their families. They're just hoping a couple of bucks invested in the lottery will make babies, like the two bills placed in the safe of "Bailey Building and Loan Association" in It's a Wonderful Life. But the odds are against them. They will lose, and they know they will lose. Some people will go so far as to sell their car or house or whatever, just to buy a block of tickets when a mega-jackpot looms. And when they lose, they're down deeper in debt. So does the winner realize that the money they luckily won comes from the misfortunes of others? How does someone feel after winning a major jackpot? Yes, I'm sure they feel pretty darn good, but when they buy an expensive sports car, for example, and drive around, are they thinking about how that money they just won was "taken" from someone struggling or impoverished? Nah, probably not. Of course, no one is holding a gun to your head when you purchase a lottery ticket. You're taking chance into your own hands and, if you bet over your head, the consequences that befall you are of your own doing (or undoing).

Perhaps playing the lottery is not so evil. As Ben Franklin once said, "All things in moderation." If you play a dollar or two on the occasional lottery ticket, with a cool and calm head, not risking your entire fortune, then it comes as no harm when you lose. Like playing the office lottery pool, you're all in it to win it, in the vain hope of retiring from your dead-end job. If you lose, it's not a big deal, because you still have a job and a source of income. Also, it makes for good conversation around the water cooler. After all, it's just a dollar...or two. Do you control it or does it control you?

I must cut this blog entry short as I have to check my Match 6 numbers for tonight. Perhaps I've won this time. *fingers crossed*

~Andrew K.

Writer's Block

It doesn't matter who you are, whether you're a lowly college student stumbling across the words in your essay or a prolific author looking to pen his/her next multi-million-dollar best-selling novel, eventually, you will get hit with writer's block.

It's not just about finding a topic or subject matter, but about finding the words and then letting them flow. When you stare at a blank piece of paper or an empty page in Microsoft Word on your computer monitor, the effect is the same--creativity's desolation. What are you going to write? How do you fill in that space? Makes you wonder how all the great artistic masterpieces by Picasso, Van Gogh, or Dali got started on a stark white canvas. How did they overcome it? But for writers, the blank page is even more intimidating.

With painters, the brush is their pen. They place strokes of colors on canvas and tell a story right from the beginning, almost effortlessly. Not so with writers. Pens and keyboards are the instruments, but words are the paints. You cannot mix your words like you can with paints. There are grammar rules to follow, unless you're composing a poem and then freestylin' it. No, the visual artist has it much easier. All he needs to be creative is Mona Lisa's smile. It is the writer who lacks the inspiration and gets blocked.

If only there was a valve one could turn to get the words and ideas flowing again. Well, there is. It is a style of writing made popular in the works of James Joyce and T.S. Eliot, it's called "stream of consciousness." For me, this is the only way to triumph over dreaded writer's block. It is like giving me a sledgehammer to break puny cinder blocks with my mighty mental muscle. I take the topic and let it flow. Like jumping on an inner tube and riding down the wild rapids of the Colorado River. Sometimes, you never know where the ride will take you, but when you reach your end, you know that you've gone on one exhilirating journey.

I take that stream of consciousness and use it to my writing advantage. I begin with a word or phrase, the jist of an idea and, either through alliteration or rhyming, I find my next word and, before I know it, I'm rolling along like a snowball down the side of Mount Everest, collecting more snowflakes and threatening an avalanche. Here is my effort for tonight (with the text in blue to match my mood):

Writer's block. My stock character in a pageless novel. Not quite so novel of an idea. Like a light bulb. A broken filament to never generate light again. Darkness. Lost without a glimmer of light, no foresight into what I wish to write. To pen, the words haunting me--flittering around me, unseen like taunting ghosts. Ghostwriters. Give them the pen and key to my brain. Let them write, I refrain. My credibility derailed like a train, a wreck...oh, what the heck! I give up. Or do I? I must continue. This is not the end. I have more to say and convey. And this is how, and where, and when, and why my voice wants to speak. So listen. Or better yet, read. This is what I need. It's not a block, it's a writer's blade. Death by a thousand cuts. The words from me bleed out. I shout...it's done! Consummatum est!

~Andrew K.

Five Minutes Past 5 on Friday

Office Wasteland

It's Friday. Five minutes past 5:00 pm. The office is empty. Everyone is gone, except for me. It's all part of my new schedule for the next 15 weeks. I must stay an extra hour to make up for leaving at 4 pm on Wednesday, just to make it on time to my ENGL 215 class at Penn State Abington. Yes, this is the office of lost souls.
 

Is it an office or a corporate wasteland? Every cubicle is empty, but the lights are still on. No sense of life anywhere in the place, save for the rustling sounds of the late night cleaning staff getting an early start. No, this is an apocalypse of desolation. I'm here, but why? I survived the work week's Atomic bomb, five days of nonstop shelling, while others have fallen due to the fallout, wasted like weekend warriors.

I survey the scenery and my surroundings. Endless cubicle walls arranged like a labyrinthine maze, blocking or leading to some unknown goal. Am I a rat then? Is this the race? What a disgrace! A waste of a human soul to be trapped here forever. Working hard just for a bit of cheese, if you please, my boss. What a loss! Of time and effort, now that I see everyone is gone. Gone where? Back to their lives. I am still here at work, the place where my soul goes to die. Not a lie. A hidden truth among empty cubicle walls.

The clock strikes 6. The watchful warden says I've served my time. I walk through the glass doors and into my weekend, a two-day furlough. Then comes Monday again. A new start to the cyclical madness. A sadness that sunders my heart, so blue. A return to the Wasteland. If only Eliot knew.

---Andrew K.

Review of the Sona Pillow®

As someone who suffers from obstructive sleep apnea and could not tolerate a CPAP machine, I needed to find a solution (short of surgery) to my problem. Sona Pillow® was recommended to me by word of mouth. I did my own online research to see if this product was legitimate. After reading online reviews (mostly positive) by actual users, I decided to purchase my own pillow through Amazon.com. It cost me about $40 (free shipping), which is much cheaper than a CPAP machine. So, what do I think of the Sona Pillow after a few nights?

Well, I can't say much about the pillow at this point. I need to give it a full 30 nights before I can comment on its effectiveness in lessening the effects of sleep apnea. The pillow is not a cure by any means. The idea is to restrict the sleeper on his/her side, so as to keep the breathing passage open and unobstructed. This is done by the unique "turtle shape" of the pillow. If the directions are followed, this pillow helps reduce or eliminate the snoring or labored breathing of a sleep apnea sufferer throughout the night. As more oxygen is inhaled, a more restful night and quality sleep is achieved.

So far, the Sona Pillow has not worked for me. My wife told me that I actually slept on my back for most of the first night. Sleeping on my back causes me to snore loudly. Obviously, not good. After the second night of use, I woke up face-down in the middle of the pillow. Not much to praise at this point, but I will keep using it, because I have yet to complete the 30 night trial. Hopefully, my body will get used to the pillow and the positive results claimed by other sleepers will be reward.

Bottomline: The jury is still out on the Sona Pillow.

Burgers & Fries

It only takes one quick look at my midsection to realize I'm a fast-foodie. I love junk food in all forms, but mostly what gets my mouth watering is a juicy cheeseburger and hot salty French fries. I'm really spoiled for choice of fast food restaurants in the Philadelphia area, including the suburbs where I currently reside. You won't find me starving anytime soon. I decided to make a quick lunch of the burgers and fries of the major chains, then give my rave reviews or rant about the poor taste. My reviews are in no particular order, but see where your favorite fast food establishment ranks on my list of the best and worst.

Cheeseburgers will be graded on flavor and quality of meat (scale of 1 to 5):
5 = Hamburger Heaven
4 = Palate Pleasing
3 = Good, but Nothing Special
2 = Bad, a Tastebud Travesty
1 = Meaty Mess

French fries will be graded on freshness, crispiness, taste, and overall quality (scale of 1 to 3):
3 = Fantastic Fries
2 = Starchy Sticks
1 = Putrid Potatoes

Burger King
Cheeseburger (back then): 4
Cheeseburger (now): 2
Fries (back then): 3
Fries (regular, older): 1
Fries (thicker, newer): 2

When I was young, my favorite fast food chain was Burger King. I remember returning from middle school with a couple dollars in my pocket and buying a Whopper. Back then, I could see the burgers on a broiler conveyer belt making their way down the line and being put together on a bun with lettuce and tomatoes. The cheese was fully melted and the taste was juicy, like real homemade meat. Later on, Burger King had changed and for the worse. Their French fries used to compete with McDonald's fries and both were very good. But Burger King decided to go with new fries that were coated with something that made them taste artifically crispy. The taste factor dropped. Their burgers nowadays are pre-cooked, placed in plastic trays awaiting an order, at which point the burger would be taken out of the plastic tray (think "sweaty meat"), placed on a bun, then put in a microwave to heat up. Absolutely disgusting. Sometimes the cheese on top wouldn't even be melted properly. What happened to flame-broiling? One thing is clear, "fresh" is not in Burger King's burger vocabulary. At least they slightly improved their French fries with a thicker cut. Hard to believe, but their fries are "meatier" than their burgers. Sorry, my childhood friend, but we must part ways.

McDonald's
Cheeseburger: NA
Fries: 3

After a rather unfortunate incident where I bought and ate a Big Mac just hours before a dental appointment, which resulted in me throwing up the food, I no longer eat McDonald's burgers. I don't feel it would be right to review their meat since I haven't eaten any in years. But I will say that not being able to choose which topping I want to go on my burger is a major minus in my book. And I really don't understand the extra bread between the two meat patties in a Big Mac. As for their French fries, I had the opportunity to visit a McDonald's in the Hong Kong airport, when I was taking a connecting flight to the Philippines. Even at the airport, the fries were pretty darn good. Or maybe I was biased, because I had just finished eating airline food and I needed a fix of junk that the Golden Arches provided. There is a reason why McDonald's fries were rated tops in a national survey. They're good, plain and simple.

Wendy's
Cheeseburger: 3
Fries: 1

For me, Wendy's has always been the fast food restaurant of choice for the elderly. No matter what location or what time of day, I'd never fail to see at least two elderly couples enjoying their food inside the place. I can see why. The Wendy's hamburger is a middle-of-the-road tasty meat. Where's the beef? Wendy's got it. There's really nothing offensive in the taste, other than to say the burgers can be a bit oily at times. Maybe the oil is a cover-up for its lack of juiciness, but the oil does give the meat a stomach-souring aftertaste. I guess it depends on which Wendy's restaurant you buy your food. Hit or miss with the meat, for sure. The problem with Wendy's fries is that they're mostly under-cooked. I hate under-cooked French fries, because they have a soft texture and I really don't have the appetite to eat them. Wendy's recently changed their fries. Now they have potato skins and added sea salt. Sea salt is not a bad idea, but potato skins on French fries are not my thing. Some people like them, but I don't. I find myself having to throw out half of the container due to the under-cooked, dried potato-skin fries. Just a waste of money. Epic fail on Wendy's new fries.

White Castle
Cheeseburger: 1
Fries: NA

If you're not really hungry and want a light-tasting hamburger, go to White Castle. Their burgers are small with a taste to match their size. I don't know, maybe it's just me, but White Castle's hamburgers seem to be the adult equivalent of baby food, bland in taste and barely palatable. As with McDonald's, I haven't been to a White Castle restaurant in quite a long time, but the original "fake meat" taste of their burgers still lingers in my mind and on my taste buds. I don't remember their fries at all, so I cannot comment. I guess Harold and Kumar won't be seeing me there anytime soon.

Sonic
Cheeseburger: 3
Fries: 2
Tater Tots: 2

For me, Sonic is a relatively new fast food experience. I like the 50's style drive-in feel and their extensive choice of fast foods, such as hot dogs and chicken sandwiches. If I had to replace one of the major chains with Sonic, it would be Burger King. Sonic reminds me of an earlier style Burger King, but their hamburgers are more reminiscent of a modern Wendy's, only not so oily. If you're driving by, Sonic's burgers make a good quick eat-and-go meal, but if you're going out for a serious gut-busting burger, Sonic won't impress. Sadly, I had high hopes when I first tasted their French fries and tater tots. A couple of times the fries were slightly on the under-cooked side (see Wendy's fries). Their tater tots were cooked, but just like the fries, they lacked that unique potato taste. Would I go back and eat at Sonic? Sure, it's a quaint place to have a quick burger and fries, but I just don't expect to be overly thrilled about the taste. Mediocre is their middle name.

Checkers
Cheeseburger: NA
Fries: NA

Honestly, I don't remember the taste or quality of a Checkers burger or fries. I do remember originally liking their beef patties and French fries when the chain first opened up, but I haven't been back to their restaurant in years, much like McDonald's and White Castle. I guess their food didn't impress me enough to go back. I don't think it's fair for me to assess their burgers and fries after so many years, so I pass on commenting.

Lastly, the surprise entry...

Roy Rogers
Cheeseburger: 5
Fries: 3
Extra points for the fried chicken!

Roy Rogers restaurants used to have a competative presence in southeastern Pennsylvania, with a few locations in Philadelphia, particularly in the NE (off the Boulevard on Bustleton Avenue) that I used to visit. Now, the only Roy Rogers I see are at the service stations along the New Jersey Turnpike, when I make my way to JFK Airport in New York. These turnpike Roy Rogers are not the best quality, but still good enough to remind me of the original flavor and enjoyment I had when eating their food. For me, Roy Rogers is the height of burger bliss. Their single cheeseburgers always have a consistent homemade taste with a non-oily juiciness. And the best part? The Fixin's Bar! I can pick whatever green leaf of lettuce I want to put on my burger and, more importantly, pick the perfect slice of tomato that I like. Talk about freedom of choice! I have always loved Roy Rogers restaurants, for the food and for the ability to choose (literally) the toppings I wanted. If Burger King's slogan was "have it your way," then I truly did with Roy Rogers. And the French fries were the best, thick-cut, real potato-flavored fries that I grew to love. Burger King's new thick-cut fries just don't compare. Even McDonald's fries fall short, thin and short to be exact. No, seriously, if you want a good burger and fries, you cannot go wrong with Roy Rogers. This would be my last meal of choice. I'd die with a smile on my face and a belly full of happiness. God bless you, Roy Rogers!

And that concludes my review of the best (and worst) burgers & fries. Now, if you'll excuse me, I feel hungry and I'm thinking of taking a trip up the NJ Turnpike. Bon voyage and bon appetit!

~Andrew K.

Mascot Madness

When I was a kid, before I could understand the importance of game statistics or appreciate a good offensive play, I liked to imagine real-life battles between team mascots. It didn't matter to me whether it was professional sports or college teams, I was always interested in the mascot and what it represented.

Penn State University has a unique wild cat as its mascot, the "nittany lion," named after Mount Nittany in central Pennsylvania, the same location as main campus. Lions are fierce creatures with a reputation for being the kings of all beasts. Good choice for a mascot if you want your college team to reflect strength and majesty. But then, I got to thinking about other universities and their mascots. So I did an online search and found some mascots that seem totally ridiculous to me. These mascots wouldn't stand a chance against a lion.

"Artie the Fighting Artichoke"
Scottsdale Community College
Seriously, an artichoke? Who thought a vegetable would make a good mascot? Adding the word "fighting" to the mascot's name doesn't make it fierce. It's a vegetable, for goodness sake! The only thing truly aggressive about a vegetable is if it gives you heartburn. And for team sports, you don't want a mascot with a name that contains the word "choke" in it.

"Colonel Ebirt"
College of William & Mary
Who or what is "Colonel Ebirt"? Ebirt is apparently the backward spelling of "tribe," which is what the students at W&M seem to consider themselves. Fine, I can accept that, but what the heck is the deal with a green blob in a colonial uniform? What is that mascot suppose to represent? A snot!? Sorry, but you fail.

"Gaylord"
Campbell University
A camel as a mascot? Well, it makes sense for a cigarette company called "CAMELS," but an American university? I'm not impressed, but what's up with the mascot's name "Gaylord"? As Charlie Brown would say, "Oh, good grief!"

"Purple Cow"
Williams College
A lion is fierce, but a cow? Not a chance. The cow is dinner. Serve it up. But what makes this college mascot worse is the choice of colors: gold and purple. Look at the mascot logo and ask yourself, does this cow think it's a bull? Talk about issues with gender identity. I don't think I could play sports for a team calling itself the "Purple Cows."

"Sammy the Slug"
University of California, Santa Cruz
Not sure what the lowest form of life on earth could be, but I'm sure a slug must be somewhere on the top of that list. Slimy slugs do not make for inspiring mascots. As if that wasn't bad enough, the costumed critter looks like the hideous love child of Jar-Jar Binks and Jabba the Hutt (there's one for you Star Wars fans). Sorry, but Sammy the Slug simply sucks!

So to all you pretenders, take your slimy veggie purple blob dromedaries and make a last stand, but I'll keep my mascot and roar with pride everytime my team takes the court or field. I am...a Penn State Nittany Lion. Fierce!

~Andrew K.