COLUMN: Grocery Shopping

I try to be an optimist, I swear. I'd like to think that the world is innately good, our lives somehow matter, and our very existence is making a difference towards the betterment of mankind. I don't like to give in to cynical thoughts and assume that we're beyond hope and essentially floating through space on a planet-shaped dumpster fire of pointlessness. But some weeks, I'm just not sure.

Pro tip: If you're wanting to keep those rose-colored glasses of optimism firmly planted on your face, avoid the grocery store at all costs.

Since the pandemic, I've been using one of those phone-app shopping services for my groceries. I started out of an abundance of caution, but I've stuck with it out of an abundance of laziness. It's just so nice to sit at home, punch in my shopping list, and have someone bring groceries straight to my door. Does it cost a little more? Yep. But I've done the math and I'm saving money in the long run. Sure, I'm paying a little more for delivery fees and tips, but I'm also spending way less on ridiculous impulse buys. I've literally walked into grocery stores on a specific mission to purchase toilet paper only to leave an hour later with a cart full of groceries I didn't need and then a realization three hours later that I forgot the toilet paper. A $5 delivery fee isn't so bad when it's saving me from a cupboard of junk food.

But last week was a dofferent story. I was tied up during the day and didn't have the opportunity to place an online order. I didn't want to make somebody shop for me after dark, and I'm fully capable of driving my lazy fanny to the store. So I hopped in the car for a fun adventure I'm hoping to never repeat.

I walked through the doors almost eager to remember what grocery shopping felt like. Then I remembered. It felt like... a LOT of people. The store was crowded. Like, REALLY crowded. People were everywhere. I took three steps before an unmasked fellow coughed pretty much directly into my face. Fantastic. I grabbed a shopping cart that rolled about 15 yards before its front wheel went into a seizure so violent that the entire aisle stopped and stared at me. Everything was off to a smashing start.

One of my first stops was to the deli counter, where my plan was to buy some lunch meat for sandwiches. It took the clerk roughly a minute and a half to acknowledge my existence.

"Umm... can I help you?"

"Yeah, thanks," I said. "I need about three quarters of a pound of ham, please."

The clerk looked at me. The clerk looked at the ham. The clerk looked at me. The clerk looked at the ham. Wheels were turning.

"Umm," he said. "Sorry, I don't do math. What is that in numbers?"

I'm not writing this column to make fun of people with terrible math skills. I'm one of those people. It's perfectly okay to be bad at math. My 8th grade algebra teacher lied to my face -- I have NEVER needed any of the skills from that class in my life ever, not once. I'm terrible at math, but I can at least figure out what three-quarters of a pound is. 

"It's .75 pounds." He plunked some ham onto the scale and it came out to .4 lbs. "Is that more or less than .75?"

I could probably turn this column into a scathing indictment of our public school system. I could go on about the ridiculousness of a human being asking ME for math help. I could ponder how someone who "doesn't do math" to the extent that they don't know 4 from 7 is somehow playing an integral role in MY personal food chain. Instead, I'll just skip to the end.

After getting coughed on, run over, and unable to find half the stuff on my list, I made it to the checkout. Just one woman in front of me with not many items. Whew. Then I heard her.

"Ohhhh no, no, no you don't!"

Apparently a cake mix had just scanned at a price higher than the sales flyer she was clutching. "You're trying to RIP ME OFF! MANAGER! NOW!"

There wasn't a manager nearby, or perhaps anywhere in the entire building from what I could see. The overcharge? Thirty cents. But it was enough to send her on a roll, shouting about injustice and capitalism to the winds. I was about ready to hand her thirty cents from my pocket when the cashier looked at the sales flyer and immediately caught the problem.

"Ma'am, look, it's the brownie mix that's on sale. This is the Funfetti mix, it's different."

The poor thing looked like she'd been stabbed in the heart. She huffed, she puffed, and then she bellowed with the full fiery intensity of Howard Beale on a bender.

"FUNFETTI... IS... BROWNIES!"

It was Academy Award-worthy emoting, I swear to you. I almost started applauding. I'm pretty sure the clerk may have just given up and handed her the Funfetti for free just to get her out of the store. I certainly wouldn't have blamed her. 

If you want to believe that the world is NOT a terrible place, don't go grocery shopping. If you want to hold onto hope that future generations will know the difference between 4 and 7, don't go grocery shopping. If you believe in your heart of hearts than Funfetti is brownies, don't go grocery shopping. If you want an ACTUAL pro tip, PLEASE go grocery shopping. For me. I beg of you. I don't want to go back. Ever.

COLUMN: Tasteless Candy

On today's episode of "Fun With Science," we celebrate those new and exciting discoveries that make our world a better place. Yes, we can all rest assured that the future is in great hands. Our society's brightest minds are out there right now, hard at work unlocking the secrets of the universe and solving the great problems that have plagued our fragile Earth for centuries.

Take, for instance, a team of Japanese scientists, who recently tackled a problem we've long yearned to solve: Is it possible to take something that is fun and then use science to completely remove all the fun from it?

The answer, it turns out, is yes. It is absolutely possible.

Just ask Lawson, one of Japan's largest convenience store chains. They just unveiled a new sensation sweeping Japan by storm: "Aji no Shinai Ame." This loosely translates to, you guessed it: Tasteless Candy. Science has cracked the code and finally figured out how to make a hard candy that tastes like -- nothing. And stores are selling out.

According to the packaging, Aji no Shinai Ame consists of polydextrose (a sugar substitute) and erythritol (an organic sugar substitute). And that's it. Just two compounds in a clear hard candy that looks like a cough drop but tastes like -- nothing. No flavor whatsoever. Just a piece of nothing that tastes like nothing and slowly dissolves into nothing in your mouth.

Clearly, this is the scientific breakthrough we've all been yearning for. How many times have you put a piece of candy in your mouth and thought, "Wow, I sure wish this candy didn't taste like candy! If only I could enjoy the pleasure of eating candy without that icky candy flavor!" Finally. Thanks, science. Famine? Disease? Pestilence? Those problems can wait. We're WAY too busy making candy taste like nothing.

When I was a little kid, I can remember my parents buying me a bag of marbles with one simple common-sense rule: DON'T PUT THE MARBLES IN YOUR MOUTH, YOU COULD CHOKE TO DEATH. And of course, what's the one thing you want to do when you're specifically told that you can't? That's right, at the first available opportunity that presented itself, I put one of those bad boys directly in my mouth to taste that sweet forbidden nothingness. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, KIDS. Mostly because it's gross. I spit the marble out immediately. And then I washed it because I'm not a heathen. And then I never put a marble in my mouth again because my curiosity was forever satisfied.

But I'm pretty sure that's what nothing tasted like. I didn't like it as a marble, and I bet I won't like it as a cough drop, either. But I kinda wanna try one. 

What doesn't surprise me, though, is that this new culinary sensation comes from Japan. No offense to my friends in the land of the rising sun, but I've had a fair share of your candies, and in many instances, I would've preferred one that tasted like nothing.

Now, I'm fully aware it's simply a cultural difference at play. Don't think for a second that I'm making light of Japanese cuisine -- if I could install a teppanyaki grill in my kitchen, I would. But our candies and snacks are WAY different. I have a friend who moved to Japan a few years ago and occasionally sends us boxes of Japanese junk food. They range from amazing to amazingly demented.

In Japan, you can buy potato-flavored Kit-Kats. Or soy sauce Kit-Kats. Or corn-flavored Kit Kats. He once sent us a bag of Sprite-flavored Cheetos, and they were coated in fizzy candy like Pop Rocks that explode in your mouth like carbonated soda. Their chips are commonly shrimp-flavored. It wouldn't surprise me if they had shrimp that were potato-chip flavored. 

But turnabout is fair play, and American food can be equally weird to people living overseas. I'll never forget when my friend came back for a visit with his Japanese wife in tow, and she looked on with abject horror as I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which is about as normal in Japan as a corn-flavored Kit-Kat is over here. So I guess to each culture their own, and if spending your hard-earned yen on a candy that tastes like nothing is what you fancy, have at it.

In fact, if you're a fan of the candy that tastes like nothing, let me know. I can cut you a great deal on a 70-minute blank CD -- wait, did I say blank CD? I meant to say "a new and exciting cultural milestone adancement." I call it "silent music," and it'll soon be all the rage. Taste the emptiness, and then enjoy the silence.

COLUMN: Jolene

Well, the midterms are finally over. Wow, what a crazy night. I still can't believe that [CANDIDATE] won! At least we can all agree that the country is in [MOST LIKELY TERRIBLE] shape, eh?

Okay, okay. I'm writing this on Monday night. I currently have no idea how anything panned out because it hasn't happened yet. At this point, all I can do is speculate based on how well we handled the LAST election. Ergo, I can only assume that by the time you're reading this, we've descended into tribal feudalism and are about to use your daily newspaper for torch kindling. Anything's possible in 2022. You could tell me that President Kanye just appointed Judge Reinhold to the Supreme Court and I'd go, "Yep, that tracks."

I'm guessing that whatever happened Tuesday, some people are now exceptionally happy, others are exceptionally mad, and ALL of us are probably sick of reading about it by now. Hence, I'm going to use this week's coveted bit of newsprint to focus on that which is good, that which is uplifting, and that which proves our society is worthy of redemption.

Obviously, I'm referring to last weekend's Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony, where the infamous annual all-star jam ascended to new levels of wonderful insanity. Folks, we live in a universe where there was an all-star group performance of "Jolene" featuring Dolly Parton, Pat Benatar, Duran Duran, Eurythmics, and Judas Priest. Playing together. At once. If that's not a sign of the Apocalypse, I dunno what is. But it's exactly the kind of mindless ridiculousness we all need right now.

I'm a card-carrying music geek, and if there's one thing that gets our types riled up, it's the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Every year when the shortlist of nominees is unveiled, Twitter explodes into pointless arguments. "So-And-So deserves to get in this year!" "Are you crazy? So-And-So is THE WORST BAND THAT'S EVER EXISTED IN THE HISTORY OF TIME, EVER!"

Then there's the invariable infighting over what exactly "rock & roll" even IS. The Rock Hall now includes R&B, country, pop, electronic, metal, and hip-hop artists, and some people can't cope with that. Eddie Trunk is a famous DJ, and you can guarantee tuning in annually to hear Eddie get offended anytime some rapper gets nominated for the Rock Hall while the unheralded genius of, I dunno, Don Dokken or Kip Winger once again gets overlooked. As much as I love to hate-listen to Eddie Trunk wax poetic about hair metal, he's got a point. But why argue about semantics?

The Rock Hall serves a purpose, and that purpose is mainly to let us geeks argue about it. I like that the Rock Hall lets in artists of all genres, because how else could we have cringe-worthy jams where the inductees are forced to awkwardly collaborate together in a ridiculous spectacle? The 2020 ceremony was cancelled because of the pandemic, and I still hold a grudge against COVID for costing us the chance to hear a nightmarish Depeche Mode / Doobie Brothers collaboration. I was personally hoping for "Your Own Personal Jesus Is Just Alright With Me."    

All-star jams weren't always appalling, though -- just ask 2004. That's the year the induction ceremony featured an all-star tribute to George Harrison. The idea was simple: get Tom Petty, Steve Winwood, and ELO's Jeff Lynne onstage to run through the Beatles' classic, "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." It was a solid yet perfunctory cover -- until halfway through, when out casually struts Prince, who then proceeds to spend the next three minutes burning the place to the ground with pure molten swagger.

Prince's guitar did not gently weep. It screamed in ecstasy. Jeff Lynne looked bewildered. Tom Petty looked downright scared. When I watch it to this day, I sometimes forget to breathe. It's THAT good. And as soon as Prince had appeased the gods of funk and melted everyone's faces clean off, he takes his guitar off and throws it haphazardly into the air. Go watch the tape. As God is my witness, YOU NEVER SEE THE GUITAR LAND. It's as if Prince threw the guitar clean up to heaven where Harrison himself caught it. Prince didn't even wait for the applause. He just cooly strolled offstage into the purple funk of night. It might be the most perfect musical moment ever captured on film. It will never be topped, but that doesn't stop the Rock Hall from trying every year.

I have no idea how this week's election turned out, but maybe the next generation will do a better job than we did. And if they don't, we can sleep soundly knowing that sometime in the distant future, they'll probably be forced to suffer through a future all-star jam wherein Harry Styles, Lil Wayne, and Slipknot will awkwardly cover "All You Need Is Love."

Then again, like I said, I have no idea what the future holds. It's only Monday. I'm presently sitting on a baker's dozen Powerball tickets. I could be a multi-billionaire by the time you people read this -- in which case, you won't have to worry about that Harry Styles/Lil Wayne/Slipknot collaboration. They'll be too busy performing it on my yacht instead.

COLUMN: Two Weddings and No Funerals

Wow, it's officially November. I feel like I blinked and missed most of autumn. Before we know it, pumpkin spice lattes and hoodies will make way for gingerbread and heavy winter coats. And just as fast as it began, the fall wedding season is already over.

As regular readers know, when I'm not playing with cats (or writing about playing with cats,) you can usually find me behind the DJ booth at area bars and nightclubs, doing my best to help the Quad Cities shake its collective booty. Ever since I went to my first party and realized my favorite seat was the one closest to the stereo, I've been that dorky DJ guy. It's a legacy I'm perfectly cool with.

While I like to spin records at bars and clubs and parties, I've never thrown my hat fully into the sexy and glamorous world of DJing weddings. This is probably dumb, because good wedding DJs can make a decent living. But let's be honest -- weddings are hard work, and DJing them can be a thankless, high-pressure job. Speakers are HEAVY. Brides are DEMANDING. I much prefer clubs where I can just stroll in with some tunes and if someone wants to hear a song that's dumb, I can tell them no.

But inevitably, at least once a year, someone I know will ask me to DJ their wedding. And I will say yes, because I'm a sucker. Last month, I DJed two weddings and that's probably plenty for 2022. If you're my friend and you've found your true love, do me a favor and wait a few months before you pop the question. I need to rest.

Wedding #1 was a friend and former co-worker who asked me ages ago to play some records at her reception. I hadn't soundtracked a wedding since the pandemic, so it sounded fun -- and it most definitely was. It was not, however, without its challenges. They're a Greek family, so vintage Greek folk music had to be procured on short notice. As it turns out, most vintage Greek folk music is NOT commercially available in the U.S., but I managed to track down every request through cunning, sleuthing, and more than one trip to some of the darker alleyways of the internet that are best left unmentioned (but if your name is Thanasis Papakonstantinou, I'm pretty sure I owe you 99 cents.) I also had to spend several hours swapping my usual unedited club playlists for more family-friendly fare that wouldn't send your great-aunt Edna running from the reception hall and writing you out of her will.

I also didn't realize the wedding would fall on the same weekend as a COVID-rescheduled concert in Chicago that I'd bought an over-priced ticket for back in 2019 before it was postponed. A responsible human being probably would have taken the loss and rain-checked the concert. I am NOT that responsible human being.

Instead, I drove to lakefront Chicago on a Friday night, whooped it up at the concert, got home at 3:45 a.m., and had to set up at the church just hours later. Not the wisest of decisions, but it all worked out in the end. The wedding was flawless, the family was wonderful, and if all Greek weddings have THAT kind of a food spread, I'll DJ any that come my way provided you throw a plate at me and NOT on the floor.

Wedding #2 was three weeks later and an event years in the making. Two of my closest friends finally took the plunge, and I couldn't have been happier to be a part of it. Come to think of it, I don't think I was ever asked to DJ the reception. They were just telling me about the layout of the reception venue one day, and simply said, "...and over in the other corner is where YOU'LL be." It might just be assumed at this point that if you're friends with me, I'll be providing the soundtrack to all of your major life events without question.

Secretly, I was a bit afraid of how it'd go. The bride is one of my closest friends from college, and her now-husband is the owner of my favorite record store. This meant that the demographic of the attendees were a 50/50 split between (a) some of my favorite people on Earth, and (b) the upper elite of hard-to-please Quad City music snobs (a club in which I am a proud member.) But thankfully their rules were simple ("if you play 'Celebration' or 'Hokey Pokey,' I will end you.") The night was a giant love-fest full of smiles, people I hadn't seen in ages, and ample amounts of 80s new wave jams.

In fact, it was SUCH a great night that it didn't even send me into the downward spiral of self-loathing and jealousy I was half-expecting. I mean, what's the point of attending a wedding if you can't make it all about YOURSELF and spend the night reflecting on your own poor life choices? "Welcome to the reception. Please dance to this festive classic, 'Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me' by The Smiths. Up next, it's The Cure's 'Disintegration' on repeat for 4 hours. Life has no meaning. They'll be cutting the cake soon. Mazel tov."  

This month has almost made me want to DJ more weddings. Heck, it's almost made me want to get married myself. To that point, an etiquette question for the nuptially-savvy among you: Is it in any way acceptable for one to DJ one's OWN reception? If so, I'm in -- provided there's any takers out there. Must love cats.