USMB Coffee Shop IV

[Ridgerunner]

There is a game called geocaching which my employer did for a bit. It seems to be pretty much the same idea, only without Pokemon. They would follow GPS coordinates to find things in a scavenger hunt style of play.

My daughter, Son-in-law and 2 grandsons do the geocaching thing but without the GPS. Written clues, books documenting your success when you find the location. I even went on a excursion on the Canal in downtown Indy with them finding a location. Walked my ass off...

 

[Dajjal]

I'm curious. Have any of our Coffee Shoppers downloaded the Pokemon app and have joined that circus? It is all the rage here. (And no, I haven't.)

I don't own a mobile phone, let alone a smart phone. I am strictly old school, with a desktop computer that is too out of date to play the latest games like Doom 4. I don't have any fancy new tech stuff like, a tablet. My telephones are press button with no display screen. I am out of date.

 

[Dajjal]

Okay. for the record, I do not eat poultry

I eat chicken salad nearly every day. I am too lazy to cook, and in any case I never learned how.
I sometimes feel a little sorry for chickens, but they probably evolved to be eaten, otherwise why are they tasty?

 

[Ridgerunner]

I don't own a mobile phone, let alone a smart phone. I am strictly old school, with a desktop computer that is too out of date to play the latest games like Doom 4. I don't have any fancy new tech stuff like, a tablet. My telephones are press button with no display screen. I am out of date.

I consider you a lucky man Daj...

I eat chicken salad nearly every day. I am too lazy to cook, and in any case I never learned how.
I sometimes feel a little sorry for chickens, but they probably evolved to be eaten, otherwise why are they tasty?

 

[Ringel05]

There is a game called geocaching which my employer did for a bit. It seems to be pretty much the same idea, only without Pokemon. They would follow GPS coordinates to find things in a scavenger hunt style of play.

My daughter, Son-in-law and 2 grandsons do the geocaching thing but without the GPS. Written clues, books documenting your success when you find the location. I even went on a excursion on the Canal in downtown Indy with them finding a location. Walked my ass off...

If I want my ass to come off I just undue the restraining bolt in my belly button.

 

[Foxfyre]

That is the one major plus I see of Pokemon Go. Instead of sitting on the couch to play a computer game, people have to get up and go outside and walk around and actually get some exercise. So I suppose that's a good thing.

Meanwhile saveliberty

 

[saveliberty]

That is the one major plus I see of Pokemon Go. Instead of sitting on the couch to play a computer game, people have to get up and go outside and walk around and actually get some exercise. So I suppose that's a good thing.

Meanwhile saveliberty

What do you mean, "want to be a cat"?

 

[Dajjal]

That is the one major plus I see of Pokemon Go. Instead of sitting on the couch to play a computer game, people have to get up and go outside and walk around and actually get some exercise. So I suppose that's a good thing.

Meanwhile saveliberty

What do you mean, "want to be a cat"?

Let me guess. Cats don't worry.

 

[ChrisL]

 

[saveliberty]

Let me guess. Cats don't worry.

Of course we worry, some jackass made rocking chairs.

 

[Nosmo King]

Okay. for the record, I do not eat poultry

I eat chicken salad nearly every day. I am too lazy to cook, and in any case I never learned how.
I sometimes feel a little sorry for chickens, but they probably evolved to be eaten, otherwise why are they tasty?

I have not eaten any poultry produce willingly or knowingly since 1962. Thanksgiving at The Big House has been a challenge since I was 5. Mom would fry up a hamburger for me to 'enjoy'. Of course Mom hates red meat and cooks everything to within an inch of its life. Devoid of juices and flavor and the consistency of a hockey puck, her hamburgers had me avoiding any restaurant that advertised 'Home Cooking'.

One year Mom made my Thanksgiving burger so small that it would not entirely conceal the golden shock of wheat that adorned our dinnerware. Since then, accommodations have been made. She prepares a casserole of stuffing OUTSIDE the bird and a semi boneless ham as an alternative to the turkey.

By the way, the last poultry I ate that I know of was a bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup.

 

[saveliberty]

How does your soul survive?

 

[Nosmo King]

How does your soul survive?

In a state of poultry free grace.

 

[Ringel05]

Okay. for the record, I do not eat poultry

I eat chicken salad nearly every day. I am too lazy to cook, and in any case I never learned how.
I sometimes feel a little sorry for chickens, but they probably evolved to be eaten, otherwise why are they tasty?

I have not eaten any poultry produce willingly or knowingly since 1962. Thanksgiving at The Big House has been a challenge since I was 5. Mom would fry up a hamburger for me to 'enjoy'. Of course Mom hates red meat and cooks everything to within an inch of its life. Devoid of juices and flavor and the consistency of a hockey puck, her hamburgers had me avoiding any restaurant that advertised 'Home Cooking'.

One year Mom made my Thanksgiving burger so small that it would not entirely conceal the golden shock of wheat that adorned our dinnerware. Since then, accommodations have been made. She prepares a casserole of stuffing OUTSIDE the bird and a semi boneless ham as an alternative to the turkey.

By the way, the last poultry I ate that I know of was a bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup.

You're weird.......

 

[Nosmo King]

Okay. for the record, I do not eat poultry

I eat chicken salad nearly every day. I am too lazy to cook, and in any case I never learned how.
I sometimes feel a little sorry for chickens, but they probably evolved to be eaten, otherwise why are they tasty?

I have not eaten any poultry produce willingly or knowingly since 1962. Thanksgiving at The Big House has been a challenge since I was 5. Mom would fry up a hamburger for me to 'enjoy'. Of course Mom hates red meat and cooks everything to within an inch of its life. Devoid of juices and flavor and the consistency of a hockey puck, her hamburgers had me avoiding any restaurant that advertised 'Home Cooking'.

One year Mom made my Thanksgiving burger so small that it would not entirely conceal the golden shock of wheat that adorned our dinnerware. Since then, accommodations have been made. She prepares a casserole of stuffing OUTSIDE the bird and a semi boneless ham as an alternative to the turkey.

By the way, the last poultry I ate that I know of was a bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup.

You're weird.......

yeah. I get that a lot. But I'm enjoying a rib eye steak tonight, so karma wins!

 

[Dajjal]

I was a vegetarian for about five years, during the 1970's, but I started work at a factory that had a subsidised canteen that did not cater for vegetarians. So I succumbed to the temptation of getting cheap meals and ate meat again. So much for principles.

 

[Nosmo King]

So here's all you need to know about my aversion to all things poultry. When I was a wee bairn Mom took me to the movies. The matinee at the majestic American Theater that Saturday was a film called "The Birds". Mom believed it to be an Audubon film and educational. It turned out to be a Hitchcock masterpiece.

A decade later I saw the lovely Suzanne Pleshette starring on the 'Bob Newhart Show'. I shuddered in horror because 'I saw you dead!', eyes pecked out laying on the curb, shoes askew. Poor, poor Suzanne.

Not two months later my Cub Scout pack, Pack 12, took a tour of the Stouffer's food processing plant near Cleveland. That particular day, the good people at Stouffer's made chicken pot pies. Back in the early 1960s it was not uncommon to ship poultry on flat bed trailers. Stacks of chickens in crates would be loaded on the trailer and shipped off for 'processing'. The chickens on the outside of their crates, so neatly stacked on the open trucks, were drunk with velocity, hurtling down the Ohio Turnpike at 70 miles per hour. Meanwhile, the chickens packed away in the interior were practically suffocated by the other chickens. But each fowl's fate was sealed as they pulled into the Stouffer's factory lot.

The Cub Scouts were welcomed into the plant and asked to don a hair net. Then we were led onto the factory floor. At this point, I have to say that I always loved visiting factories. The mechanics of the places fascinated me. Watching the process of a giant roll of paper become #10 business envelopes or a bin of russet potatoes miraculously become a bag of chips never failed to get my full attention.

But this visit changed my outlook.

The first thing we saw was a line of chickens hanging upside down on a conveyor. The chicken's heads were already severed and they swung to and fro from station to station. There were workers wearing brown aprons and armed with straight razors finishing off the feather plucking process. One of these workers who was aware of the 20 or so young boys turned to acknowledge us. He grinned with his yellow teeth and blood spattered face and saluted us with his razor. The stuff dreams are made of.

That was enough for me and I ran out, followed by my Den Mother, Mrs. Johnson.

Well, wouldn't ya know it, but later that autumn we were playing tackle football on the lawn at The Big House. We had the largest lawn in the neighborhood and hosted every athletic completion from whiffle ball tournaments to sledding in the winter. Our end zones were the 15 feet beyond the old peony bed on the west and the side edge of Pop's garden shed on the east.

One of the neighborhood cats had caught, killed and partially eaten one of Mr. Weaver's carrier pigeons and did all that in the west end zone. And it was into this gore that Mark Sayre tackled me. Entrails, feathers and blood splattered all over me convinced me, along with the long trail of traumatic sights I had already been exposed to to swear off having anything at all to do with anything sporting feathers now and forever.

Years later I went to a concert at the Blossom Music Center outside Akron. It was Jackson Browne in 1976. At the time, it was customary to watch concerts, particularly outdoor concerts, in a haze of cannabis smoke. I had not had dinner and only a cursory luncheon. That coupled with my inebriation caused a hunger that I can only imagine is suffered by Ethiopians or concentration camp prisoners.

There was a bucket of Colonel Sander's Kentucky Fried Chicken in the van we came in. The aroma was enticing, but when I lifted the container, the heft of it reminded me that there was, indeed, a dead bird inside. I begged off and waited until we got back home about an hour and fifteen minutes later. It was the bravest thing I ever did. I stayed true to my vows.

 

[Ridgerunner]

The cub Scouts were welcomed into the plant and asked to don a hair net.

I am so happy that they asked you to wear the hair net. Would not want to think of anything foreign like a hair to be in a Stouffer's pot pie.

More importantly did you enjoy Jackson Browne?

 

[Foxfyre]

A wise person once said it is best for people not to see how their sausages and their laws are made. I am of the opinion that humans were intended to be omnivorous but I myself consume very little animal protein of any kind. It isn't any kind of health or moral decision. I just don't want a lot of animal protein. I usually enjoy the sides a lot more. But I have no illusion that the beef or pork or chicken or lamb or fish or whatever that we have for dinner was not once a living creature. And that it was sacrificed for my dinner. And while I appreciate that, I don't want to watch the process that put the steak or the great chicken dinner or whatever on the table. And I want to believe that it was done as humanely as possible.

 

[Ridgerunner]

Foxfyre does you moniker have any correlation to the Foxfire Books of the early 70's? I started collecting them in "79" and at one time had the whole collection.

Foxfire (magazine) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia