With great trepidation, I ventured to Two Brothers at 5:58 a.m. Monday to meet the latest GraceWrites Inane Contest prize winners.
How would we recognize each other? Would blog reader Marvin49 show up toting an itsy-bitsy ray gun? Would CJMcD unleash her dogs as per her avatar?
It turns out my fears were unwarranted. I don't know how she did this, but CJMcD, who won the Hulk-bashing egg-laying chicken, knew me right away. The fact I was carrying a Darth Vader head did not in any way aid her super-recognition powers.
Soon after, Marvin49 showed up to claim his fire-truck-laden tie, a tie I've been holding onto for years, just waiting to bestow it upon someone worthy of such fine couture.
Finally, I was able to put faces to the names of my two readers.
To see what they look like, click here.
Chicken, the Hulk and Dealing with Phelpsian Withdrawl/Win a Big Prize
With no more mountains for Michael Phelps or Usain Bolt to climb, what is one who lives in a state of denial about school starting to do?
Well, there is really only one answer to that question.
For the rest of story, click here.
I, too, am caught up in the Olympics fever.
Michael Phelps? The man is simply not human. The 23-year-old broke the world record in the 200 butterfly..."Broke it while swimming with a Dixie cup full of water sloshing against each eye, guessing where the walls were on the turns..."
The 30-second mistake that rocked U.S. Flyweight World Champ Rau'shee Warren is too horrible to read, much less watch.
These stories put on the world's largest stage humanity's greatest strengths and weaknesses.
Who among us have not secretly envisioned standing on the gold medalist podium, smiling humbly and waving at the roaring crowds?
It's one thing to dream...it's quite another to do.
I draw inspiration from Dara Torres, the 41-year-old mother of a toddler AND a five-time Olympic swimmer. I watch her and I think, "Hey, she's about my age. If she can do this..."
Never mind that I'm the only one in water aerobics NOT allowed in the deep end without a life-jacket.
Think big picture.
Join me on my journey to the Olympics 2012.
If you have any other Olympic-worthy training tips, send them my way.
And, yes, I'm looking for sponsors.
120 Seconds with Chairman Bob of Roundy's
I stopped at the Koeller Avenue Pick 'n Save Friday afternoon for some cheap eats. With my kids in tow, we shelled out $3 for two hotdogs, one brat, chips, soda and ice cream. The outside barbecue was a fund-raising event to benefit Father Carr's Place 2B, the local soup kitchen and homeless shelter.
I also went to meet Chairman Bob -- the chairman and CEO of 153 Roundy's Supermarkets in Wisconsin and Minnesota. Chairman Bob's full name is Bob Mariano, but for some reason I couldn't call him Mr. Mariano or just Bob. It was like the time when I interviewed author Stephen King and he completely threw me off my game when he said, "Just call me Steve." My mind reeled. You can't call Stephen King "Steve." It's just wrong.
But I digress.
I wanted to meet Chairman Bob to see how a corporate bigwig acts at a parking lot barbecue. Was he going to the proverbial fish out of water? Or was he going to man the grill?
I am happy to report that Chairman Bob acted very much the host with the most. He chatted with kids, made sure everyone was happy and full. He looked as if he wanted to be there, unlike Brett Favre whose smile looked forced as he held up a Jets (!!!) uniform at Brett-as-a-Jet press conference.
Chairman Bob is not a straight-out-of-business-school-and-into-management-type of CEO. The man knows his groceries from the ground up. He worked as a deli clerk and worked his way to the CEO-ship of Dominick's, a Chicago-based supermarket chain. Along the way, he did earn his M.B.A., but he places great value on his time working the floor at the stores.
Here is what Chairman Bob has to say about job hunting, competition and the one issue that has kept us awake a nights.
The Brett Favre tragic saga is hitting a mite close to home.
While I catch myself reading everything, obsessing over every Favre/Packer minutiae, I didn't realize how this gut-wrenching turn-of-events has affected my best friend JJ.
If what you see on this video doesn't end the Brett Favre/Packers stalemate, then nothing will.
Tell me, break up or make up?
I survived my first auction today...barely.
It all started on a melancholy note. Our wonderful neighbor, who has lived in her house for 40-plus years, had hired Don Wagner, auctioneer extraordinaire, to help lighten her load.
Take a look at what I was up against.
Intrigued, I traversed the 10 yards from my house to the neighbor's yard, where more than two dozen veteran auction-goers have already planted their lawn chairs.
I nonchalantly viewed the items to be auctioned. If this auction were a poker game, I was the one with zero "tells."
Calm, cool and collected. Smooth as silk.
That how I was as I rushed to the window where a man handed out numbers (you need a number to place bid) and asked breathlessly, "CouldIplaceapreemptivebidonthepicnictable?"
He looked at me, confused.
I repeated myself. The man said, "The auction starts at 10 a.m."
It was 8:10 a.m.
I'll cut to the chase: I got my picnic table, but it wasn't easy.
Don Wagner talked fast. That's the thing about auctioneers. They talk fast, and they interpret my frantic please-talk-slowly wave for I'll-die-if-I-don't-get-this wave.
Don kept saying, "And the lady in the back."
I stopped looking behind me after the sixth time.
My heart pounded, my T-shirt soaked with sweat. In the midst of this dogfight with some faceless person who kept upping my bid by $5, I thought, "I don't have to go to the gym, I could just go to auctions to get a great workout."
I got the picnic table. And my children will have forgo college. But that's neither here nor there.
Flushed with success, I stuck around to see who else I could beat into auction submission.
Then I saw this...
For the rest of the story, click here.
What's Wrong with America and Big Prize Reveal!
The other day, my good friend JJ threw one of my oft-uttered lines at me.
She said, "You’re what’s wrong with America.”
That is the line I use when I express my self-righteous disdain for things like wrapping paper. I don’t understand why I need to pay for paper that some kid is going to ruin in 3 seconds flat. I wrap my presents, if I wrap at all, in newspaper. Some people say I’m just cheap and crass, but to those folks I ask, “What are you doing to reduce, reuse and recycle? Hmmm?"
But JJ’s proclamation about my being the cause of America's woes? Now that hurts.
What would prompt such a harsh statement from a woman for whom I’ve climbed up a 16-foot non-OSHA-approved scaffold to help wall-paper her stairwell ceiling? (Really, who wallpapers ceilings?)
But I digress.
So how did this let’s-pile-on-Grace moment come about?
It came when I was engaged in a rare act of self-reflection. (Warning: Do not attempt alone or with JJ.)
I thought about my blog Grace Writes What Grace Likes and the topics I’ve been tackling – killer chipmunks, spontaneous masonry, downhill wagon racing, chucking the city life to raise alpacas, only to realize that my lack of skills would enable me to survive about a day and a half in the wild or on a farm.
For the rest of post, click here.
