Red Tide, Winn Dixie, and America

Apparently we STILL can't go to the beach. So NOW what am I going to do with myself this weekend? I have given up on a tan-- although my scalp is still scorched from golfing on Monday without a hat.

And what I would really like to do is just go to Blockbuster and rent the entire 2nd season of the Office and be totally worthless for two days. But I have more self-respect than that.

And speaking of self-respect-- last night we went to Winn Dixie. First of all, let me say that I'm solely a Publix shopper. Schuyler and I were going on a sushi safari at Fusion until we realized it was crammed with customers. So, being on the North side of town, we decided we'd just swing by Winn Dixie for some frozen unseasoned chicken wings. (We have our own sauce we like to put on them.) Despite walking straight to the frozen food isle (which is strangely located in the middle of the store) we still encountered the habitual "winn dixie" people. I don't mean to stereotype- but when people make you uncomfortable in your own skin-- you just can't ignore that. There were women in there with baskets filled with Cheetos and frozen dinners agonizing over the generic Little Debbie selections. (They couldn't decide between the pecan twirls or the twinkies... I suspect she broke down and bought both.) Men picking out Hungryman dinners had a musty aroma circumference of at least ten feet. But I think what disturbed me the most: the defrosted chicken feet for sale. This is after realizing that the only chicken Winn Dixie sells frozen is pre-cooked, breaded tenders from Hormel.

I promise I'm trying not to be judgemental... it's just something I have learned. I used to work at a grocery store in high school-- and there are three types of shoppers. The single bachelor who sticks to cold cuts, bread, beer, and steaks; the family gourmet who fills their cart with fruit, vegetables, pasta, meats, flour, sugar, milk and eggs because they actually use their kitchen; and finally the aroma shopper which purchases primarily from the frozen, chip, and soda isle. (I call them aroma because you can usually smell one of two things on them: cigarettes or body odor.) Schuyler and I looked at each other and both agreed that our appetites had decidedly diminished.

We went home and ate leftovers. Schuyler said, "I was disgusted with America tonight."

After relaying this story to my friend Jessica today, she said she had a similar moment last night as well. Apparently on "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader" last night some adult did not know the name of George Washington's wife, and another spelled vowel "v-o-u-l."

Where's Darwin when you need him? I though natural selection was supposed to work better than this.

And today after work I'm going to Publix to buy chicken wings and a bottle of wine... The wings say "you're American" but the wine adds, "but at least I have some class."


PS Brook,
As if the Plainview News wasn't a big enough soap box for you-- I have to suffer through your financial advice via my blog? Don't you still have carrying costs on a house in Omaha? *zing*