The Amish Friendship Bread Pyramid Scheme

I went out with some chick friends last week and one friend was lamenting the fact that her neighbor had given her Amish Friendship bread starter. She told us that it was too much of a commitment; she was going on vacation. With this starter, one must leave it out for 10 days, kneading it every so often (we were wondering why it doesn't go bad). This made me laugh; I've never heard someone so sad about baked goods before!

My thought was this (probably because I'm not overly domestic): who wants to do all that work for some bread? I'll just make it in the breadmaker, visit Avalon Bakery in Detroit, or make beer bread, which requires hardly any ingredients, doesn't require any time to rise, and is fantastic.

The friendship bread saga continues, though: on day 10, the dough is to be divided and extra is given to friends. They're supposed to start the process all over and then give some of the dough to their friends and the cycle continues.

I pondered this, then summarized the bread process: it's a pyramid scheme. The original breadmaker reels in unsuspecting fools to help with spread the Amish bread takeover who then in turn recruit more breadmakers. Friendship, my hiney.

Reaons I love Flint

From Sep 11, 2009

-brick roads;
-Farmer's Market with live music;
-a roadside stand with crepes (go, go, small business trying to make a go of it downtown and make some dollar bills!);
-and, the best part ever, a cute little dude who rides around in a mule to give parking tickets. He's slightly round, gray-haired, wears suspenders, and smokes a pipe while he writes out tickets. I tried to contain my glee at seeing him*, but it was difficult because he was adorable and I wanted to pinch his cheeks.
*I probably would have not harbored the same feelings had I been the subject of the parking ticket.

Here is proof that he actually exists. 

"Free" pamphlets, get your "free" pamphlets

From Jan 5, 2010

At work, one of the regulars* was talking to my boss. I was engrossed in a project so I wasn't really paying attention. After the regular left, my boss showed me the business card the regular had given him. Apparently he's some sort of "motivational" speaker for those who don't like to pay taxes (or at least that's the impression I got). We checked out his most awesomely done website, replete with American flags, tiled, for your enjoyment.
The gentleman offers "free" pamphlets for the low cost of...$2. See, you must send two $1 bills to this gentleman; one bill is for postage and printing and the other bill is for advertising costs.** But quick! Order now! These "free" pamphlets won't be around for long.
We also were really impressed because the pamphlet was full of "facts"*** that you, too, can verify on the internet; it even suggests that you should. You know, because the internet is such an authoritative and reliable source ALL THE TIME.
*I almost want to call them irregulars because of the odd things they do ;-)
**Since I sometimes feel very evil, I almost wanted to scrounge up a $2 bill to send to him just to rock his little world.
***Ouch, this has been an "overload."

O, Canada

From Mar 10, 2010

I enjoyed a nice little trip to Canada a few days ago with a friend. I ate some poutine (which is an acquired taste; in other words, I didn't care for it) and went to the most-awful dive bar ever. It was AWESOME. Seriously, there is nothing like a good dive bar. This one was complete with dirt in the corners, weird locals in shorts (it was in the high 40s), cobwebs on the walls, foosball, computer word games, and obscenely named drinks. I wish a clone of the place was down the road from me.
The obscenely named drinks made playing the computerized word games more challenging. Since my friend and I both think we're the supreme gods of Boggle, the "collaborative" rounds we played became more of a challenge, a throw-down of vocabulary, if you will.
The locals added some interesting dynamics to the evening. We got roped into a conversation with the guy in shorts and a winter coat (I thought the coat was a nice touch). It was a very weird conversation, to say the least.
Though a lot of my background actually is Canadian (sorry, dad, but the French is way too far back there to count), I don't know that I am true to that heritage. After all, I don't see the appeal of poutine. Fries with gravy? How about ketchup, instead? And why does there have to be cheese in it? Did someone have a weird mix of leftovers once and threw it together to create a regional dish? However, it's fun to cross a bridge or drive through a tunnel and be transported to a whole different world, country, whathaveyou.

Education a la Catholic school

I spent 13 years of my life doing time at Catholic schools. I received an excellent college prep education but the religious part didn't stick. However, the schools did present an interesting take on sex education.

In grade school and middle school, we learned about the finer points of anatomy from an oddly named series, New Creation. We had sadistic teachers who delighted in making students read aloud from the books.

I do remember a very odd chapter, possibly titled "Petting." It was absolutely bizarre. The chapter indicated that it was wrong to "pet" outside of marriage. I was a bit freaked out by this "petting" term and had no idea what it was exactly. Even then, as naive as I was, I felt that all was not right with the book. Even though we were using the books in the late 80s/early 90s, I bet that the content's original copyright was in the 50s or perhaps the 70s; it's the only logical reasoning for the bizarre statements.

In high school, the fun continued, or perhaps it didn't. The only health-related information we received was in the Christian Living class during our senior year (too little, too late, perchance, judging by the pregnant 16 and 17 year olds?) in which we had to watch a video of a woman giving birth and a Bill Cosby comedy skit. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or throw up. I only did the former.

We did have one assignment where we had to carry around an egg "baby" all week, supposedly to help us appreciate the responsibilities of parenthood. Public schools, who actually have money, usually use a high tech mechanical doll thing that can even measure the quality of care. We had Grade A eggs. We had to draw the name of our "spouse" and the co-parent of the egg baby. I was totally unlucky, however, and drew the name of a kid that I swear had to have been a total crackhead. I had a fit and demanded an instant divorce and that Child Protective Services needed to be called in. To pacify me, the teacher said that I could be a single mom and that there would be no visitation privileges. Thank goodness.

When in Paris/Brussels/Amesterdam

From December 14, 2008

I recently returned home from my week-long trip to Europe with my friend K. We had a great time and saw many interesting things, including many, many hookers, a church in the attic, a crazy flea/antiques market (puces!), chestnuts roasting over an open shopping cart, "coffee" shops, Post-Impressionist paintings, a statue of a little boy peeing that is supposedly world-renowned (um, I hadn't heard of it before), a huge atom sculpture with a restaurant inside, etc.

Plus, I now have a potential husband in every port that we visited, it appears. In Paris at the flea market, I was grabbed by the hand, kissed on it, and kissed on the cheek by a pseudo-French dude (I doubt that he had legal resident status there) who wanted me to take him home to America with me. He also kissed K's hand, too, so she didn't feel left out (he probably wanted to cover all of his bases). I declined to pack him in my suitcase and bring him home with me, but I did buy a pretty freakin' cool hooded sweatshirt there so I could fondly remember my "husband" (actually, I had planned to buy it anyway).

In Brussels, we were walking through an obnoxious restaurant quarter where the servers try to sweet talk people into the restaurants. We were just passing through to get to the other side of the road (just like the chicken jokes go) and a waiter opened his mouth to start his spiel. I didn't want him to waste his breath and I didn't want to hear it anyway, so I told him, "no thanks, we're not hungry." He cried out, "No, that's not what I want; I'm single!" K and I laughed really hard at that one.

Finally, in Amsterdam, K and I were walking around the Red Light District, which also conveniently hosts Chinatown. We were in search of rangoons for her because she had a mighty fierce craving for them. There were two really loud, rambunctious dudes walking in front of us. They were ebullient, exclaiming something and singing. One of the guys leaped into the air, grabbed my arm, and said something very happy. I hypothesized that he either had just experienced some very good luck (if you know what I mean) or was pleasantly surprised by the amount and variety of ladies of the night in that quarter. Either way, I really wanted no part of it as I am not part of the selection, but whatever.

In other words, it was an odd, but interesting trip.

It pays to read first...

Especially when traveling in foreign lands, it is advisable to read packaging on products thoroughly before using them. I experienced this firsthand when I popped into a convenience store to buy some gum in Amsterdam. I grabbed what I thought was Winterfresh gum, my favorite flavor. I popped a piece in my mouth and just about choked. It tasted like Vick's, certainly not spearmint. I read the label and it said Menthol / Eucalyptus. Who thought THAT would be a good idea?!* Seriously! I thought it was so gross that I made K try some. She concurred.

I will say, however, that the taste grew on me and I try to find this flavor whenever I travel in Europe.

*=a menthol cigarette smoking koala bear, I bet you