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THE WORLD ACCORDING TO LINDNER

F. NADER!  

WORLD ACCORDING TO LINDNER

They opened a new all-natural grocery store a couple of miles from my house, so out of curiosity, I dropped in for a look/see last night. Looks like a nice place, all the usual things you’d expect from that type of establishment. Their produce was (surprisingly) competitively priced, but most of the packaged products were ridiculously expensive.

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In the refrigerator case, they had those new meatless hamburgers that everyone’s raving about. 100% vegetable based, looks like ground beef, supposedly cooks and tastes just like beef. Two smallish patties for $6.69. A store employee, a woman about my age, asked if I needed any help. I told her no thanks, I’m just browsing, and I mentioned that it was my first time in their store. She welcomed me, then told me everything in the store is all-natural, our poultry is free-range, our eggs are this & that, etc., and of course, no GMOs.

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Then I stepped in it. 💩 

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I said “I appreciate that. Myself, I think that non-GMO tag line gets hyped too much.”

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She reared back like Lon Cheney in Phantom of the Opera, when Mary Philbin ripped his mask off. “What? Do you know what GMOs are? They modify plants on a genetic level. It’s unnatural.”

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“Yes, I know what it is, and I’m not arguing FOR it, I’m just saying I think the narrative has been hyped.” It was too late. There was no way I was going to get that toothpaste back in its tube. She went on about how we’re all being used as guinea pigs, how ingesting genetically modified products is unhealthy, and how Monsanto, etc. are getting rich as we consume their products.

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I again reminded her that I’m not arguing FOR genetic modification. But now that she’d brought it up, I asked how are GMOs unhealthy? She gave a little shake of her head, and said “That’s just the thing. We don’t know! All these highly processed foods, plastic packaging, etc. What if we discover 50 or 100 years from now that they cause cancer? We just don’t know! But I can assure you, there’s nothing healthy about GMOs.”

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So in an attempt to defuse the moment, I said “Tell me about these. They look interesting,” and I reached into the refrigerator case and grabbed the two-pack of faux burgers. She said “I don’t eat meat anyway, but those taste exactly like beef. They’re juicy, they cook like beef and they’re chewy like beef. My grandkids love them!”

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I asked how they were made. “I’m not sure, but it’s all plant-based. They’re made from beets, soy flour, even coconut.” So I glanced at the ingredients on the package. She was right. But also leghemoglobin, methylcellulose, modified yeast extracts, wheat gluten, cultured dextrose, modified potato starch extracts. “Modified...” hmmm.

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I pointed that out and asked her if any of that concerned her. I’m not even sure what half of that shit is, let alone whether it’s healthy or not. But I know a highly processed product when I see one. Factor in that these patties come packaged in plastic.

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She said “I’m not a food chemist, but if it’s on our shelves, I’m sure it’s perfectly safe. And it’s non-GMO, which is what’s most important.”

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Nope. No hype there. 😳

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... ... ...

 

EDIT: I’m *NOT* defending Monsanto, nor am I ridiculing veganism or vegetarianism. This is about HYPOCRISY. If you’re going to argue about the “dangers” of GMOs and plastic packaging, it’s the height of hypocrisy to try to sell customers on processed veggie burgers that contain leghemoglobin and methylcellulose—and come packaged in plastic.

WORLD ACCORDING TO LINDNER

This is an amaaaaazing story. This little Arctic vixen made her way from Norway’s Svalberg Islands to northern Canada, a distance of 2,176 miles, in 76 days. She averaged 29 miles per day. On one particular day, she traveled 96 miles!

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Look how tiny she is. About the size of a house cat. So she probably sustained herself on whatever mice, voles and insects she happened upon her way. A larger critter probably wouldn’t have made it, for lack of available calories.

WORLD ACCORDING TO LINDNER

Jeeez... it just dawned on me! It was 25 years ago 👉🏼 TODAY 👈🏼 that a recently disgruntled from the corporate world, middle aged man flew from Portland to Oakland, and drove back the next day in that sexy beast on the left.

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🎊 June 23rd is the Silver Jubilee of Pony Espresso! 🎉

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To those who ask why I never franchised the name or tried to make a bigger splash, I have a standard answer: I didn’t start Pony Espresso to get rich. I did it to become INDEPENDENT. Once you experience the joy of working for yourself, you’ll never work another day in your life.

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Yay, me. 😋  Pony Espresso at 2️⃣5️⃣

PAGING DR. LINDNER....PAGING DR. LINDNER......

This is such a weird goddamn thing, I just had to write it up while it’s still fresh in my mind. Let me preface that I’ve never believed in the supernatural, and I still don’t. But this just happened this morning.

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I got up at Zero-dark thirty, as usual, and had a bowl of grape nuts. I watched some television, harangued Trump on Twitter for awhile, then fell asleep in my recliner, where I had the strangest dream. I dreamed that I walked into an office somewhere. The chairs in the lobby had beige brocade upholstery. An old woman stood up and started to walk out, when I noticed the back of her dress was soaked. Then I noticed the chair was damp. She noticed that I noticed, and made her way to the door in embarrassment. So she’d obviously had an incontinence episode. It happens.

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I barely remembered the dream when I woke up. That was around 6:45. I then had a minor medical episode of my own just after 7:00. Nothing serious, but I decided to phone the neighborhood clinic to see if they could squeeze me in sometime today. As it turned out, they had an opening at 10:00 am. I know everyone in this clinic, the doctors as well, because I used to serve them on my morning route, but gave up serving that part of town around three years ago.

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So I showed up at 9:55 and walked up to the desk to check myself in. In the lobby, there are maybe 20 chairs of various colors, all upholstered in a brocade/hopsacking type of fabric. On one of them, a beige one, someone had placed a cardboard sign: “Please do not sit here” It was in that instant that I remembered my dream, and it gave me goosebumps. I asked the lady at the desk “What’s wrong with that chair?” She replied “It needs to be cleaned.” I then asked “So someone had an accident there?” She nodded.

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Same type of chair coverings as were in my dream, same color, same scenario, the dream and the incident were separated by a matter of hours. I was already sufficiently creeped out when the next thing happened.

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They drew some blood, checked my vitals, everything seems kosher with me. So I’m okay. As I said, I know most everyone who works there, but haven’t seen them in nearly three years. So as I’m leaving, two of the nurses stopped to chat with me. We hugged, got caught up, and one of them said “It’s so weird that you came in today, of all days. We just this morning were talking about you, wondering how you were doing. Then you showed up unscheduled.”

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As I said... I’m not a believer in the woowoowoo. But this DEFINITELY approaches woowoowoo territory. Paging Dr. Serling.

WORLD ACCORDING TO LINDNER

I’ve been on a wild tear lately, tossing out crap that I cant fix, and (trying to) fix the things that I can. Do you know what a pachinko machine is? Think of it as if a slot machine and a pinball machine hooked up and had a kid. They’d name it pachinko. I bought this one back in 1975. Once Lisa was old enough to play with it, she sort of acquired it. After she moved out, it got relegated to the closet of no return where it’s been in hibernation ever since, collecting a thick layer of dust.

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Wikipedia has an interesting pague about pachinko machines. Even though it’s technically illegal to gamble actual cash with them, folks still do by manipulating the system. The pachinko parlors in Japan generate more gambling revenue than Macau, Singapore and Las Vegas COMBINED. Dang!

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Well, I decided to drag it out a few days ago to see if it still works. It didn’t, but I couldn’t understand why it wouldn’t, so I took it apart. Even though it looks intimidating, it really isn’t. It works entirely on the force of gravity. Little ball bearings hitting this, triggering that, etc. The best way to understand how something works, is to disassemble it. If you can reassemble it to working status, it was meant to be.*

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It turns out, a small plastic piece about half the size of a pencil had gotten brittle and cracked. That shut down the first function of this gizmo, which cascaded up the chain to shut down everything else. If I hold my finger at just the right spot, that part functions perfectly, resulting in the whole thing chiming like Big Ben and lighting up like a Christmas tree. Good luck finding a weird little plastic thing-a-ma-bob last made in the early ‘70s, right?

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Wrong! It turns out there’s a whole geeky subculture of pachinko machine aficionados out there. I Googled “plastic parts for 1974 Nishijin pachinko machine,” and a dozen sites popped up. So I sent out a picture of the part I’m looking for, and got a hit right away. “Sure thing Mr. Lindner, we have that. You have a 1974 Nishijin Sophia, she’s a classic. We’ll send it out on Tuesday, for $10.00.” Turns out they 3D print this stuff by the bushel.

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Well alrighty then. Now that I’m a Nishijin Sophia Ninja, once that part arrives, I’ll have it installed in five minutes, then I’ll... I’ll... I’ll probably put it back in the closet of no return for another 45 years.  🤷🏻‍♂️  Owning a 45 year old worthless gizmo that doesn’t work makes no sense. But owning a 45 year old worthless gizmo that DOES work, and you MADE it work, well that’s another thing altogether. That’s what a packrat’s life is all about.

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*Remember that famous quote by Khalil Gibran? “If you love someone, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. If they don’t, they never were.” ~ Kinda’ like that. 😎

LOVE LINDNER!

I always wear these medical scrubs during warm weather. You can’t beat ‘em. So I’m at Trader Joe’s a few minutes ago and I stopped to sample something at the demo table. The woman says “Are you on break?”

 

I said “I’m sorry?”

 

“Are you on break from the hospital?”

 

“Oh. No, I’m not a doctor. I just dabble in gynecological work for a hobby.”

 

The woman cracked up, but she was utterly drowned out by the two little old ladies I didn’t even know were standing behind me.

 

I said “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It was inappropriate here”

 

The woman at the table said “No, it’s all good. We’re not like that around here.”

 

One more reason to patronize TJ’s... they aren’t uptight assholes. 😛

 

LINDNERS WORLD

I’ve been a veggie-cookin’-Dr. Frankenstein today. I took these beautiful asparagus spears, some baby garlic greens, tossed them with a couple of teaspoons of olive oil, and maybe 1/3rd of that bottle of Jamaican Pickapeppa and roasted them. Damn it’s good! You should try it. (You’ll probably still pee funny though 😫).

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Elsewhere, I made some Bavarian potato dumplings, I’m just starting on a pot of pasta e fagiole, and a fresh batch of homemade sauerkraut. But I’ve added a little kick to the kraut’s ass in the form of some Calabrese peppers. German cuisine is too bland anyway, said nobody ever, but maybe me.

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Later tonight, I’m gonna whip up a crazy twist on the classic Martini that I’ve been pondering. It’s strictly experimental, you understand. That is to say, if it turns out okay, I’ll post it. If not, you’ll never know about it, and the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of my actions. Boom.  📼💥

LINDNER’S WORLD

Welp, tonight was the road test for my newfangled ceramic-coated grill.

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The vehicle: A 1 pound cut of mother Costco’s finest USDA Prime ribeye.

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The course: The aforementioned grill/griddle gizmo (made by Gotham steel, available at Walmart for $29.00).

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The results: Best goddamn steak I’ve had in years. The grill heats uniformly from edge to edge, even over a low flame.

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The down side: Calling it nonstick is a bit of a misnomer. It’s more like “slightstick.” But far easier to clean than a cast iron grill.

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If someone was to ask me if I recommend this thing? Yes I do. Enthusiastically. Even if no one asks. 👍🏼 👍🏼

WORLD OF LINDNER

Everyone knows how smelling a certain perfume, tasting a certain candy or hearing an old song can bring back fond memories, right? Not a déjà vu, but something gets “triggered” in the brain by external stimulus, and it takes you back. I had the mother of all those experiences yesterday morning.

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Like every other kid the world over back in 1963, I got swept up in Beatlemania. I loved the Fab Four from the moment I saw them on Ed Sullivan, all the way through to the end of their run in 1970... and ever since.

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I was in the Javamobile on my way out to Beaverton yesterday morning, listening to the Beatles Channel on SiriusXM, when the opening harmonica of “Love Me Do” came on. In that instant, I was hit by a tsunami of memories. It was as if I got transported back in time 56 years, and in space 630 miles. Something just washed over me. I’ve heard Love Me Do literally hundreds of times over the years, but yesterday was different for some reason. The stars and the song aligned.

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The Beatles hit America when I was 11 years old. When I was 12, I used to hole myself up in my bedroom tinkering with my various hobbies (building model cars, crystal radios in cigar boxes, etc.) while listening to the Fabs on my Sears record player. It wasn’t a stereo; stereo wasn’t quite mainstream yet... just a little turquoise colored clamshell that opened up and let you spin your records. And I’d play those first 2-3 Beatle albums endlessly. I still have them all by the way. Most are monaural, worn down by that shitty Sears record player.

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So I’m driving along yesterday when Love Me Do comes on, and I was instantly transported back to those days. It was almost like an out-of-body experience. I found myself in my old bedroom. There was the green corduroy bedspread on my bed. There was the cardboard refractor telescope that my uncle in Chicago sent me when I was 8. And there was my L-shaped corner desk, with the Bakelite Philco radio my parents let me take apart for its guts.

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I haven’t thought about ANY of that stuff in decades. In fact, I only remembered the Philco radio yesterday, thanks to this phenomenon. I’d completely forgotten about it. The wave of memories was so intense, I pulled off the road into a parking lot, closed my eyes and “toured” the inside of my old bedroom for a few moments.

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Then just as quickly as the sensation hit: it was gone. The song on the radio had ended. I was sitting in a cargo van full of coffee and chocolate on Beaverton-Hillsdale Highway in Oregon, and Peter Noone was on the radio chattering about growing up in Manchester.

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But for a brief moment in time—like a modern day Brigadoon—I was THERE. If not in the flesh, then in mind.

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And it was amazing!