Today is the second offering in the Ben Nutty series. Relax, there's only one more story, unless I get around to finishing #4.
Ben Nutty's Comeback
Career Day Today!
The sign hung in front of the local middle school attended by Ben’s son. It was approximately 9:00 AM on Tuesday morning. Ben had dropped his son off an hour earlier and now, as a surprise to the boy, he’d returned to participate as a guest speaker at the Career Day festivities.
“He’ll be so excited!” Ben said to himself as he parked his sputtering heap in the school’s parking lot. Ben had learned of career day the week before when, while searching for loose change in his son's backpack, he'd discovered a flyer buried under a week-old salami on wheat. Fortunately he’d found it just before the volunteer deadline.
“I’m a communications professional,” Ben had told the principal when he’d called last week to offer his services. “You could say that the written word is my ball of wax.” He then proceeded to regale her with tales from the world of corporate communications, a world where up until 18-months ago, Ben had been a mover and a shaker.
“I’ve pretty much done it all, communications-wise,” Ben had told her. “Press releases, customer letters, talking points. I’ve done your basic fluff pieces for the corporate magazine; who’s getting married, who’s having a baby, that sort of thing. Folks love to read their name in the company publication, I can tell you!”
“Yes, that sounds fine, Mr. Nutty. But tell me again who your son is? We don’t have a ‘Nutty” in our student body.”
“Oh. Yes, well both of my children have chosen to take their mother’s maiden name, for reasons I can’t disclose.”
Once again, no one is likely to remember this show besides me, my sisters and the Fichs. Well, maybe Kirsty as she was a Walton's fan.
Apple's Way was actually created by the same guy who created The Walton's. I guess it was supposed to be a more modern day Walton clan, about a family that moves back to Iowa to avoid the hustle and bustle of LA. Just regular modern folk like you and me, not a bunch of hillbilly's living in the mountains circa 1930-something. As one youtube commenter said, "(I'll) Never forget the episode where the father stayed up in a tree to prevent it from being torn down. Idealism/warmth worth treasuring."
I recall an episode where Mr. Apple campaigns to have a stop-sign placed at a particularly dangerous intersection. When the son of one of his opponents (who opposes stop-signs?) is hit by a car at that very intersection, the man comes to Mr. Apple's house to apologize and, I guess, admit defeat. Upon hearing the news of his flattened kid Apple says, "I'm sorry. Come in, I'll make some coffee." For some reason we got a big bang out of that.
Oh, to return to a simpler time when life's problems could be solved over a nice cup of coffee. And yet, watching this makes me want to slap the crap out of each and every Apple, particularly that long-haired, Van Patten kid cranking the ice-cream. Crank THIS, Lord Fauntleroy.
So it’s Sunday. Freakin’ busy day, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW. Lisa’s in charge of coordinating yet another round of some sort of government mandated testing so she’s been spending all day organizing paperwork. All very hush, hush too. Four boxes were delivered last week by some FedEx guy in dark glasses; made me sign for them and then took a DNA sample. She can’t leave them at school lest some young ruffian gets his grubby hands on a copy, which would of course set off, “Elementary-gate.” She’s also in charge of providing snacks and “awards” for the little simpletons. Can you say “not in my job description?” Well maybe it is. She did agree to do it. Regardless, all I can say is we’d better get a reimbursement check as I dropped $55 today on Capri Sun and Quaker Chewy Granola bars, and that’s not even factoring in the cost of the “prizes”.
Kids today are like a bunch of freakin' lab rats with as much testing as takes place. Just let the teachers teach for Christ’s sake and maybe kids will actually learn something. The government requires so much testing that kids hardly have any time to learn what the hell they’re being tested on. It’s testing my patience.
So in my continuing attempt to allow her free time, I whipped up a little linguine with sautéed scallops for dinner. It was pretty damn good, thank you; butter & oil, sauteed with crushed red pepper, lemon juice, various spices; some sautéed red bell pepper, big, fat, thick, meaty scallops, topped with parsley and a zesting of lemon. That’s right, this beeatch can cook when he has to. And I’m a good lay. Well, I can cook anyway. Piss off. I have to go clean the kitchen.
Originally published on March 25, 2007 in My Life (and I have no idea what I meant with that title)
I'm probably one of the only people who remember this show. It only aired for one season, on Friday nights back in 1981 -1982. As I was a socially awkward 15 or 16 with no social life, I was home on Friday nights watching Strike Force, likely with my parents.
Ben Nutty scanned the aisles at the grocery store. He’d come in for cat litter but got side-tracked by the colorful signs advertising the week’s specials.
Wheat Thins were on sale; buy 1-get 1 free. Ben couldn’t resist Wheat Thins, and enjoyed snacking on them late at night when he had trouble sleeping, which was often since the free-lance writing jobs had dried up. Ben had been a big-wheel in the corporate communications arena back in the early part of the decade, but the sinking economy, coupled by the real estate sink hole, had left him once again riding the down elevator, a cardboard box of his “personal possessions” in his arms. Now he spent his time pecking out blog posts at $15 a pop and hunting up advertorial work.
A young woman was pushing her cart down the aisle toward Ben, her corpulent young boy lying motionless on the cart’s bottom rack like a sack of dog chow. Ben tipped his gray, Target® fedora at her and smiled. She did not smile back.
“This is an excellent sale on Wheat Thins,” Ben said, hazarding an ice breaker.
“My husband and I prefer Cheez It,” she responded. The boy farted his response, while rotating on the rack like a chicken in a rotisserie.