Dreams, Moments, Travels
The water supply for Phoenix, Arizona, comes into the valley via a series of canals that crisscross the metropolitan area. On rare occasions, a car finds its way into the drink, but more often, it seems to be a popular parking lot for shopping carts. Strangely, you never see anyone swimming in the canals.
Stopped for gas and got indigestion. These two “ladies” did their grocery shopping this morning at the local convenience store. Do my eyes deceive me, or are those holes cut into her jeans, exposing nekkid skin? And are those chains acting as a continuation of the seam? The knee-high black boots, along with the white-trash facelift (ponytail pulled tight), finish off the look of “I’m ready to kick ass.” The other woman is still wearing her pink slippers. Armed with fresh coffee and cigarettes, the girls are going back to the phones for those special conversations that begin with dialing 1-800-Skankybabe.
Made me a grilled cheese sandwich. Sorry, no image of Jesus appeared, but the cheese did ooze. My recipe for making grilled cheese was inspired by a local cafe that makes an awesome sandwich, so I tried duplicating it at home.
This got me thinking about the economics of eating grilled cheese at home compared to eating out; consider this.
A loaf of 9-grain bread costs $3.99, eight slices cheddar $2.99, eight slices Swiss, an eight oz. wheel of Brie $6.50 or less, two tomatoes $0.90, a handful of arugula $0.90, butter to grill sandwich $0.40. The ingredients to make eight gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches cost $18.67 or $2.33 per sandwich.
Driving 5 miles each way to said cafe at the federal government compensation level per mile of $0.48 adds a total of $4.80 in automobile and gas costs to the $0.96 tax, $1.80 for the tip, and $11.98 for our sandwiches (they cost $5.99 each). But when I’m finished having someone else prepare my food, the cost totals $19.56 or $9.78 per sandwich.
In other words, for the price of two cheese sandwiches at the cafe, I can make eight sandwiches at home. Am I turning into a stingy old man, or what?
I bought new shoes today and took a rather uninspired photo of them. So today is the day I try a Photoshop filter on an image in an attempt to make something more of it. This is the plastic wrap filter, and I still find that the photo is not very worthy of posting – but then I have nothing else to post, so it will have to fill the spot of the 321st photo of the year.
Roadside in front of some townhomes in Phoenix, Arizona is this sign: No Trespassing – Private Property. This warning is becoming more and more prevalent as if the gates and seven-foot-tall cinder block walls weren’t enough to keep out the undesirables. Does anyone actually know to who these signs apply? I know the residents are welcome, I’m sure law enforcement need not heed the exclamation, and I’d bet that residents’ visitors are allowed, so I guess the exclusion applies to me and my ilk.
Not an attractive place and not a very busy place on a Monday evening, but this is the New Times Best of Phoenix winner for Thai Restaurant. The Siamese Kitchen does offer some great cooking. I had the Tom Ka Kai, a chicken with coconut milk soup that was served with plenty of chicken and mushrooms. I asked for medium, and like a good Thai restaurant should be, medium is other restaurants’ hot. My main dish was the old standard Panang. I asked for mine with chicken and to make it Thai hot. Now, typically, when a white guy orders hot or Thai hot, I think the waitresses have come to believe we are showing off or do not really understand what we are getting ourselves into – not Siamese Kitchen. Not only were my eyelids sweating profusely, but my shirt was darkened with sweat from my collar down nearly to my belly button before I realized my hair had started dripping. What does it take to make hair sweat? You’ll find Siamese Kitchen on the Northwest corner of Olive and 43rd Avenue in Phoenix, Arizona.