Kellogg's Rice Krispies: Snap, Crackle and Gag

It's not as if I don't like Rice Krispies. 

I do.

There's not a box in my cupboard, mind you, but once in a while, when I'm at one of those hotel/motel dealies that come with breakfast, and Rice Krispies are an option, I'm not above pouring some milk into the box and leaning my ear in to hear the sweet sounds of snap, crackle and pop. As an aural remembrance of things past, it's almost as good as holding a conch shell up to your ear and listening to the ocean.

And my mother made a very tasty Rice Krispies-based cookie that involved dates (and walnuts?). They were quite good, and if my thinking that my sister Trish resurrected this recipe within the last few years is a false memory, well, it's not too late for Trish to dig up the recipe and make us some.

Admittedly, I'm not partial to the classic Rice Krispies Treats made with the cereal and Marshmallow Fluff. I think they're more suitable for construction projects than they are for eating. But to each their own. 

I would, however, eat nothing but those yucky non-treats for the rest of my life before I'd snack down on one of these foul little items:

No, your eyes are not deceiving you. 

That's a Rice Krispies Treat combined with bits of hot dog and smeared with mustard, ketchup, and relish. 

Yuck, yuck, a thousand times yuck.

As with Rice Krispies, it's not as if I don't like hot dogs. I do. They absolutely have their times and places. And those times and places are a) when I'm at Fenway Park for a ballgame, b) when I'm walking along the Esplanade on the Charles River and the little snack bar is open for business, and c) at a cookout. Alas, Fenway is closed to us fans, and the snack bar isn't opening this season, and there are no cookouts on my horizon, so this may will be a hot dog-less year for me. 

But while I always ate hot dogs, even as a kid I was violently opposed to hot dogs sliced up and added to anything. Hot dogs and beans churned my stomach. Sometimes my mother cut up a couple of hot dogs and threw them into the slime that was and is Franco-American Spaghetti. The horror!

For a German girl married to an Irishman, my mother made excellent spaghetti sauce, but sometimes for lunch she opened up a can of Franco-American for us. It bore absolutely no resemblance to real spaghetti, but I loved it. I didn't mind the kind with the mini-meatballs added in, but when my mother decided to up the protein ante and slice in a couple of hot dogs... One roiling kid stomach, coming right up!

No doubt the Rice Krispies Treat hot dogged up is the product of pandemic boredom. Still, this one's a monstrosity too far.

I will forgive my sister Trish for sending this one - which she saw on Twitter, but which came via the Nerdist (ur source: the Vulgar Chef) - if she promises to make some of those Rice Krispies date cookies. What they lack in snap, crackle and pop they more than make up for in yum.

Now THAT's a kitchen!

I have a reasonably nice kitchen. Nothing too elaborate. No chef's dream. No 6-burner gas stove. No double ovens. No eat-in (unless I'm standing over the sink.) It's a city, galley kitchen. But it's very nice (albeit a tiny bit messy: I'm too lazy to "stage" it for a photo op), and it suits me just fine.

As with most of my home, it's highly personal. The dutch oven on the stove top, the dishtowel hanging to the right on the oven: gifts from my sister Kath. The tiles over the stove were a 60th birthday gift from some friends. The blue bowls on the window sill came from my sister Trish. The dishtowel to the left: my niece Molly brought it back for me from her semester abroad in Ireland. You can't see what's hanging to the left on the wall there, but it's a cool photo of the Fenway Park bleachers, given to me by my niece Caroline. Also out of sight, over the sink hangs a goofy framed embroidered dishtowel I made when I was a crafty seven year old.

Other than the dishtowel, nothing too weird. Your standard gray and white kitchen with some pops of color, as they say on HGTV. I think it will age okay.

On the other hand, there are kitchen designs that don't age well at all:

My sister Kath and her husband are looking at property in Phoenix and this one crossed their path. The place is spectacularly located, with fabulous views, but the entire thing is covered on the inside with some rather hideous wallpaper. Certainly over the top by today's standards and aesthetics. But having a wallpapered ceiling? In the kitchen? Yuck, yuck, a thousand times yuck.

But the best kitchen I've seen lately has to be this kitchen of the future that popped up in my Twitter feed. (I think it was from historian Michael Beschloss, who regularly tweets out archived photos from the Library of Congress.)

This is a late 1950's kitchen of the future - the RCA Whirlpool Miracle Kitchen that was one of three exhibit kitchens that were at the scene of the famous Nixon-Khrushchev debate about the merits of American capitalism vs. Soviet communism. Advantage: American housewives. Da!

RCA Whirlpool was definitely anticipating the robotic future. 

"In this kitchen you can bake a cake in three minutes, and in this kitchen the dishes are scraped, washed and dried electronically. They even put themselves away. Even the floor is cleaned electronically. So welcome to this wonderful new world of push-button cooking, cleaning and homemaking." (Source: Indyweek article by Tom Maxwell, whose father was one of the Miracle Kitchen designers)

That thing that looks like a cool little mid-century modern TV is the command center, from which the housewife of the future can control everything from her nicely manicured fingertips.

Being able to have everything done for you automatically apparently gave the housewife of the future plenty of time to line up her pantry items - I see that there's little scratch cooking or baking going on at her house - on the slant. I may take this approach up.

Even though I don't have a command center in my kitchen, I think I'll keep mine over this futurized version. But I'd take the Miracle Kitchen over the Tucson wallpaper-ama any old day. Even if I had to sit around it in an aqua colored, polished cotton dress. (Which, I will note, would nicely match my kitchen color scheme.)

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If you have a bit of time, I highly recommend this video in which the spokesmodel walks you through all the goodies that the Miracle Kitchen - including a feature that anticipates checking out who's at the door via Ring-like technology, and an early version of Roomba - will have to offer. Whirlpool sure missed a market opportunity by not pursuing products like these, that's for sure.

Good news for digital nomads

I'm mostly retired now, but for the last 15+ years of my actual career, I was a freelancer. During my freelancing prime, I was a stay-at-homer, blissfully unaware that I could have been a digital nomad - at least during the later years when good enough Internet connectivity was widespread enough to enable la vie nomade. 

I actually don't think I'd have made a very good nomad worker. Oh, I could have happily plunked down in Paris or Ireland for a month or two at a time while working, but I never would have been all that happy upping stakes every so often. Not to mention that it's decades too late for me to want to live out of a backpack. Been there, done that. But when I been there, done that, I was in my early 20's. Once you're in your early 70's, you're a bit more attached to your stuff, a little less willing to get by on a couple of changes of clothing. (Although since I've been sheltering in place, I've had to force myself not to live in the same old, same old, week in, week out.)

But if I were to decide on a late career/late in life move to nomadism, the US response to the coronavirus pandemic has made us something of a pariah nation. And most of the places (i.e., Canada, countries in Europe) where I'd want to go aren't letting Americans in. Being toxic and scorned is nothing new for us, but now we're infecting people. Swell! Talk about the ugly American!

Fortunately, there's some good news here for those who want to work abroad. 

Come August 1st, Estonia is instituting a digital nomad visa that "will allow foreigners to stay in Estonia for up to a year." Americans still can't go to Estonia as tourists, but we are included in that foreigner bucket. 

“We saw that there was kind of a lack of opportunities for [digital nomads], so we wanted Estonia to solve the problem,” Ott Vatter, the managing director of e-Residency, told The Washington Post. “Estonia aims to be the hub for these kinds of new entrepreneurs that we see trending globally."  (Source: Wapo)

You need to be able to demonstrate that you're remotely grossing 3,000 Euros per month,  but that's not an especially steep hill to climb. 

Estonia is actually a place I wouldn't mind going. It wasn't exactly on my bucket list, mostly because I don't have one. (Other than seeing Trump out of the White House.) But I would be interested in seeing the Baltics. So if I were a digital nomad, Estonia would be a consideration.

Barbados is also welcoming outsiders, including Americans, with something called the "Barbados Welcome Stamp."  This program lets those who can demonstrate that they have $50K in annual income to come hang out there for up to a year, visa-free. Applying costs $2K ($3K for families), and there are pandemic-related protocols to follow. But if sunny skies and mild temps are your thing - they're not really mine - this would be a good port o' nomadic call. Plus Barbados, unlike other spots in the Caribbean, isn't prone to hurricanes. 

If you're indifferent to sunny skies and mild temps, Georgia is offering digital nomads a welcome. No, not that Georgia. Seriously, who wants to nomad to a state where the governor seems to be actively trying to kill its citizens. No, we're talking former member of USSR. Birthplace of Josef Stalin. A different sort of Georgia. But they'll be providing safe harbor to remote workers, even, it seems, Americans.

“Georgia has the image of an epidemiologically safe country in the world and we want to use this opportunity," the country’s minister of economy, Natia Turnava, said in a statement. “We are talking about opening the border in a way to protect the health of our citizens, but, on the other hand, to bring to Georgia citizens of all countries who can work remotely.”

As with the other countries, you must be able to prove that you're remotely employed, and isolate yourself for 14 days when you get there, as the Georgians don't want folks coming from epidemiologically unsafe countries like ours. 

Finally, Jamaica, mon, is saying let's get together and feel all right. And you don't even have to be digital nomad to dive in. They're letting in regular old travelers from the U.S., with pre-trip travel authorization, to pay a touristic visit. 

However, the entry requirements vary depending on their home state... At this time, visitors from Florida, Arizona, Texas and New York are classified as high-risk states by the Jamaican government and are required to provide a proof of negative covid-19 PCR tests from an accredited lab to receive a travel authorization.

Everyone can apply for a 30-day visitor visa, but longer stays are available to digital nomads. One heart, one love coming at us from the Jamaicans. 

Not that we don't deserve it, but it's kind of nice to know that we're not considered pariahs everywhere - especially if you're a digital nomad looking for a place to hang out during the pandemic. 

Cherry ice cream? I believe you mean Cherry Garcia.

Last Sunday, July 19th, was National Ice Cream Day. I missed it. But as July is National Ice Cream Month, I can get in under the line and celebrate this near perfect food.

Not that I need a day or a month to celebrate ice cream. I pretty much live the ice cream life. 

In my book, a day without ice cream is a day without sunshine. Let me amend that. I don't mind an occasional day without sunshine. It's plenty sunny and 90 sweaty degrees out today, and I'm sitting here fantasizing about a nice blizzard. So a day without ice cream (or frozen yogurt) is far worse than a day without ice cream.

For me these days, mostly it's not ice cream ice cream. It's fro-you. But I have a (small) bowl of it pretty much every night. Generally, it will be (small) bowl of Gifford's of Maine Black Raspberry Chocolate Chip, which is quite nice - no skimping on the chocolate chips. I also like Gifford's Moose Tracks fro-yo. 

If I decide to up the calorie ante, I'll have a pint of Talenti gelato in the fridge. Pistachio. Coffee Chocolate Chip. Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup. The only problem with Talenti is the effort it takes to get the cap off. Seriously, you can google this problem and get all sorts of advice - none all that good - on how to unscrew the lids. There have been evenings when I've wished I had a chainsaw - or at min a hacksaw - to get that damned lid off. Absolute murder.

When I'm at an ice cream shop, I'll vary things up. Sometimes Coffee Cookies & Cream. Sometimes Butter Pecan. Sometimes Maple Walnut. Once in a blue moon - and only if that blue moon is in the dead of summer - I'll go for Strawberry or Peach. On the Cape, I'll opt for Ryder Beach Rubble or Cranberry Bog. If I'm at Friendly's, finishing my Big Beef lunch off with one of their Happy Ending Sundaes - and, yes, that is the name they go by - my preference is Hot Fudge on Coffee. 

I'm not all that partial to Mint Chocolate Chip, and I really cannot abide the thought of Bubble Gum, but, in truth, I'm down with most ice cream flavors. 

But if I had to pick a favorite-favorite, I'd have to go with Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia. It comes in both ice cream and fro-yo, and while there's always plenty of Ben & Jerry's in the freezer of my go-to grocer, you can't always find Cherry Garcia ice cream. Even rarer is the fro-yo version.

I don't think I'm alone here in my affection for Cherry Garcia, and I'm interpreting the report that something called "Cherry" is the favorite ice cream of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts to mean Cherry Garcia. I suppose it could mean Cherry Vanilla, which is also quite tasty, but I'm going with Cherry Garcia, which greatly improves on regular old Cherry Vanilla by adding little slabs of chocolate. The best. The very best. Even if you're not a fan of the Grateful Dead.

Overall, the favorite U.S. flavor is Cookies & Cream, a reasonably good choice. Which is more than you can say for some of the state flavorites.

Arizona and Illinois share a preference for Mango. Really? Mango? Not a fan. Still better than Nevada's Cotton Candy. (Gag.)

And, sure, I'd accept a cone if it were the last ice cream on the face of the earth, but - good golly, Miss Molly - do California's really eat a lot of Tutti Frutti?

A number of states bland out with Vanilla, including Maine and New Hampshire. But what are we to make of Connecticut's pigging out on Beer ice cream. Beer? Huh?

Oregon, Washington and Utah spoon up something called Coconut Milk. DC has some rather upscale taste. They're fav is Stracciatella.

I had to look up Michigan's Superman, a ghastly swirl of red, blue, and yellow. Nor was I familiar with Virginia's Tiger Tail. Certainly, an improvement on Superman, but my personal ice cream jury's is kind of out on the thought of orange ice cream swirled with black licorice. 

Now, Teaberry ice cream - which is popular in Pennsylvania - might be okay in small doses if it tastes like Teaberry gum.

Still, I'll take Cherry Garcia which, of course, I am now craving. There's none in my freezer, and there's no guarantee that if I braved the dual elements of heat and humidity currently visiting themselves upon my city, there's no guarantee that the closest grocer would have any. 

Bringing to mind a ditty that my father used to sing to us when we were having a scorcher. 

When it's too hot for comfort, And you can't get no ice cream cones,

T'aint no sin, to take off your skin, and dance around in your bones. 

Not familiar with this ditty? Here you go.  

Guess I'll have a (small) bowl of Blackberry Chocolate Chip fro-yo to celebrate National Ice Cream Month. 

Maybe it's just me, but I thought ego and vision are what founders get to have?

Tatte Bakery is a nice little local chain. There's one just around the corner, and I'm probably in there every month or two for something.

It's a very pleasant spot, albeit high on the preciousness scale:

...with an aesthetic that makes Instagrammers swoon: black-and-white floor tiles with cheeky inspirational quotes, woven Parisian bistro chairs, piles of flaky pastries, and shakshuka skillets studded with silky poached eggs. (Source: Boston Globe)

I don't know about those silky poached eggs (nor do I know what a shakshuka skillet is), but I can vouch for their wonderful pastries. One of my favorite tatte-y things is the nice little bags of nice little cookies that make an excellent host(ess) gifteen if one is invited to lunch, as one was on occasion in the before time. And while it's often crowded with tourists - or was before the Covid Era when there was such a thing - and stroller moms, "my" local Tatte's is a pleasant enough place to stop for a cup or tea with a friend.

They also have good sandwiches. The one with roasted cauliflower is to die for.

It's also a sandwich that is to wait for.

And that's my gripe with Tatte. They seem incapable of parallel processing. Or at least stare down their noses at the thought of "fast food". If you order something, be prepared to wait. And wait. And wait. All part of the Tatte zeitgeist, I guess.

Unfortunately, something's been brewing at Tatte other than tea, and founder Tzurit Or has been forced out.

Over the past several weeks, current, former, and furloughed Tatte staff have begun speaking out against Or’s leadership, saying she created a culture at the cafes that has enabled “discriminatory hiring practices and maltreatment of Black and Brown employees in entry-level positions,” according to an open letter published by the group last week...

The news comes as complaints have emerged about the management of the cafes, including allegations that Or or her managers have made discriminatory comments about the race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or physical attributes of staffers, and that Or made hiring and promotion decisions based in part on how well workers fit in with the “Tatte aesthetic.” 

I don't know anything about what it's like to work there, and the culture may well be vile for some, especially for minorities. Much as I like their aesthetic, I must admit that the Tatte aesthetic represents something of peak well-to-do whiteness. But some of the complaints mentioned in the article seemed, well, unreasonable.

Some employees took offense that "Or decided to board up her storefronts as protests around the George Floyd killing surged throughout the city."

The looting and property destruction ended up taking place just one night, but on that night, the destruction was pretty extensive in parts of the city. My immediate neighborhood was only lightly impacted - tagging, smashed windows - but damage elsewhere was pretty awful. After that first night, however, a lot of the businesses on Charles Street (my immediate 'hood) boarded up. Because that's what you do if you want to protect your business from damage.

Then there was the (white) fellow who was gifted with six months worth of diapers for his newborn baby "but felt those acts of kindness were held out in exchange for expectations of loyalty or long hours." Maybe, maybe not. But, umm, isn't this how working works? When the boss does something nice for you, don't you usually feel a bit more inclined to go the extra mile for them?

But to me the oddest grip was this:

Employees described a workplace that was driven largely by Or’s vision — and her ego. 

It sounds as if Or and Tatte are trying to do the right thing in terms of listening to what their employees are experiencing, but, jeez louise. I don't know a ton about being an entrepreneur, and maybe it's just me, but isn't one of the bennies of being a founder that you get to shape the company you've founded to make it in line with your vision, and as an expression of your ego?

Take me in to the ball game

Well, Tuesday I got to do what I haven't done in a while, which is watch a baseball game from Fenway Park.

It was pre-season, but baseball's baseball.

And it was plenty odd.

Except for a couple of photographers, there was no one in the stands. Even when it's 40 degrees out and drizzling, there are always at least a few diehards in the bleachers, and for a good long while, most games at "America's Most Beloved Ballpark" (while Fenway is beloved by me, I always wonder who decided this) have been sellouts or nearly so.

It was good to have a game to watch. A nice reminder of before time.

The game featured the usual announcers - Dave O'Brien, Jerry Remy, and Dennis Eckersley - and, in fact, doubled up on the color guys so we got both RemDawg and Eck. It was good to hear their voices, especially Eckersley, with his colorful nonsense. Mitch Moreland hit a home run, which the Eck called "a 3-run Johnson". (Eck has a lot of original coinages, but my favorite Eckisode was a malapropism. He was talking about pitcher Justin Masterson and he called him "Justin Masturbation.")

I liked the fact that they had fake crowd noise. It's not clear whether the players are down with it, but the announcers liked it, too. Even if they don't pipe it into the park, I hope they keep using it for the televised games. (While they're at it, why not add in some organ music?) I can get past the empty stands, but it would be way too eerie trying to watch a game with no crowd noise. It was done pretty well, by the way. Mostly the general buzz you hear in background, but revved up when the Sox did something good. It worked for me!

But, as my sister Trish observed during our running game-time text commentary, they might want to stir some boos into the mix.

Because the game we watched was definitely boo-worthy.

The Red Sox took an early 5-0 lead, but the Blue Jays chipped away at it. In the 9th, they tied the game - then went ahead by two runs. Our boys never recovered. At least the game didn't go into extra innings, so there's that.

There were some things to cheer about. That 3-run Johnson, and another dinger from J.D. Martinez. A kid from Worcester - John Andreoli - was in the game, and they did a shout out to The Woo and St. John's High (alma mater of both of my brothers).

Overall, however, it was a classic Red Sox suck-fest. Nothing I haven't seen during my long, long, long history as a Red Sox fan. (First memory: trying to pick a player off the screen - likely at my father's directive - of the family's black and white Philco. This was 1952. I was two.) While I have certainly enjoyed the embarrassment of riches which has been the 21st century Red Sox - four World Series Championships: who'da thunk it? - I am never surprised when they falter.

Last season was a debacle. Why should this year's edition be any better?

Especially with the departure of Mookie Betts to the L.A. Dodgers, second only to the Yankees as the team I love to hate. It is rumored that Mookie is about to sign a colossus of a contract with L.A. When he should have been staying put, here in Boston. Bad deal. A stab in Boston fandom's heart. It pains me that Mookie will now likely enter the Hall of Fame as a Dodger, not a Red Sox. Boo! Even if I don't live to see it.

And speaking of colossal contracts, as I texted Trish during the game "What's up with Pedroia?"

Pedroia is one of my favorite players, but we haven't seen much of him in the last four years. So I looked it up.

Although not in the same league as the contract Mookie will sign, Pedroia, who is still injured, will have collected a hefty $56 million since 2018, during which time he played in nine - count 'em, nine - games. Nice non-work it you can get it. And a good example of just how insane baseball financials are.

Tonight the "real" COVID of a season kicks off. The Sox play the O's, and I'll be sitting there, watching. Root, root, rooting for the Red Sox. If they don't win it won't surprise me. I am, after all, a true Red Sox fan (and my father's daughter).

Whatever this truncated and weird little season brings, I'm happy that the game is back on.

Well, there's no tunnel, but maybe there's a light at end of the bridge

A couple of months ago, I zoomed with a former colleague. When we spoke - in the throes of the Massachusetts lockdown, when things appeared especially grim - he was mulling whether to cancel his family's two-week reservation for a house on Nantucket. Yes, it would be a change of scenery, but what it nothing was open? Yes, as his kids are getting older, it might be one of the last opportunities for a family vacation, but what if the ferries weren't running? Yes, he, his wife (a nurse) and kids are all healthy and following COVID-avoidance best practices, but what if someone gets really sick when they're out there in the medically challenged wilds of Nantucket.

We haven't chatted since, but I hope that he and the fam are there now.

Whether this one family went through with their rental or not, when the pandemic struck - and Massachusetts got hit hard and early - a lot of folks did cancel their reservations.

But as dire as things looked a while back, the Cape and Islands have been inching back towards some semblance of normalcy. Sun, sand, surf, lobster rolls, ice cream cones. Fried clams - with bellies, not those faux and treacherous clam strips you find in less fortunate parts of the country. Quaint little Cape Cod weathered-shingle houses. Outdoor showers. (The very best way to bathe.) Rose-covered trellises. Tee-shirts and floaties. Hydrangeas. Even mini-golf! Sharks, too, are being spotted offshore all over the place.

The pandemic has brought a boom for short-term rentals on Cape Cod and the Islands as vacationers rush to book a cure for their cabin fever. In an unexpected twist for homeowners and agents who had braced for a bust, summer 2020 is turning out to be even stronger than previous years that did not have public health concerns or a recession hanging over the rental market.

According to WeNeedAVacation.com, a local website that markets short-term rentals on the Cape and Islands, total bookings so far are 24 percent above last year. Vacancy rates are at or below 5 percent for most of the summer, well below levels of last summer.

Julie Jason, co-owner of Waterfront Rentals in West Yarmouth, said half of the 160 rental contracts her agency lined up earlier this year were canceled at one point; now, nearly every single week is booked again.

“The market right now, it just exploded,” Jason said. “I’ve been doing this for over 20 years, and I’ve never experienced the volume of inquiries and bookings for such a short period of time.” (Source: Boston Globe)

Hotels are not faring quite as well. Occupancy rates are okay, but the price for rooms is down. Unlike short-term rental costs, which have held up pretty well. 

In a home of your own, however short term, you can socially distance. It's easier to do take-out when you're not spreading your bucket of fried clams out on a hotel room bed. Etc.

Some of the folks renting are traditional vacationers; others are work-from-homers with cabin fever who're eager to look at a new set of walls, as long as the Wi-Fi is good.

I'm happy that the Cape may be able to salvage their season. Other than the insane traffic getting over the Sagamore or the Bourne Bridge during prime time, and the stop and go on Route 6, it's a great getaway. 

As the Patti Page song goes, "If you spend an evening, then you'll want to stay..."

Yep!

Unzipped

I became car-free in the fall of 2007. I was pretty fond of my little buggy, a bright-blue New Beetle, but I've never for one second regretted the decision to go wheel-less. After all, I live in a city. Downtown. Mostly I can walk to things. Not that I'd take it these days, but there's ample public transportation. Although at the time I dumped my Beetle I was making trips to suburban clients with relative frequency, I really didn't need a car. 

It was easier to dump my car because there was Zipcar to fill the gap. Zipcar. Right on my doorstep.

So I joined. And immediately became a big fan, happy to promote this wonderful service to anyone who'd listen.

Want a car for a couple of hours? Just go online and find one nearby. Pick it up, using the no-human-contact-smartcard system, take off, and return it whenever you're done to a dedicated parking place you don't have to spend 45 minutes driving around looking for.

Once in a while, there was a screw up - the car I reserved wasn't there waiting for me - but Zipcar was, for the most part, an excellent idea, well-executed. 

I used Zipcar to go to Home Depot. To pick up my Christmas tree. To pick up my niece at school before she got her license.

Zipcar took me to meetings with clients, to baby showers, to birthday parties, to wakes. 

If I needed a car for a longer journey, or for overnight, I rented from Avis. But most of my car needs were satisfied by Zipcar. 

The biggest pain in the arse was when I was only going a few miles, but had to fill up the tank because the jerk who had it before me had left it at a teaspoon of gas over 1/4. (You're supposed to fill 'er up when you hit that mark.) Filling that tank was a pain because there aren't a ton of gas stations in the downtown Boston area. None near any of the places that housed Zipcars I used. So filling the tank often required extending my reservation by a half hour. Good Zipper that I was, whenever I had extra time on my reservation, and was near a gas station, I always tried to top off the tank for the next person. 

And then one day, when I was returning my Zip to its parking slot in the Boston Common Garage, a young woman who was also returning her Zip asked me if I'd heard of Uber.

No I had not.

She showed me the app on her phone, and I filed the info away for future reference.

Fast forward a few months, and I needed to get to jury service at an inconveniently located - as most of them are - Boston courthouse. I had no idea how long I'd be there, and checking out a Zipcar for an entire day would be expensive and probabl unnecessary, as the likelihood that I'd actually get stuck on a jury was low. So I downloaded Uber and away I went.

Suddenly, I was an Uber-er, not a Zipper. 

I Ubered to clients, to Home Depot, to birthday parties and baby showers, to visit friends. Even, yes, to a couple of wakes. For a while, I saw an acupuncturist in Cambridge. I Ubered there, then took a long, pleasant walk to the T for a T ride home.

Mostly I took the train (Trish) or T (Kath) when I went to see my sisters, but I started to Uber home from Kath's rather than have my brother-in-law drag out to drive me home after dinner. And if it was cold and dark, and I didn't want to wait in a cold, dark train station and then take a cold, dark walk home from North Station, I began taking an occasional Uber home from a visit to my sister in Salem. Sometimes I Ubered to Salem, too. When my cousin's husband was hospitalized in Worcester earlier this year - in the before time - I Ubered out there a couple of times. I knew it was worth it, and that getting a ride would be easy enough because I'd also Ubered out there for Christmas dinner.

Whatever the cost, however often I found myself Ubering, it was worth it. Even if I spent $100 a month - and that was my sweet spot, more or less - it was still a whole helluva lot cheaper than car ownership in Boston. 

Zipcar became a thing of the past. 

The last time I reserved a Zip was in December. There was a screw up. The car and location I had reserved was no longer available. I was directed to a parking lot that's a bit further away, and a lot more difficult to maneuver around in. (It's a funky, Art Deco parking lot from the 1920's, but was designed for flivvers, not Pierce Arrows or Duesenbergs.) I trotted over to get the car, but it was one of those new-fangled ones with the tricky way to turn it on, to shift, to steer, to do everything. Change for the sake of change. I realized right off that I wasn't going to be comfortable driving it, so I canceled my reservation. 

Although I'm still a member, that's been pretty much it for me and Zip.

If and when I go anyplace again, it will likely be via Uber.

Sometimes I think I'll miss Zipcar. Then again, maybe not.

Zipcar, it seems, has been falling down, with felling blows delivered by the disrupters at Uber and Lyft. But some of the downfall is self-inflicted. A company where the brand promise was great customer service - a instilling a feeling of (almost) community - is no longer keeping its customers as satisfied as it once did.

CNN recently contacted over a dozen Zippers:

They said that the car-sharing service's quality had deteriorated in recent months, and that some cars are especially dirty, or not even available when members arrive for reserved rentals, a trend they say has worsened since the pandemic. Zipcar apologized for the shortcomings in a statement to CNN Business and said it's taking steps to improve the service.

Some customers have had to scramble to get alternative transportation and were left in what they felt were unsafe situations, such as being stranded far from home without a way to get around...

And when things go wrong, customers interviewed by CNN Business say they rarely can get in touch with Zipcar customer support, even after waiting hours on the phone. Some longtime customers who once viewed Zipcar as so reliable and efficient that it could be a stand-in for owning a car, now say they want to cancel their membership, but haven't been able to because they find Zipcar is so hard to reach. Zipcar says users can request to cancel their memberships online, but customers told CNN Business they were unable to do so on the website, and had to call Zipcar's customer support line. (Source: CNN)

Zipcar (owned by Avis since 2013) has had a hefty layoff this year - said to be more than 20% of its staff. It could be worse: Avis overall has pink slipped or furloughed 70% of its employees in the wake of the pandemic. But a 20% decrease in staff could explain the dirty cars, the reservation screw ups, and the hours it's taking customers to get through the support. (Over the years, I've had to call Zipcar support on a number of occasions, and it was always prompt and first rate.)

Zipcar has responded to the wave of service complaints by promising to increase the number of service agents, but for some members, it might be too little, too late.

"It was working for 10 years — brilliantly in my opinion," said Zipcar customer Judi Rowland. "Basically I loved them until I hated them."

I'm not quite ready to totally cut things off with Zipcar. My membership's paid up for the remainder of the year, so the money's been spent. But as I approach the first anniversary of my last trying (and not succeeding) to use their service, I just may cancel. I'll feel badly. For years, Zipcar was there when I needed them. Plus they're a local company. But life, and transportation, goes on.

Me? Unzipped? Object in the mirror may be closer than it appears.

No fairsies! I was going to buy that place!

A couple of times, on our trips to Ireland, my husband and I looked at property in Galway. We're city people, so we mostly poked around in the town of Galway, looking at condos. One time, we almost did buy something. Alas, nothing came of it. But the truth is that, if I were going to get a second home, I'd be leaning towards Ireland. 

Short of property purchase, I do have a vague plan of renting a place in Eire for a month - maybe next summer if things are back to normal and the EU countries are letting Americans in - which is also something that Jim and I had talked about doing. (Also a month in NYC, a month in Paris, a month in Berlin. Attention readers: don't put things off! You never know what's going to happen...)

Wherever I rent in Ireland (somewhat likely), wherever  I buy in Ireland (somewhat less likely), it will no doubt be in Galway, much my favorite place on that lovely green island.

Still, I couldn't help but be a bit green-eyed me-self when I read of a private island off the coast of Cork that was recently purchased, sight unseen except virtually, for $6.3 million, even if it wound't really be my thing.

Most of the transaction was transaction using WhatsApp.

So what's up with Horse Island? 

The island offers rugged green landscapes, a main house and several guest cottages overlooking the Atlantic Ocean...

It now offers a private pier for ferries and boats, a helipad, a games house and gym, a tennis court and a "shipwreck play house."

The self-contained destination also has its own electricity, water and sewage systems, and private roads that traverse the island.

The main house has 4,500 square feet of floor area and six bedrooms, while smaller guest houses are a short amble away. (Source: CNN)

This is an absolutely lovely spot, but I will make a couple of observations. All the pictures in the article show a rather sunny Ireland, including this one of a fancy looking chaise longue. In truth there are not all that many days in the year when you can sunbathe in Ireland. Which is actually a good thing, given the pasty whiteness - which I share - of most of the population. They need to be outdoors sunbathing on the terrace like they need the Brits to come back and reoccupy. Sure, there are many pretty, sunny days (go in September or late May for your best chance), but the weather can be pretty ghastly. Especially if you're on the Atlantic, where the only thing between you and Amerikay is ocean and wind. Weather can move in on your with almost shocking speed, before your very eyes. (Been there, experienced that.) 

Second, one of the charms of Ireland is the charms of Ireland: the people, the pubs, the shops, the restaurants (believe it or not, they can be wonderful), the bustle in the towns. If I were going to be isolated on an island, I'd want to to at least be one on which you could count on decent weather most of the time.

But we're in a time of pandemic, and sheltering in place with your bubble companions, away from the COVID carriers, sounds like a plenty good idea to those with money. 

While nearly all leisure travel was paused because of the coronavirus pandemic, the demand for private islands has risen.

Brokers and travel industry experts have said that since March, prospective buyers and renters around the world are showing an increased interest in escaping to an island exclusively for them.

Me? I'd be asking myself just why the population of the island of my dreams peaked at 137 in 1841, and dwindled to zero by the mid-1960's. I suppose that if you have $6.3M to spend on an island for your very own, you're not worried about scratching out an existence via subsistence farming and fishing. Or working in the copper mine that provided employment on Horse Island for a few decades in the 1800's. Still, I bet those fleeing natives were happy to get onto solid ground and into a town where there was something to do besides stare at the waves. 

But nowadays there is, presumably, Internet access. So there's always going to be entertainment. And I guess the new owners will be able to helicopter over to the mainland to stock up on groceries at Supervalu. And look in at a pub to see if there's a trad session on. 

But I'm also guessing that, however dire and prolonged the coronavirus pandemic ends up being, ain't no one going to want to spend the winter on a depopulated Irish island - even one with its own electricity and shipwreck playhouse.

Taking on an ant identity? Oh, why not!

Back in the day, when I was a full-time worker, I was a major user of screen beans, deploying - an excellent corporate word, by the way - them regularly in informal internal communications. What was not to like? Whatever the circumstance or event  - Christmas Yankee Swap, someone's baby shower, company outing, meeting about a new process initiative - there was pretty much a screen bean to fit the occasion. 

They never failed to amuse me, and just looking at them all these years later - Microsoft introduced the first screen beans 25 years ago! - they still crack me up. 

But I never actually thought of them as beans. To me, they looked like black ants. 

Which was why, when I read about a Facebook group in which folks assume the identity of ants and act out their antic roles, the first thing I thought of was screen beans. 

That is, of course, neither here nor there, as the real there-there is that there are nearly 2 million actual humans (not screen beans) who take part in a private Facebook group - All Hail the Queen - in which members pretend to be ants in an ant colony.

The concept is as simple as the rules. “In this group we are ants,” reads the description. “We worship The Queen and do ant stuff. Welcome to the colony.” As long as you’re kind, avoid politics, don’t employ any hate speech or bullying, remember that your name is Ant-yourname (e.g. this reporter is Ant-Travis) and always capitalize the first letters of the words “The Queen,” you’ll be graciously accepted as a member — which basically means when another “ant” posts a photo of food, or of an attacking insect, you can respond in the comments with the appropriate command, be it “LIFT,” “EAT” or “BITE.” (Source: Washington Post)

The first thing that popped into my mind when I read about this group was: duh?

And then I thought, why not? Life is pretty grim and constrained these days. It can be relentlessly ugly, depressing and exhausting. So if you want to amuse yourself by dubbing yourself Ant-Maureen and having your ant alter-ego carry crumbs away from a picnic, why not. I'm not going to the spoiler to stomp on the ant hill, spray Raid around, or put out the ant cups. 

“We are social animals. We have a need to belong to a group, and in this case, the group is one that doesn’t have a lot of seriousness,” said Erin Dupuis, a psychology professor at Loyola University in New Orleans who has studied the social benefits in playing massive multiplayer online role-playing games. She pointed to social identity theory, which, boiled down to its most basic level, suggests that “when we belong to groups, we feel better” — no matter what kind of group that is.

Well, I don't necessarily that joining an ant colony would make me feel any better. But as my parents always told us when we were kids, we were "not everyone else."

The group was founded a year ago by college student Tyrese Childs.  

He had seen a group where millennials and Gen Z-ers pretend to be boomers, which led him to ones where people pretend to be cows and farmers.

Pretend to be boomers? Ptui! I bet these young folks don't even get it half-right. Accept no substitutes. On the other hand, cows and farmers, okay.

Childs found that the other groups were too crowded. Inspired by an anthill, Childs began a Facebook anthill of his own as a "kind of stupid" but "pretty funny" thang to do with his friends. 

After a while, Childs lost interest, only to check in after a while to find out that there were 10,000 members. Then, with the pandemic, things went viral:

The group has now reached the point where Michael Melcher and the 100-plus other administrators and moderators sift through thousands of posts, approving ones that fit the rules. They mainly have to weed out human stuff.

Members are a combo of the pandemic bored looking for a bit of amusement, and those who study the behavior and biology of actual ants. So fun and educational! And moderating a group is no more time-wasting than my scrolling through Twitter to check out the latest maddening whatever that's happening out there. 

I was educated just by reading the WaPo article. I had not known that workers ants aren't male. They're female. So a researcher who's part of the group got members to stop using he/him/his when referring to worker ants. 

Sounds like we could use a Rosie the Riveter screen bean! 

How is it possible that these guys are still performing?

It's nearly twenty years in the rear-view mirror, but in 2003 there was an horrific fire at a nightclub outside of Providence, Rhode Island. The band that was playing that night, Great White, was a low-rent heavy metal band that had been kicking around since the late seventies. One hundred people were killed in the fire, including one of the band members. Many of the survivors suffered terrible burns (not to mention major psychological trauma). 

The band's manager, who had set off the pyrotechnics that ignited the acoustic tile that set the fire off, ended up with a prison sentence. (This fellow also emerged as one of the good guys of the incident, taking full responsibility for his actions, pleading guilty to spare the victims' families the pain of the trial, and writing personal apology notes to each of those families.) One of the nightclub's owners also did time. 

But the band, apparently, played on, one-hit wonders still performing around the country. 

Maybe it's just me, but I find it amazing that they're still in business. Maybe it's just me, but I would have changed the band's name. 

The only reason I know they're still in existence is because their recent concert in Dickinson, North Dakota, got some air play because most of the members of the audience weren't wearing masks or practicing social distancing. Given that Great White is a low-rent heavy metal band, this doesn't surprise me. And, truly, I don't see why it would be their fault that their fans would show up for a concert unmasked. IMHO, it would be up to the venue to enforce the high-stakes 2020 version of "no shirt-no shoes-no service."

Nevertheless, Great White took some heat for their decision to take to the stage. And ended up issuing an apology: 

"We understand that there are some people who are upset that we performed this show, during this trying time," the band wrote in a statement obtained by CNN of the performance in Dickinson, North Dakota, last Thursday.

"North Dakota's government recommends masks be worn, however, we are not in a position to enforce the laws. We have had the luxury of hindsight and we would like to apologize to those who disagree with our decision to fulfill our contractual agreement," Great White stated. "We are far from perfect." (Source: CNN)

Seems to me that the ones who should have been apologizing were the concert organizers. But, no. 

First On First: Dickinson Summer Nights event coordinator April Getz told the Dickinson Press (via Blabbermouth) of the city’s plan to hold concerts despite coronavirus, “We do not have restrictions, believe it or not, we don’t have any. I guess it’s one of the first events this year that didn’t get canceled and was approved by the city; we’re all very, very excited about it… It’s one of those things where if people feel comfortable coming down and mixing and mingling, that’s their personal choice. We’re leaving it up to everybody that chooses to attend.” (Source: Rolling Stone)

Love to see that the live free or die spirit isn't just for folks from New Hampshire.

And I just don't get the "personal choice" thang. Would these folks also maintain that stopping for red light is a personal choice? Is there no sense of the common good? Of you protect me, I'll protect you?

Yes, the risk of catching COVID at the concert was probably low. It was held outdoors, and the chance of transmission when you're outside is less than when you're indoor. Still, the attendees were packed together. And no doubt singing along to Great White's greatest hit. So, little droplets were definitely ponging around. It wouldn't kill people to wear a mask. It might kill them and those around them not to.

Anyway, other than the type of audience they're likely to attract, I don't see why any of this is Great White's fault. It's not like setting off pyrotechnics in a jam-packed, shoddily built nightclub.

I'm just amazed to see they're still floating around after all these years. Maybe the Stationhouse fire notoriety has been good for business. 

They have plenty of shows coming up, by the way. If you're anywhere near Sturgis, SD on August 12, you might want to swing by the Sturgis Buffalo Chip to see if anyone's wearing a mask. Meanwhile, Great White also has a store, where you can buy the predictable stuff - tee-shirts - and the less predictable merch - beard oil. May I suggest that they also add face masks to their offerings? Might just be their second greatest hit.

So you won't mind when Ivanka and Jared show up

You don't need to know a ton about the aftermath of World War II to know that, after the war ended, a number of prominent Nazis made their way via "ratline" to South America. Adolf Eichmann settled in Argentina. Josef Mengele made his way to Paraguay. Klaus Barbie relocated to Bolivia. 

And for countries that weren't able to import enough Nazis on their own, there was the fictional story, The Boys from Brazil, which was all about growing Hitler clones.

Anyway, most of us are at least vaguely aware of the Nazi-South American connection. What I'd never heard about Brazil's connection to the Confederacy:

It’s one of history’s lesser-known episodes. After the Civil War, thousands of defeated Southerners came to Brazil to self-exile in a country that still practiced slavery... 

The newspapers called it “Brazilian fever.” With the war lost, thousands of Southerners, fearful of living under Northern rule among freed slaves, were seeking other opportunities. Some pushed for Mexico. Others for Venezuela. But Brazil, which wouldn’t abolish slavery for another 23 years, proved to be the most attractive of countries.

Emperor Dom Pedro II, a fierce advocate of the South during the war, tried to induce their immigration, offering free transport, cheap land and an easy path to citizenship. Before long, Southerners sailed out from New Orleans and Mobile, Ala., for Rio de Janeiro. Eventually, between 8,000 and 20,000 immigrated.

“Move here and buy land,” Col. Charles Gunter urged in a letter to the Charleston Mercury newspaper in 1868. “We have here a beautiful place for our village, in the center of rich land, and on a grand river.”

But historians say one of the central draws was a country where Southerners could freeze time and continue a lifestyle that had been put to a violent end in the United States. In journals, one bragged about how inexpensive Brazilian slaves were; another lamented that they couldn’t bring recently freed American slaves to Brazil. (Source: WaPo)

So much for the notion that the Civil War was not fought over slavery.

The confederados, as the immigrants were known, brought more than their slave-owning propensity with them. 

"They also brought the ideology of white supremacy and racial terrorism from the United States South to Brazil.."

And they were involved in at least one lynching.

Just what Brazil needed, I'm quite sure.

This is all coming to light because Brazil is having its own reckoning with racism, in part around an annual festival - hoop skirts, Confederate flags, re-enactors and all - run by descendants  of those immigrants and dedicated to the celebration of Dixie heritage. Much of the growing opposition to the festival has been prompted by what's been going on in the United States: Dylan Roof and the Charleston church massacre. The demonstrations in Charlottesville. The BLM response to the murder of George Floyd.

All of a sudden, folks are looking at those hoop skirts and Rebel yell flags - something that up until now has been something of a footnoted quirk in Brazil's history - through a different lens. The confederados have by now been pretty well-assimilated into overall Brazilian culture and society. But they've stuck with the Confederate festival, and what some of them really want to do is keep waving the Confederate flag.

The festival was canceled this year, thanks to Covid. But the issue, like the pandemic, isn't going away anytime soon. 

Reading about this obscure bit of history does have me thinking about where the most ardent of Trumpists would flee if and when their reign of dishonesty, incompetence and greed ends. Especially those Trumpists who may have engaged in activities that might be a smidge on the illegal side.

Saudi Arabia is a possible hideout, but it might not be all that much fun and games, unless the Trumpists could have their own compound, one that follows American rules and lets women drive cars and appear in public without being covered up. 

Russia's an obvious choice, even though it's probably not that much of haven if you're a golfer.

South America, with lots of country options, might be an excellent choice. Decent weather. Mostly speaks a language that's easier to learn than Arabic or Russian. 

Sure there's abject poverty, but that probably doesn't scare anyone coming from the US of A. And to counterbalance that, there are plenty of affluent communities. 

And I bet there are some swell golf courses. 

I don't know what our extradition treaties are with countries in South America, but that info is probably plenty easy to find. 

Ivanka's been promoting a jobs initiative called "Find Something New." Maybe she and Jared should think about taking their own advice. 

Reddit's got just what Wayfair doesn't need

I worked for many years for a software company that had a product called ATF. This stood for Automated Test Facility, but it was universally (if we had a universe beyond our company and our meager client base) called ATF. One element of the product was called the ATF Agent. This was in the early 1990's, and our product's time in the market pretty much coincided with increasing prominence for the Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms Bureau. Yes, that ATF. Branch Davidians at Waco. Oklahoma City bombings. ATF and ATF Agents were much in the news.

Occasionally, our cage would be rattled by some conspiracy theorists attempt to tie us to that ATF. No, we would have to explain, our software won't spy on your company. No, Janet Reno doesn't work here.

Thankfully, all of this occurred pre-social media, so we just had to deal with call-in and walk-by (at trade show) crazies. We didn't have to worry about viral craziness.

Not so Wayfair.

They've spent the last week dousing the conspiracy fires set on Reddit that have the company involved in child trafficking.

As the conspiracy theory goes, Wayfair has been selling some suspiciously expensive utility cabinets. 

Admittedly, $14,999.99 does seem like an awful lot to pay for a cabinet that looks like something you could get at Home Deport for $149.99, but maybe it's lined with mink. Or gold. Or gold and mink.  The conspiracy theorists, of course, were theorizing that the cabinets cost so much because they contain a trafficked child. More "proof" to the conspiracy-minded mind was that the cabinets also had names that were the same as those of children who had disappeared. 

"There is, of course, no truth to these claims," a Wayfair spokesperson wrote in a statement emailed to WCVB. "As a major consumer brand, we respond to customer questions every day, however, it is unfortunate when false allegations become a distraction when there are so many more important issues that matter to our employees and our customers that we as a company are focused on."

The internet fact-checkers at Snopes reached the same conclusion, determining that the conspiracy theory was completely false. (Source: WCVB)

Ellen DeGeneres has also found herself pulled in, based on a pillow from her collection on Wayfair was mysteriously priced at $10,098 in one section on their site, and at $99 on another. 

I've never looked for a storage cabinet on Wayfair, but I have spent more time than I care to admit looking through pillows on there, and I never noticed one for $10K. Of course, I generally quit searching for the perfect throw pillow somewhere between page 378 and page 442 of Wayfair pillows. Perhaps if I had persevered I would have found this expensive goody. 

Anyway, the conspiracy theorists somehow divined that the Ellen pillow was code for ordering a child, perhaps delivered with their head on that pillow. So Ellen DeGeneres' squad had to also fend off crazy accusations. She may have welcomed steering the conversation from the way she treats employees - rumored to be awful - to the batshittery of this latest version of Pizzagate. 

It's not just rumors about Wayfair directly shipping children:

Another part of the theory claimed that product SKUs could be used to find images of young children on a Russian website. Others even tried to link it to the Jeffrey Epstein scandal. (Source: Popculture)

As these theories do, the Redditor responsible for kicking the theory off began their quest for truth when they found that their suspicions that something untoward was happening at Wayfair had company on Facebook.  Facebook confirmation in hand - and we know what a fine source FB is of the truthiness of truth - the Reddit user - who claims to be involved with an "organization that helps victims of human trafficking:'

... said the Reddit post was not meant to be an accusation, but just an attempt to reach out to "see if anyone else had more details."

Reddit being Reddit, no one thought there was anything accusatory going on. No, not that. Reddit being Reddit, hah!

The Reddit post gained so much traction that the theory migrated to Twitter. Users there found other examples of high-priced products, like a $9,999.00 shower curtain that looked very similar to another shower curtain being sold for just $99.99, notes Snopes. The Twitter user who shared these screenshots linked the situation to Wayfair supplying furniture for ICE detention centers "where children have gone MISSING from."

I'm guessing that the exorbitantly priced pillow and shower curtain will turn out to be items that were mis-marked. That said, someone who'd pay $14K for a storage cabinet might be willing to go $10K for a shower curtain.

In any case, what a crazy time we live in. Although it's probably easier to respond to crackpot conspiracy rumors than it is to explain away actual crappy things your company is involved in (as was the case with the sales to ICE), I'm just as glad I'm not the one having to do any communications for Wayfair.