Hot Pockets®

Last month I ate some of those recalled Hot Pockets the USDA found to contain meat from 'diseased' and 'unsound' animals. What is an unsound animal? A cat with no feet? Anyway, I decided to reach out to Nestle to learn the next steps.

I was initially discouraged to see they blocked my messages, but then I discovered that Hot Pockets removed the ability to message their Facebook page altogether. I can't help but feel partially responsible. Anyway, this morning I received a UPS Next Day Air envelope containing a letter from Nestle and a bunch of coupons.

Never forget.

Childbirth Class Chronicles

I don't want to get kicked in the leg tomorrow so I am recycling some old material that I posted on Facebook last year. Please enjoy the Childbirth Class Chronicles. Expecting fathers may find this post more helpful than an actual childbirth class.

WEEK ONE. 

they don't give out grades at childbirth class, but if they did, i got an A. probably only a B for kate since she asked a question that had already been answered. biggest takeaway: the birth is harder on the woman than the man.

WEEK TWO. 

watched a couple videos that had to be rated at least NC-17, would have appreciated a heads up on that. also learned there is very little offered in the way of support or medication for the father. biggest takeaway: in order to relieve the mother's pain, they drill a hole into her spine and jam stuff in it.

WEEK THREE. 

still at the head of the class. even made a joke tonight to show everyone i'm not all brains and good looks. tonight we learned that mothers have several ways to combat labor pain including bouncing on a ball, leaning against a wall, sitting in a chair backward like fonzie, or simply by ignoring the father. biggest takeaway: a c-section is a little worse than a saw movie.

WEEK FOUR. 

i'd like to use this update to discuss the people in our class rather than the content. tonight we parked early and saw a couple leave the dome light on in their car. walked into class and found they'd also taken the seats kate and i usually occupy (in the back, where cool people sit to learn). i still told them about their dome light folly and the father went and turned it off, therein avoiding a dead battery for the drive home. upon his return i was a little disappointed to hear no talk of a reward or even giving up our seats. another mother insists on asking five (or more) questions every week, costing us an extra 10-20 minutes of class time, and it's adding up. i hope she has a really long labor. during the break our teacher played a song by Maroon 5 that drives me up the wall, so instead of using the break to relax i made the following observations of the class:

1) hipsters have kids too.
2) some fathers already seem frantic.
3) every chick in the class is getting bigger.
4) just like in 7th grade, when the teacher tells us something especially disgusting the class deals with it via robust giggling.
5) i think several people look forward to class purely for the free snacks, which are of marginal quality.

i was planning to raise my hand tonight and suggest a pizza party for our final week but now i'm not feelin that idea anymore. gonna try to get over all this stuff and bring a better attitude to class next week. i think my negativity prevented me from being the exemplary student i usually am, which isn't fair to the rest of the class. still, i managed to learn a few things. biggest takeaway: in the weeks after birth, mothers often sweat a lot more and also lose a bunch of hair.

WEEK FIVE. 

tonight was too much. feel sorta traumatized, like when they showed the car wrecks in driver's ed class. kinda wanna wash my eyes with bleach. gonna go to bed early and try to forget as much as i can. i'll post a proper update tomorrow. goodnight, moon.

WEEK SIX. 

the last class. diane didn't give us final grades but on the way out she gave me a look that said 'you got an A.' the first thing we did was have the all fathers change the diaper of a plastic practice baby. i've never handled a diaper before but i was the first one done. was still feeling jazzed up from the packers win and almost spiked the baby, but exercised restraint instead. kind of worried about kate's swaddling skill set. i was making tight burritos worthy of a chipotle wrapper and kate was putting up loose meat sandwiches. learned that one reason a baby's arms get swaddled down is they'll periodically wake up and see their arm and get confused as to who it is and become too upset to sleep anymore. does my dog know whose tail that is? does he chase it because he's worried it's another dog? when does a baby become smarter than a dog? diane asked if any of us were a colicy baby and kate was one of just two people to raise their hand. later i told her i wasn't cool with that and she just demonstrated more baby colic symptoms. was disappointed no sort of yearbook got passed out. baby class is all done and we are about a month away from a baby. a gumbo of anxiety, excitement and terror is reaching a simmer in my gut. going to swaddle myself and sleep til dawn while i still can.

EPILOGUE. 

kind of missing childbirth class tonight. e-mailing diane about rounding up the old crew for a reunion. maybe i can also help out with future classes? kind of like when professor lambeau would pop into robin williams' classroom in good will hunting. who knows, maybe she will ask me to take the next savant under my wing and maybe somehow i hang out with ben affleck a little bit. also realized i don't know where to park when all this goes down, never saw a valet.

La Cuisine d'Anna

No Country For Old Pubes

Last Tuesday morning I got an idea.

I caught some NFL highlights and a particular image stuck with me. Scores flew across the bottom of the screen over a shot of Tom Brady trotting into the tunnel after a win. Some hopeful fans reached out for high fives and one fan really captivated me. This guy’s face was deformed with adoration. Gaze transfixed, mouth agape, spittle flecks airborne. Torso flung over the railing at an angle that told me falling twelve feet on top of Tom Brady would be worth it just to touch Tom Brady. He loved Tom Brady. I saw this man’s face for less than a second and I felt confident he would trade his children for one ride on a ferris wheel with Tom.

People love sports, especially sports heroes. How deep does that love run? How fanatical are fans? How crazy are we? I made the Craigslist ad below to find some answers.

click on ad to enlarge

I also included this photo.

the parcel

I posted the ad around 11am. By 4pm it got picked up by MSN, FOX, Deadspin, City Pages, Business Insider and a couple dozen blogs and fan sites. If you google ‘favre pubes’ or ‘game worn pubes’ you can find a lot of interesting discussion about this. Some people are really disgusted while others just really want the pubes. When I woke up on Wednesday I had e-mails from the KFAN morning show offering me the full $200 and wanting to talk on the air. By Wednesday afternoon Craigslist had taken my ad down, though I’d already received inquiries from about twenty interested buyers. Some of them wanted to haggle while others were ready to meet up ASAP with the full $200. None of the e-mails became as wild as my exchange with Bruce, but I will share my favorite excerpts. Yes, these are completely authentic quotes from very real e-mails.

“I’m a serious buyer.”

“Hello, I am a serious buyer.”

“First off, I'm a serious buyer.”

“I'm not a crazy person or anything.”

“Listen im not crazy or anything I just want the pubes.”

“Look I’m not a weirdo I just think this is awesome and I gotta have it.”

“I am extremely interested in Brett Favres pubes.”

“Can you call me ASAP my name is Mark and I'm a HUGE Vikes fan.”

“The Powertrip on KFAN MUST HAVE THESE!!!!!!!   PLEASE CALL ME OR EMAIL ME”

“I really would love to have this treasure, so I would be willing to make a trade for them.”

“I live in Bloomington and wil lpay the $200 aksing. Can meet tonight or tomorrow.”

“200 cash I’m in Edina I can meet you anywhere in half an hour.”

“50 bucks. I’ll meet you anywhere. Right now. Let’s do it.”

“I think it would be cool to add to my Vikes collection.”

“Do these come with a certificate of authenticity?”

“Do you have a DNA test?”

“Do you have a better pictuer?

“Are you really Jenn Sterger?”

“Are you Brett Favre?”

“Are they grey?”

“I am wondering if you or your brother knows anyone who still works in the equipments rooms of an NFL or NCAA football team who could get their hands on game-used compression shorts or jockstraps. I'd be willing to pay big money for such items. Discretion guaranteed (for everyone's sake).”

At best, I’ve put forth an amusing prank that spotlights our advanced mania for sports heroes and internet commerce. At worst, I came close to selling some hair from a dark patch on my dog’s tail for $200 to some idiot. Either way I learned something—don’t know what it is, but I learned something. The goal was never to swindle anyone so I didn’t sell the goods, but now that I’ve come clean I am lowering the price to a cool $20. A friend pointed out to me that someone has probably brought this to Favre’s attention by now. I can’t picture Brett using the internet, so I imagine him on his riding mower when a svelte assistant in Wrangler cut off jean shorts walks across his lawn and shows him the story on an iPad. I picture Brett shaking his head, lighting a cigarette, and riding off into a lake.

"I don't know what to make of that. I sure don't." 
-Sheriff Ed Tom Bell