Heading to the farmers market

This summer, I’m going to try something that I’ve never tried before. I’m going to go to an outdoor farmers market. I guess there’s something like five different farmers markets that are open every weekend during the summer that are literally within a two mile radius of me – I’m actually baffled as to how I’ve never been to one of them before.

In any case, I figured that a farmers market would be a good way of ensuring that I get my ass out of my apartment on nice summer days, and it’ll also be nice to get some fresh ingredients that I don’t normally see at our local Whole Foods. But, like everything else in my life, there’s a catch.

Typically, I try not to go to any store unsupervised. I’m what I’d like to call a compulsive buyer. Some people say don’t go to the supermarket when you’re hungry, because you’ll end up buying more than you need. Well, that applies to me ALL THE TIME. I can be going to the drugstore to pick up a bottle of Aspirin. Chances are I’ll come back with 3-5 rolls of toilet paper, 2 magazines, an industrial size bag of Doritos, and an umbrella. Oh, and a hamster. But no bottle of Aspirin.

I went to a movie a few years ago with my mom, my sister, and Wifey. After we had all grabbed our seats, my mom asked me to go grab two sodas, and one medium popcorn for us all to share. I ended up coming back with 4 sodas, 3 large popcorns, and nachos. However, I feel like this wasn’t entirely my fault. The teenage girl at the counter convinced me that by slightly increasing the quantity, and the sizes of the items, that I would in fact be getting more bang for my buck. Since then, Wifey has been the one purchasing the popcorn.

So, here’s my concern... You put me in an open air market, I’m likely coming home with a boatload of perishable goods that I didn’t intend to buy, that will likely be of no use to us – even though it makes so much sense at the time.



What do you mean we don’t have any use for this bird feeder that also doubles as a cheese grater?!?! We use it 27 times and it practically pays for itself! And you tell me where you can find African Horned Melons that only cost $29.31 per pound – it’s a steal!



- Jack Asher

An Ode to Bloggers

From time to time, I hop onto blogspot, and just continuously press “next blog” until I find something that looks moderately interesting. Why do I do this? Well naturally, I do it so I can plagiarize, er, so I can see what novel ideas other bloggers are coming up with.

Sadly, 9 times out of 10, I’m sorely disappointed. It seems to be that the vast majority of bloggers out there fall into three distinct categories: The ‘rents, the artsy, and the dark.


The ‘Rents

It seems like every other blog on blogspot is by some new mother or father, talking about how cute, gifted, and/or hilarious their child is. If people really cared about how adorable children (who don't belong to them) are, Bill Crosby would still be relevant with “Kids Say the Darndest Things” – however, the people have spoken, and we have reached the consensus that we’d rather watch Snooki get into a fist fight on Jersey Shore. Don’t get me wrong – I love kids. I have a bunch of nieces and nephews, and I think they’re the greatest thing since sliced bread, but that doesn’t mean that the rest of the world needs to know about their daily activities including but not limited to napping, pooping, and eating. You want your friends and family to know about all that stuff, send it in an email – otherwise it’s just kinda creepy.

The Artsy

I never realized that blogs were used to showcase people’s photography or illustrations before I started clicking through blogspot. I don’t really understand it. I mean – I guess blogspot is free, so it’s a decent way of getting your ‘work’ out there… but my guess is that there are a pretty limited number of people out there who share your interest in cartoon robots fighting cartoon dragons. Just seems a bit counter-productive is all I’m sayin’. Besides, it’s been my experience that artsy people are usually pretty decent at computer type stuff in general – why not just make your own website to show off your sweet photos of a plastic bag fluttering around in a breeze – simply beautiful.

The Dark

These are the hardest blogs for me to actually get through. I often times have to click out of them before I have a chance to read them all the way through – lest I find myself wearing black nail polish, and eyeliner, crying to the tunes of Marilyn Manson. Time was when depressed kids used to like living the solitary life; I guess now they feel the need to get out there and share their feelings. I guess it’s a step in a right direction, I just kinda hope that I continue to avoid whatever direction they’re going in.


Perhaps I’m being a bit unfair. Every once in a blue moon, I do come across some gem of a blog which is exactly what I’m looking for. Not only do these blogs act as a great means of entertainment, but I think they actually help me write a bit better in my own blog. Here’s a thanks to a few blogs I’ve come across that I think are great… and I’m sure there’s many that I’m forgetting:



Adventures of crazy dog lady and home improvement girl
http://acdl-hig.tumblr.com/post/454408774/dear-world?ref=nf

LIAH – Life inside Andrews head
http://lifeinsideandrewshead.com/?expref=next-blog

From the Minds that brought you ‘Beansy’
http://sheepship.blogspot.com/?expref=next-blog


- Jack Asher

Dodging Bullets - Part III

Wifey was sick this week… like really sick. You can always tell when she’s sick because she would normally never take a day off of work if she could make it in (she’s got a little thing I like to call “Work Ethic”), and this week, she took off 2 days in a row. I even suggested that she take off a 3rd day, but she was having none of that.

I have friends and co-workers who get sick when they even hear a person with a sniffle, let alone live in small quarters and sleep in the same bed, with someone who’s practically on their deathbed. Whenever someone’s sick in the office, one of my co-workers feels it necessary to break out the Lysol and go to town on everything near her desk – it doesn’t matter that the sick person works as far away as you can physically be in our office.

But have I had any symptoms of being sick this week? Nope. I haven’t so much as coughed once in the past week, thanks to my nearly indestructible immune system. Honestly, you put my immune system up against the best of them – I’ll win every time. This guy just doesn’t get sick. Hungover, yes; Sick, no.

So come at me with whatever sickness you got, I ain’t worried. It’ll just be another bullet dodged.




- Jack Asher

Why I deserve to be rich...

Everyone wants to be wealthy. It’s just a given. Not everyone, however, truly deserves to be wealthy. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve to be wealthy… a more appropriate title for this post would be “Why I want to be rich”.

Here’s the deal. I’m not the type of guy who can see myself being a multi millionaire at my current age, and just retire to some beach for the rest of my life. While that would be fun for some time, boredom would most definitely set in.

Really, I want to be rich so I can start a business. What kind of business… I have no clue. But there is no doubt in my mind, that at one point in my life I want to be the owner of a business. Just a couple of problems I’m facing with that… First off, I have no capital to start a business – hell, I don’t even have the collateral for a bank to give me a business loan. More importantly, I don’t have a solid idea of what kind of business I’d want to start. Here’s just a brief smattering of business ideas I’ve had in the past 4 minutes or so:

- Franchise Owner (Dunkin Donuts, here I come)
- Small shop of some sort that depends on a lot of walk-in traffic
- Vineyard owner and operator
- Restaurant/Bar Owner
- Successful Blogger (haha, right)
- Pet walking company – cause I like dogs, and walking
- Gym Owner
- Real Estate Mogul – think Donald Trump minus the comb-over

Of course, I would love some more suggestions - seriously.

See, if I were rich, I could get moving on one (or many) of these ideas. Of course I’d put all my effort into it, but if somehow it didn’t work out, hey… no big deal. The bank wouldn’t be knockin’ on my door, and I wouldn’t have to worry about where my next meal is coming from.


There’s this executive who used to come into my old job and speak to the newer employees there. This guy’s worth something ridiculous, like $50 Million (No exaggeration). He said, there are 5 ways people can become rich: 1) Work for it 2) Win in 3) Steal it 4) Inherit it, or 5) Invest it.

Well, the way I see it. I’m not going to win it anytime soon because I don’t gamble much, and never play the lotto. I’m not going to steal it because, well, I’m just not going to do that. I doubt I’ll be inheriting any money at any time in the foreseeable future, and I don’t have any money to invest. I guess this means I have to work for it.

F***!



- Jack Asher

Thank you, Please come again!

I had a sit-down with my boss the other day, and he asked me if I’d like to take on a new territory. Because of the way my bonuses work, the larger the territory I cover, the more opportunity I have to make boatloads of money (something I haven’t done yet, but I’m working hard on – in between blogs, that is). So, of course I jump to say yes before I find out anything about it.

Turns out this new territory is India. Not to be confused with Indiana, I’m talking about the friggin’ country of India - where Indians, not to be confused with Native American’s, reside.

Now, there are a couple of slight problems that come along with this new territory. The first of which being that my boss wants me in the office at 6AM at least three days a week to make calls to these executives in India, where it’ll be approximately 4:30PM. Whatever - I can deal with getting up early, and it means that I can leave a bit early too, which will spare me a couple hours of listening to the middle-aged coworkers that act as a nagging surround-sound.

The other problem I didn’t think about until just yesterday, when I spoke to the account executive I’ll be working with who’s stationed in India, whose name is Neeraj. I could barely understand one word this guy was saying. I was expecting an accent on par with Apu’s from the Simpsons… who would have thought that a reliable source of knowledge like the Simpsons could have been so far off? This accent was something else, and it just made me realize that if I can’t understand what the guy I’m working with is saying, how the hell am I going to understand what the prospects are telling me? I guess it'll be easier to not take “no” for an answer when I can't understand when they're saying "no".


We’ll just have to wait and see how this goes.


- Jack Asher

It would only happen to me...

I’ll be honest with you - some days, I just don’t feel like writing a blog. Either I just don't have a good idea on hand, or I just don’t have the motivation to put my awesomely awesome ideas down on paper. Today, it’s a bit of both. But, I owe it to my 2 ½ readers to put something on this damn blog – it’s my responsibility.

So, instead of coming up with a new idea for this post, I just dug deep into the memory bank, and pulled out this gem. Just so you know, this story is 100% accurate. I am not making up any of the details, and several of my friends, including wifey, can attest to this.

I was a victim of a drive-by pie-ing.

It must have been 4 or 5 years ago by now. And as most good stories go, it happened after some drinking. The 108 boys (Petey Pancakes included) and I were pre-gaming at our apartment, and we had a couple of out of town guests over.

With Petey Pancakes there, I should have known that it wouldn’t have been an ordinary night. After heading to the bar, I decide that I’m going to head home a little earlier than the other guys, and avoid whatever Shenanigans were in store.

When I was almost home, I got a call from one of the roommates; apparently one of our guests was kicked out of the bar for being too drunk, or being underage, or both for all I know. Anyways, he asked if I would meet her and show her back to our place since she didn’t know the area well. Me, being the gentleman that I am, say yes.

After a couple minutes of waiting, a red mini-cooper pulls up to the curb, rolls down the passenger side window, and asks me where Hemenway Street is.

Now, these people would either have to be extremely drunk, or extremely dim-witted to not realize that they were literally right in front of Hemenway Street. It was literally 5 feet ahead of them.

“You’re practically on it, it’s this street right here” I say, and point to the sign that’s right above them.

“What? We can’t hear you… say it again!?”

I get a little closer, and repeat, “Hemenway Street? This is it, right here”.

“What? Come closer!”

I get a little closer, and out of nowhere, a whipped cream pie is being hurled at my face. I felt like Marc Summers, circa 1995.

Now, those of you who know me must be kind of surprised by this. After all, my Spidey Senses must have been tingling, and even if they weren’t, my cat-like reflexes should have been more than sufficient for me to dodge this flying dessert. I guess that even Spidey Senses can be dulled after a night full of drinking.

Now I’m standing on the street, completely dumbfounded, and covered in whipped cream – which luckily for me was delicious.

I go home, clean myself up, and tell my friends this story. They find it more comical than I do. I beg them all, please, just don’t laugh. I know it’s a funny situation, and I’ll definitely find the humor in this all tomorrow, but for right now, just let me be fuming mad. They wouldn’t give me this one request.

Years later, as I look back at this whole situation, it is indeed very funny. I mean, not since Nickelodeon has a pie in the face been so widely accepted. But as harmless as this prank turned out, think about this…

What if I were diabetic?


- Jack Asher

Dodging Bullets - Part II

It’s an unsettling feeling seeing your HR person coming down your row of cubicles, especially after two co-workers have recently been let go. It was even more unsettling when this happened to me the other day - given my general lack of interest in my position here and daily, barely audible, wishes that this place would burn to the ground.

Now, I know what you’re all thinking… This would really be a blessing in disguise. Finally a chance for me to pursue my lifelong dream of starting my own [Insert awesome idea] company! Not the case though. As much as this job sucks, it’s still a job, and I should be thanking my lucky stars that they haven’t figured out that it was me who’s been telling the customers that our competition is more fairly priced all along.

So this HR lady’s walking down the row, slowly… and it couldn’t be worse for me had she been holding an empty box that says “Jack Asher’s Personal Crap” on the front of it. Then, she stops.


“Just wanted to let all of you guys know that we’re going to be re-doing all of these cubes so you have a little more room, and higher walls”.


Wait… so, I’m not getting fired today, AND you’re giving me more privacy so I can write my blogs during work hours without anyone seeing? Next stop, the corner office!



Another bullet dodged.



- Jack Asher