As you might have gathered from last month’s post on their astoundingly high-tech new pickle jars, Grillo’s is a pretty prominent player among pickle purveyors. It wasn’t always that way, however. The company’s humble beginnings include a 2009 pickle cart used to sell their wares near Boston’s Park Street subway station (2 spears for a buck). Sales from that goofy cart were good enough that the company eventually opened a retail storefront in Cambridge.

At the time, I remember thinking “Weird. A pickle store?” How wrong I was. That retail space had a successful multi-year run, and though it has since closed, the brand can now be found in grocery stores across the country.

On a recent visit to New York City with his family, friend-of-the-site Scott S. came across Grillo’s in the Big Apple. After returning home, he sent me this image:

[Photo credit: Scott S.]

He also replayed the conversation he had at the time:

• Me, to my family: Oh, that’s funny, I was just catching up on my friend Paul’s blog and he had a whole thing about their containers. They’re just about to change them because the old jars were… guys? Where did you go?

I told Scott that if he really wanted to entertain his family, he should tell them about the company’s very necessary lawsuits against competitors Patriot Pickle. Working with those perfidious Wahlbergs, the company has misled customers about the presence of preservatives in their products, and possibly even stolen the century-old Grillo’s family recipe. Treachery abounds!

But let us focus on happier things. Scott’s message alerted me to the existence of a Grillo’s Pickles pop-up in New York City. My guess was that it was in Lower Manhattan, and once I found the exact address, I confirmed that it was extremely close to the residence of my pal Matt. I immediately texted my good friend about it, certain he would be game for some nonsense. He didn’t let me down. Mere minutes after my first text about the pop-up, Matt was there and sharing this photo with me:

[Photo credit: Matt]

Instantly, my eye was drawn to the lower right. Fortunately, Matt had sent this as a Live Photo, which showed a pickle ride in all its splendor:

You can probably already guess where this went:

Matt certainly saw my request coming, as his negative reply came back before he’d even had a chance to read it. I stand by what I said, and add that a pickle ride would make a perfect dating profile pic.

While Matt sent me pictures of the store’s ridiculous collection of pickle-related merch, I continued to urge him to mount that pickle. You only get one shot at life, and when you’re offered a mechanical pickle to ride, you must hop on.

Finally, after much cajoling, Matt provided this:

[Photo credit: Anonymous 20-something woman]

Part of the delay was caused by a trio of young women conducting an extensive photo shoot, replete with a wide variety of poses. When it was finally his turn, Matt went with a pose he referred to as “Shameful Pickle”. Outstanding.

I’m absolutely pickled tink with these shenanigans, and I’m thankful for the help of two different friends. I hope you enjoyed it all as well. If you’re in the New York City area, consider this your invitation to take your own free pickle ride. Hustle over to 2 Rivington Street just as quick as you can, though, because you’ve only got one more day.

On a recent trip to Trader Joe’s, I found myself concerned about my own mental health and well-being. The issue arose when I grabbed some “Classic Hamburger Buns” off the shelf, which I use to handle my burger-related needs, and indeed the needs of all manner of patty-based sandwiches:

[Photo credit: P. Kafasis]

I’ve purchased this product for many years. The Atomic Age design of the package, particularly the colorful ketchup and mustard, has long brought me joy. However, on this day, I was less than joyful. When I looked carefully at the buns, I grew disoriented. I felt almost as though I had slipped into another dimensions. Something wasn’t right. Something was missing. These buns were wholly unadorned. But…they’d always had sesame seeds on them…hadn’t they?

Flummoxed, I spent an unreasonable amount of time perusing the shelves. I thought perhaps there were two varieties of bun, one with sesame seeds and one without. I came up empty, however. I put the package in the top of my shopping cart and attempted to move on. I distracted myself by thinking about how the cart’s top shelf is a great place to put delicate items, so long as you don’t have a toddler in there. If you do have a toddler in there, it’s probably the absolute worst place to put your delicate items.

I couldn’t shake it though. Those damned buns were missing their sesame seeds, I was sure of it. I marched over to the in-store computer, and attempted to find the product. As I jabbed my finger at that laggy touchscreen, a helpful employee asked if he could assist me instead. I explained the predicament, and I saw his reality give out as well. Now we were both adrift in a sea of confusion.

Fortunately, the store had an internal system he could consult. In just a few seconds, he found a message which gave us our answer. In 2023, the FDA added sesame to their group of major food allergens.¹ As a result, TJ’s had indeed denuded their buns. Vindication! With that, I checked out and headed home.

Later, as I tried to describe this unsettling experience to a friend, I tracked down a helpful reference image in an ancient product review:

[Photo credit: Brenda Sickles]

Ah, the buns as they once were. Look at them. They look spectacular! If you inspect carefully, you can see that Trader Joe’s tweaked the package every so slightly following the product change. The buns are now described as simply “Soft and slightly sweet”, with the previous text of “topped with sesame seeds” having been removed.

As I imagine some readers will know, the title for this post comes from the late, great Mitch Hedberg. The track “Sesame Seeds”, from his album “Mitch All Together” is surely the greatest 60 seconds of stand-up comedy ever performed on this particular subject. You can listen to the full track here, but here’s a partial transcript:

I think they could take sesame seeds off the market and I wouldn’t even care. I can’t imagine five years from now saying “Damn, remember sesame seeds? What happened? All the buns are blank!”

I flatter myself to think that Mitch and I are a bit alike in having a good, but off-kilter, sense of humor. However, it’s clear that at least in this area, we differ greatly. They took sesame seeds off the market, or at least off one specific product, and I very much cared.

Footnotes:

1. This group was formerly referred to as the “Big 8”. The other items are: milk, eggs, fish, crustacean shellfish, tree nuts, peanuts, wheat, and soybeans. ↩︎

Is there a dumber American tradition than Groundhog Day? I submit to you that there is not. Readers of this site will know that I am a fan of all manner of nonsense, but I just can’t get into this. “Groundhog Day”, the movie? A fun flick. Groundhog Day, the “holiday”? Vacuous nonsense.

The problem, as I see it, is that there’s simply nothing there. They pull out poor Punxsutawney Phil, and then…a person announces whether the rodent saw his shadow or not. The groundhog doesn’t actually react in any visible way. The whole thing isn’t even as goofy as “Is the groundhog awake or not?”. No, the weather-predicting woodchuck is utterly unnecessary to the proceedings. They could just flip a coin. Or skip the whole thing entirely.

In the midst of confronting the vast and moronic reach that Groundhog Day has attained, I learned quite a lot from a CNN article detailing the day’s history. For instance, did you know that once upon a time, they ate Punxsutawney Phil after he made his guess?

Before he was a celebrity, though, he was lunch. In a terrible twist, the earliest Groundhog Days of the 19th century involved devouring poor Phil after he made his prediction. The year 1887 was the year of the “Groundhog Picnic,” Yoder said. Pennsylvania historian Christopher Davis wrote that locals cooked up groundhog as a “special local dish,” served at the Punxsutawney Elk Lodge, whose members would go on to create the town’s Groundhog Club. Diners were “pleased at how tender” the poor groundhog’s meat was, Davis said.

Cheese and crackers! Really though, I think I respect this more. Oh, sure, it’s awful. But it feels somehow more honest too. Devour your gods.

And yet, in defiance of both all scientific understanding of the lifespan of groundhogs as well as the preceding text, the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club claims there’s only been one Punxsutawney Phil in history:

How many “Phils” have there been over the years?
There has only been one Punxsutawney Phil. He has been making predictions since 1886! Punxsutawney Phil gets his longevity from drinking the “elixir of life,” a secret recipe. Phil takes one sip every summer at the Groundhog Picnic and it magically gives him seven more years of life.

Even if it only works on groundhogs, that “elixir of life” seems a lot more impressive than the flimsy record of forecasting. Also, how about sharing? If it adds seven years to his life, Phil doesn’t need a sip every year.

Does Phil have a wife?
Yes, her name is Phyliss. She doesn’t receive the Elixir of Life so she will not live forever like Phil.

What the hell? Why, pray tell, can’t Phyliss have some elixir too? Worse is the fact that Phil’s poor wife/wives have been saddled with a matching name. Just as I would never feel quite right dating someone named “Paula” or “Paulette”, Phil and Phyliss should just be friends, or even steer clear of one another completely.

Remarkably, Canada recently found a way to make things even dumber. Though I believe the world needs exactly zero groundhogs masquerading as meteorologists, it seems we must come to terms with a single such rodent. However, Punxsutawney Phil certainly needs no imitators, a fact it would behoove the Quebeckers to souviens. Their failure to do so led to a bizarre occurrence yesterday, when they turned to a group of schoolchildren to get a prediction about winter. Why? Well it seems that their knockoff prognosticator, “Fred La Marmotte”, showed up to his one-day-a-year job dead.

Earlier this week, I had a rather jarring conversation at the supermarket. I needed to flag an employee down to clear an alert on the damnable self-checkout machine. The man had just finished helping another customer, and he was walking away from me, so I said “Sir?”. When turned around to assist, he also muttered “Please don’t call me sir next time”. He seemed…annoyed? Offended? I did not understand, and I was a bit taken aback. It was not as if I had said “Hey, you!”, after all.

As he cleared the error on the machine, I asked what I should say next time. He curtly replied “Just wave your hand, I’ll see you”. This was obviously not true, because unlike my mother, he did not have eyes in the back of his head. Now, I certainly could have just said “Excuse me?”, but that seems longer and also slightly less courteous than a respectful “Sir?”. Anyhow, he and I both moved on. Still, it stuck with me. I left the store, utterly flummoxed.

I found myself contemplating this very strange interaction for some time. I had been trying to be polite, and I felt the response had been a bit brusque, even bordering on rude. The man was a bit younger than I am, so it was perhaps a bit odd for me to call him “sir”, but there was no sarcasm or insincerity on my part. I was being gracious, and I was met with something else.

However, I found the whole thing turned completely upside down while discussing it with my friend Kim, who deserves tremendous credit. The scales fell from my eyes when she said four (mostly) simple words: “Maybe a non-binary person?”.

Well. Fuck.

The whole interaction now looked utterly different. This idea that this person might not identify as male (and thus a “sir”) had not even occurred to me. Now, I saw the possibility that my in-person subconscious assumption was incorrect, along with every instance of the words “he” and “man” written above. If that is indeed the case, then my simple effort to politely get someone’s attention instead turned me into an inadvertent misgendering ass.

We don’t really have a simple and generic word for directly addressing a specific person. There is no singular of “folks”. We rely on “sir” or “ma’am” or “miss” or “mister”, all of which are gendered. That’s a problem.

Fortunately, my favorite gal pal Amy had a wonderful solution. Her suggestion? Let’s just call everyone “hoss”, as in “Hey hoss, can you get this stupid machine to stop pitching a fit about the bag I’m just trying to load my scanned groceries in to?”. It’s pretty solid! If they mishear you, they’ll think you said “boss”, and who is that going to offend?¹

However, while “hoss” is an absolutely hilarious way to refer to anyone, its roots are in the word “horse”. That seems unfortunate at best for a catch-all term. I also rejected Amy’s next idea, “dollface”, which was equally hilarious but even more problematic. Next, I spent some time considering “buddy”. I wish it could work, but it just sounds far too informal to my ear.

Thankfully, though, “buddy” led me to a superior option: “friend”. “Friend”! How great is that? It’s self-evidently friendly, it’s gender-neutral, and it’s even hopeful. A stranger is just a friend I haven’t met yet, and what faster way to turn them into a friend than to simply declare them one?

Sure, sure, it might come across as vaguely Amish, but then they’ll really take pity on me. I don’t even have electricity, so of course I can’t manage to check myself out at the supermarket! Or perhaps they’ll think I’m trying to recruit them to a cult. They may be wary, and think I might murder them, but at least they won’t think I’m a bigot.

So, I’ve settled on “friend” as the way I’m going to address people from now on.² I’ll let you know how it goes, friends.

Footnotes:

1. Oh, somebody, I’m sure. ↩︎

2. Also probably dogs. ↩︎

My mother is quite the puzzle whiz, and we sometimes do the same puzzles. I introduced her to Wordle, and she pointed me toward another New York Times puzzle, “Spelling Bee”. Now, we play them both each day, and often discuss them. Recently, this led to some amazing fun.

A fair amount of background is in order, but I promise it will be worth it. Even if you’re not a New York Times subscriber, you can sample Spelling Bee at the link above, but I’ll lay it out quickly. The game presents a grid of seven letters, and your task is to make as many 4+ letter words as possible, always including that highlighted central letter:

The puzzle for December 7, 2022

For instance, this past Wednesday, you might have entered BANJO, or OBOE, or any other musical instrument containing an “O” that you could spell using the provided letters. You could also spell words that aren’t instruments at all, that’s allowed too. You certainly can’t play “Stairway to Heaven” on NONE, but you could enter it here. How did we even get on musical instruments?! BABOON, that’s a word that would totally count. So would BONOBO, but the words don’t have to be primates either, OK?

Spelling Bee offers several goals in the course of play. Each puzzle contains one or more pangrams, words which use all 7 letters at least once. In the above puzzle, JAWBONE was a pangram (more specifically, it was a “perfect pangram”, because it didn’t use any letter more than once). In addition to pangrams, there are also various point totals to shoot for, culminating in “Genius” level. Finally, one can become a “Queen Bee” by getting all the words on the word list for the day. While I don’t often manage this, my mother attains it frequently.

Beyond the standard gameplay, my mother and I also particularly enjoy an unofficial side quest: finding words that are absent from the day’s word list. For instance, back on November 28, the game failed to accept the word EXIGENCE:

The word dates back to the 15th century!

The word list for each day doesn’t actually consist of all possible words. Instead, editor Sam Ezersky intentionally narrows things down by eliminating obscure words, thus making Queen Bee status a bit more achievable. While we know this, my mom and I still enjoy the chance to grouse to one another about how ridiculous any oversight is. “A kindergarten baby ought to know that word.” Any crossword solver worth their salt has seen this word:

eeling (noun): the activity or business of catching eels (Yes, really.)

That should bring you up to speed on Spelling Bee. Now, let’s look at this past Tuesday’s puzzle. That puzzle included the letters D, L, E, P, O, C, and the must-use letter U. After working on it for some time, I sent my mother the following image, along with a message noting my incredulity that this word wasn’t included in the day’s list:

Please enjoy our ensuing conversation:

I wasn’t sure this would actually work, and I was absolutely tickled pink when it did.¹ My mother was greatly amused as well.

Here’s to another trip around the sun, Mom. Many happy returns!

Footnotes:

1. Hat tips for this joke are certainly due to Bugs Bunny, The Office, and most especially Scrubs. Zach Braff’s delivery of “It’s happening” slays me.² ↩︎

2. In the event that the linked Scrubs video has been, well, scrubbed from YouTube, I’ve archived it here. ↩︎

Something people should know about me is that I’ve had one laundry basket for my entire adult life. If my obituary includes the line “He was the kind of guy who could use the same laundry basket for decades”, well, it will be an accurate reflection of who I am. Or was. Whatever. Just behold my basket, in all its graphite glory:

After I bring my clean laundry upstairs, I flip the basket upside to deposit my dry clothes on the bed for folding. Each and every time, the bottom of the basket catches my eye:

As the r/nostalgia sub-Reddit can tell you, “Yaffa Blocks” was a name brand for a particular kind of inexpensive storage solution. It seems the company also made laundry baskets. What I really notice, however, is the price tag:

$3.99 seems very inexpensive! My basket does date back to around the year 2001, but even an inflation-adjusted price would be just $6.71 today. Seems low!

Now sure, my humble basket is plenty scuffed, and it has one cracked corner:

But it’s a vessel for transporting toasty warm clothes approximately 50 feet. It does the job. It still works.

The price tag also lists the name of the store where this basket was purchased, and that’s a real throwback. “Linens ‘N Things” was a New Jersery-based big box retailer selling home goods, a competitor to “Bed Bath & Beyond”. You’ll notice I say “was”, because Linens ‘N Things went bankrupt in 2008. Less than a year later, all of their retail outlets were closed. Still, this price tag endures on the bottom of my basket.

In 2022, the Linens ‘N Things name lives on via an online-only store. Impressively, as the tag shows, the Linens ‘N Things website has been around for quite some time. Here’s a look at LNT.com from around the time when this basket was purchased. It seems the company even had a privacy policy very early on:

Circa 2001, captured via the always-helpful Internet Archive Wayback Machine

In addition to being purchased from a New Jersey-based retailer, this basket was also made by a New Jersey-based manufacturer:

It appears “Basicline” was the company that owned the Yaffa trademark, and also I guess that they made at least 11 products. You may notice that I am once again using the past tense. Alas, like Linens ‘N Things before it, Basicline is no more. In 2010, they filed for their own Chapter 11. Further, per Wikipedia, Linens ‘N Things’ current parent company Sequential Brands sought bankruptcy protection last fall.

Given all these bankruptcies, I’m beginning to think that even back in 2001, this product was underpriced. $3.99 was simply too low to charge for a product which would go on to serve me well and faithfully for 20+ years and counting. In life, you have to know your value, and charge accordingly.

If you’ve ever purchased ice in bulk for a trip to the beach or the campground, it’s likely you pulled it out of an ice chest like this:

[Photo credit: Roadsidepictures]

Gas stations and convenience stores in America often feature such a unit, and sell ice for just a dollar or three per bag, despite the incredible work that was undertaken to get it in your hands.¹ They’re functional, and the I C E lettering (and snow on top of it) frequently looks inviting, but they’re fairly boring overall.

Recently, thanks to a video on the webernets, I learned of the existence of a very different kind of ice machine. That video was just 15 seconds, and you can watch it below.²

The joke in the video was that the kid was expecting the ice to come out of the chute, and he got tricked.³ That’s mildly amusing, sure. But the much, much, much funnier thing to me is that the machine is singing a song. A song about ice!

I’ve transcribed what I believe is being sung here:

🎶 It’s too hot
Get some ice
Need a cool drink
Just chill it nice
Got me a big old bag of ice
This hot deal’s so cool
It’s twice as nice. 🎶

Someone wrote this! And recorded it! In a studio, possibly. Naturally, I poked around the internet, desperate to find more. At first, all I could find was a tweet quoting the song:

The replies to that tweet helped me dig up another video of this absurd machine, which includes the full song. Thank you, Lucas Anderson, for capturing this.

A bit more research led me to “Ice House USA”. They’re in Florida (“Corporate Vision: To become the leader in retail ice sales on the West Coast of Florida.”) and the initial video apparently came from Texas, but it seems certain this is the same machine (covered by U.S. Patents No. 6,932,124 and 7,104,291 (“Automated ice bagging apparatus and methods”)). The Ice House USA FAQ includes this answer to “How does this thing work?”

Our “Twice the Ice” vending kiosks are completely automated and self-contained, with an 8’x 24′ footprint. The machine produces, bags, and vends a 16lb bag of ice. We also offer 20lbs of bulk ice, which consumers can dispense directly into their coolers through a chute, for the same price as the bagged ice. Customers simply insert their dollar bills or coins into the machine, which then dispenses fresh ice.

As well as this question which surely is not asked frequently:

Who’s making the Ice?

While we’ve been accused of housing gnomes and penguins in the back of our ice houses laboriously bagging ice, everything is in fact quite automated. An ice maker on the top of the kiosk produces ice as needed and the ice moves forward through the house using a series of rakes and augers. The ice is then weighed and either bagged or dispensed directly into your cooler. You are getting fresh ice and won’t have to worry about having to smash your bagged ice on the ground to separate the cubes like you do when you go to the inconvenience store.

That marks the extent of their FAQ. Alas, there’s no mention of the singing, which seems like a real miss. Certainly my most frequently asked questions since learning about this have all related to the song, and the artists behind it.

I hope to learn more in the future, but for now, I’m content just to share the singing ice machine with you. And hey, if you own land on Florida’s west coast, you can consider leasing it to Ice House USA to get in on the singing ice machine revolution.

Footnotes:

1. A classic Simpsons clip is archived here. ↩︎

2. I saw this in a deleted post on Reddit here, but I don’t know the original source. For now, I’m just hosting my own copy, but I’ll gladly link to the original source if someone points me to it. ↩︎

3. Also, if it had come out that way, he was going to catch approximately none of it. But we’ll set his terrible technique aside.↩︎

Over in Iceland, there’s a supermarket chain called Bónus.¹ When I visited the Nordic nation six years ago, I became very fond of the company’s logo, which I call the Bonus Pig. It’s a piggy bank (for savings!), and it’s so round that it often takes the place of the letter “O” in their name.² Feast your eyes upon the Bonus Pig:

If you’re thinking “That looks rather silly”, you’re not wrong. It is silly, and that is what makes it great. But my friend, this little piglet used to be so, so much sillier. Please, click the play button below to morph the Bonus Pig back to its former glory:

Just look at that incredible wonkeye. It is the epitome of glorious imperfection. From the moment I happened upon the Bonus Pig in 2016, I was smitten. I shared it on Instagram:

[Photo courtesy of P. Kafasis]

For quite some time, I also re-used one of their plastic bags:

[Photo courtesy of S. Hiraiwa]

Can you believe this was the logo of the largest supermarket chain in an entire country? It’s amazing. Here it is on one of their storefronts:

The little piggy who owned a market also flew on flags:

A few months ago I even received a Bonus Pig shirt as a gift.³ I wear it proudly and wonkeyedily:

Please insert your own pig snort sound.

Alas, the original Bonus Pig was sanitized in the past year or so. Some swine, no doubt thinking that they could “fix” the Bonus Pig, went and gave the little dude corrective eye surgery. Just as when the execrable SAP Concur killed off Hipmunk, joy has once again been sucked from the world. It is a travesty. This is not my beautiful pig:

Before too many days go by, I hope the designer in question says to themselves “My God, what have I done?”, and sets to work undoing this regrettable change.

For now though, my wonkeyed little friend can still be spotted in various places around Bónus’s website. If and when it eventually disappears completely from there, this page will remain as a memorial to what was lost.

Footnotes:

1. Apparently, they’ve also got eight stores in the Faroe Islands. ↩︎

2. Technically, it’s the letter “Ó”, but I’m not really down with diphthongs. I’m going with a standard “o” in this post, and in my life. ↩︎

3. This shirt is a knockoff, so it’s particularly amusing that they kept the ® registered trademark symbol. ↩︎