"I'm glad you're here!"

We had ambitious madness planned for this break.  It feels like we're in a rerun of last year right now, and sweet Moses I hope not.  The madness, some of which was going to be written about, has to be shelved, temporarily (I hope), while we walk slowly.  It doesn't stop any of us from planning for the future, of course.  We're used to having things delayed this decade, I suppose.

In lieu of this, I was reading Mick LaSalle's new book, and I was struck by a long quote.  I thought about "getting into it" more here, but copy and paste will do it justice.  Sometimes when you're reading, or even viewing a scene in a TV show or movie, you have to stop right there and tell someone.  You have to share it for whatever reason: what you've just seen or read has moved you to do so.  My reason for this quote from Mick is simple enough: in a time when travel can be risky, when (for me) no one wants to visit but wants me to leave (and wonders why I haven't already), when, decades later, there are still snide remarks from those far from my environs, I just...well, here it is:

Pages 78-79

"No one who hasn't been to Nebraska has any particular idea about Nebraska that goes beyond some pictures of guesses involving corn, or snow, or tornadoes.  But everyone in the United States decides how they feel about California.  And the feelings can be based on anything, based on any number of facts, real or imagined, that a person chooses to believe.  California is large.  It contains multitudes, and so virtually anything you think about it will be, at least to some extent, true, unless you think it's small and doesn't matter.

Mostly, the feelings about California will be ones of either approval or disapproval.  To most of America, California is good or bad.

Some people want to move here and will.  Some people want to move here, but know they never will, but are okay with California as kind of dream or idea.  And some people aren't interested - they're quite happy where they are.  But in that last category, there are still others who, despite not wanting to live here, feel the presence of California as some alternate possibility, not only in American life, but within their own consciousness - an open door that they can choose to go through or not, but whose existence they resent and wish they could ignore.

Curiously, this last category also contains people who make generalizations about how we in California feel about them, when people in California aren't thinking of them at all, beyond a vague wishing them well. We can't quite imagine them, simply because, for better or worse and probably mostly for better, there is no national mythology surrounding their location.  We do notice, when we go to the middle of the country, that the people tend to be friendlier, and fatter, and with an unaccountable tendency to be politically bizarre, but these are just impressions, hardly fully formed opinions.

We also notice, when we travel to other places in the United States, that we meet people who love to tell us all about California, to fill us in about little details, about how the whole state is going broke, or how this or that congresswoman's district is a disaster.  But when we ask them when was the last time they were in California, they usually say they were never there.  But they know all about it.  From a friend.  Who probably has also never been there."

Goodbye, 2021.  Up and down, rolling hills, good/bad and vice versa.  (deep breath)

It's All Over Now

In an interview setting a few months ago, an unnecessarily angry woman was accosting me over...well, my career.  Specifically, the length of stays at each company.  "You're only at a place for a few years, then you leave.  Can we trust you to stay?"  I reiterated that each situation is different: you go in to each job you've ever had with good faith.  Sometimes it stays, but many MORE times it changes.  Said changes aren't created by you.  Either you look around for something new or people look for someone new...and off we go.  She was unconvinced.  

Fast forward a few months and I'm leaving my current role for tastier everything.  Not at the company I reference in the paragraph above, but somewhere else.  We've got a lot of growing to do.  Pleased to be a part of it, part of a place where I'm wanted, and that I can grow doing what I want.  And like so many others, I enter this in good faith.

Sometimes I envy those who have been working at the same place for decades.  Whenever I bring it up, they deflect; doesn't matter the person or even industry, they push it away.  And maybe that's just their life...and my life is to be some sort of entertainment Pepper Rogers (or basketball coach we could easily name, though the ones that move around a lot are always filled with tawdry tales).  At somewhere a few years, off to the next, but not as a rule.  Every once in a while I'm not the one who wanted to leave, but that's how it goes.  Searching for a rainbow.

And yet, of the little advice I can give anyone, I am always amazed and thankful for the jobs I didn't get.  When you're filled with strife 9-5, there are times you'll do just about anything.  After interviews you'll be asked "Does it sound interesting?  Do you want to do it?"  It's often accompanied by a sigh and "Yeah, it sounds like it would be good."  No one is convinced.  Shit, that topic and the places and roles therein would make a good post if anyone would care.

I'm in charge.  That's right.  While I wait for others to "get ready to go" or look out from the hot tub wondering they'll get in, I've realized I have to find what enjoyment I can in going with the flow.  When the enjoyment disappears, deals have to be made.  As the pie is passed, I'll be thankful for yet another deal.  It's what this town taught me.

"I'm a Prickly Pear!"

Look, I was on vacation: I'd heard of it, sure, even used it in a phrase now and then, but I didn't know the effects.  So when the pup came in from the "backyard" she got her morning pets, and immediately I knew something was amiss.  In my morning fog, did I try to pick up some fiberglass that I thought was a breakfast pastry?  This...this doesn't feel good.  It was the prickly pear.  That damn thing in the corner by the fence that I figured she'd have more sense to avoid.

This was solved (salved) and so we drove deeper and deeper into the desert, all the winding not just for joshua trees, but for the elusive "skull rock."  And...so it is.  In the middle of nowhere, we were suddenly in a crowd, our moments only fleeting; like meeting Santa.

I was more than up for an amble amongst rocks, and with the lack of heat I knew that even something that would be classified as a "hike" wouldn't be bad.  And it wasn't, and there were good pictures, but "Ferdinand Magellan Finkel" kept insisting that the trail we were on was a circle.  Legend has it that the Boy Scouts made this decades ago, and she didn't seem fazed that we were going the wrong way at the start: "Isn't this the wrong way?" I asked more than once.  "But it's a circle" she kept saying...over and over...though it sure didn't feel that way.

And, when we got back to the road and didn't see the car, with the sun starting to set, I had to let the snark fly.  And, for a mile or 2, there we walked back to the car (glad we were right about that direction) looking like the saddest hitchhikers around.  One positive of that, though, was for Ol Lightning herself the Big Scoop to declare "I don't wanna go on another hike!"  

So what do you do?  You dive into what town there is...eating way too much at a place called Country Kitchen (no, not THAT Country Kitchen)...an activity that nearly became a daily occurrence because it was so darn good.  Look for more items on the "garden" side of things.  Lately, when out of town, I ask myself "Yeah...but if you HAD to, could you make it here?  Could you deal?"  A handful of days doesn't tell you that, but maybe it's the lack of new experiences the nearly 2 years brought us, I'm more than willing to hang longer.  Well...sometimes, not everywhere.  And I won't name locations.

In the legendary film Leaving Las Vegas, Sera tells Ben she knows of a place "in the desert" and there Ben goes, imbibing past the limit again.  After some hot scenes, Ben tries to walk...into a glass end table.  Sera is immediately concerned, but not Ben: so full of juice, he knows the right response is to laugh.  "Whoops!  Uh oh, I'm a prickly pear!"

Roughly a decade later at a party in Venice, TV's Jonas Anderson found himself in the same state.  The "fun times camera" was out, and there the same thing happened again.  This time a wicker table, so nothing more than a "whoa!" from the rest of the crowd...but then he did it.  Even in the state he was in, he repeated that same quote.  I was nearly on the floor laughing - how did he remember that?  And to say it THEN?  

Me, at Star Pharmacy at 10AM, being a prickly pear wasn't nearly as fun.  Breakfast libations and biscuits and gravy were the other cure for my pain (and waistline, apparently) but as I looked on the horizon, wind howling, we made good through and through.  When in the desert, do as I say: surprises good and bad lurk around the cacti, so keep the drink at hand.

One Hell of a Weekend

I'm writing this on a Saturday night not because this will get any readership but more that this has become an historical document and I'm in the moment.  Because I'm old, my interest in a Halloween party diminished oh so much when I was told I had to arrive in costume.  I hemmed and hawed, tried to bullshit my way out of it.  No luck.

So, last week, I just started verbalizing things in some sort of word association that appeared I was having a conversation with...well, you'd have thought I'd have gone back into the world of generic spirits, but no.  No, I was almost talking through my problem.  It was concluded with what I considered as a problem solved: 4 plastic lobsters and a colorful fishing net.

This afternoon as I saw the Gophers and Dawgs do what they should always do, I clipped the tags off the lobsters.  I stretched out the blue fishing net in the back yard and folded it.  I placed plastic clips on the "open end" and then cut a hold in the middle.  Wearing the net, I used more hooks to place the lobsters in the net at odd angles.

We arrived late due to no fault of my own (as always).

"Trip!  What are you?!"

I'm the catch of the day.

"Oh my god I love it!"

And that, dear readers, is the sign of the eventuality: I won "Best Costume" at the party.  The awards were spirits and desserts, all of which I consumed in one sitting while I looked at other adults: some not in costume (nice try), some in half-assed BS that needed too much explanation, and some that spent WAY too much money and to be honest made more than a few guests uncomfortable.

Thinking out loud and $15.  Sometimes shit breaks your way, and it's worth remembering in those rare moments when creativity brings out gold.

Can I exit out that door?

 After days of stress, I've allowed myself some space to lean back and...observe internally?  

1. Supply chains have fixed themselves.

I know that it's a long road back, but there are many simple pleasures that I wasn't aware made a large impact in my life.  These were used as a rightful excuse a year ago, and while I should still be aware of it now, I won't have it.  The distress began over the summer when Pacifico in cans disappeared.  Yeah, look, when it's hot and I'm starting to get a little hazy, I don't trust myself when I'm outside on the patio.  It eventually returned.  Same, it seems, as my favorite iced tea, which I down like an addict.  And I admit as much: it helps me reduce my alcohol intake, refreshes, and generally gives me the vibe of a pleasant afternoon DJ.  (Or so I've been told)  I get em by the case and don't give a fuck.  Then, one day, it was gone.  All of it.  The magnum bottles, the small bottles, the "tall" sized plastic bottles, all of it gone.  

Make my own?  It...look, I tried that, and it was OK, but not as good.  Like the angry Jimmy Dean caller, this had to be fixed.  I ordered a flat wholesale, and I was sat down to "have a talk" about it.  Shit, I don't smoke...is it really that serious?  What if this was a Sparkletts delivery truck?  You wouldn't give a shit about that, would you?  "Trip likes the taste of this water."  Well, I've been told that has "caught up now" and that supplies will be secured in time for Saturday, where I am looking for continued good things out of the Mountain West.  And why not?  

2. I can't find my sunglasses.

Nothing to add here, other than the fact that I haven't been able to find them since the weekend, and if you see them, please let me know.  Feel like I looked everywhere.  Hope I didn't leave them in the park...if so, they're long gone.  I write in honesty that this is why I don't buy "expensive" sunglasses for the same reason I don't wear a watch: I don't trust myself.

3. It's going to be a wild card, isn't it?

Second-best record in baseball and yet I fear a play-in game where Roberts is going to let whoever starts, likely Max, only pitch 3 innings and get scared and then someone like fucking Graterol is going to throw the same amount of innings and that's that.  I said second-best...that's not first, is it?  Eh, we did it a few years ago and ended up in the World Series so I should shut my mouth.  "We" - haha!  That's how it goes.  Come on boys!

(Reminder: The 2020 World Champion shirt still fits, and will fit forever.  And...so far, Stafford looks like a dog that's finally been adopted after spending a decade in the Pound, so there's that)

4. The dial can still go up

Hit 100 twice this week, but the dial is aiming down.  Over acceptable Mediterranean food last night an agreement was met that this isn't the "end" or fully Fall because there are now too many "bump-ups" to know better.  All those things make for good ideas and marketing (turkey-flavored candy corn, for example) but why we're here is for that overall level of comfort.  Be it a nightly stroll with Doo Dads or hosing off the heat from the plants, the talk is of the moment and the future. 

So, we keep on.  The mental door remains open.

Use all your well-learned politeness

As I returned to the kitchen this morning, all the signs were there: the jar of peanut butter left open with a knife still in it, an empty milk carton and what's left of the loaf of bread all on the counter.  It's that scene of an immediate break-away.  School Days.  That we're able to do this much, as I wrote in August, is a fulfillment of a moment of hope.

So nothing is perfect, we won't be at "before," but it sure beats the alternative, doesn't it?  I think it does.  I run in to others that do, too.  But that isn't the majority, which surprises me.  And maybe I shouldn't be surprised, but it's clear that we are living in a new age: The New Era of Cynicism.

There are always going to be people whose life has gone horribly wrong, and you're seeing them in the moment of self-awareness.  Life is many things, one of which an endless map with choices galore.  Incorrect Life Choices - it's their way of life, and it's not YOUR fault that you happen to be walking down a sidewalk and see that person hit with the realization that they, in that moment, are surrounded by A's, B's, even C+'s, and they're just knee-deep in their own failure.  But now, we're just at a point where the majority responds to anything with a furrowed brow or phony smile with "Huh.  Yeah, right."

It's not always that obvious.  I'm old enough to remember when, if some things weren't going right for the majority of the public, it wouldn't completely remove optimism.  So they no longer make your favorite belt in your new size.  So the team you root for is in dead last.  So you really do need to get a new DVD player if you want to watch your copy of Clerks again.  Does that define you as a person?  To much of the public, those nuisances now do, and I've never seen anything like it.

I'm wondering where it leaves those of us who like actual interaction.  Maybe it was 2020 into 2021 and all of the doom that surrounded and was survived, but for many, you'd never know it.  As each day winds down I can pinpoint an interaction or 2 and then shake my head wondering "What the fuck was THAT?"  And what can you do beyond move on, try someone/something/somewhere else?  

I have the sangria, the games are planned, the AC is hummin', deals are being made and made anew.  Those who enjoy revelry will be around, likewise prepared to fart in the direction of the living black clouds.  While they are left to sulk alone, I'll get a refill. 

(Just Like) Starting Over

Well, there it was...something that I wondered if it could/would happen years from now.  Only history will tell everyone if this was the right move or not...but there she was, taking too long as usual, early morning happiness gone by the time of the walk to school.  It was like "before" just as the whole hope and point of today was getting back to "before" in as best a way as we can.  I lingered longer than was desired by others, and then I couldn't wait to get home.

It was a bittersweet feeling, and I don't know that I expected it or that this return to "before" was the point.  I was happy we were attempting this, but "lingering dread" didn't use to be part of my personality, particularly in relation to the Big Scoop herself, her education, or anything like that.  But there it was, and it was tough shaking it...if I fully did at all.

I had a Summer where she was at camp, one that, when it began, seemed even closer to "before" than we are now.  Those early drop-offs were one of happy befuddlement.  I only looked back once.  It was good fortune, and I moved forward.  And I know I should remember that we're closer to that than otherwise.  But because this is school, it's hard not shaking the feelings.  As with other parents, we'd talk during Summer vacation like old salts at the VFW, knowing horror on we could speak of, that no on else could really understand.  I thought back to a scene from Kramer vs. Kramer:

The Big Scoop is older.  Kool-Aid was never spilled on important documents.  But what's happening in this scene was nearly 18 months of my life.  If this picture or thinking of this scene brings you a laugh, well, there were comedic moments during that time but it was never funny.  If you don't have a kid, well, of course it means nothing to you.  Why not think selfishly when thinking of yourself?  That there is no understanding by those without kids, from my employer, even my spouse...I'll never get over that.  And just as I was saying a moment ago, maybe that's selfish, too, because I'm talking about myself...but in that very same 18 month run, I couldn't do that, could I?  

But it's over.  Is it over?  If it is over, may we never speak of it again.  If everyone else couldn't understand it then, they won't in the future.  I'll stay quiet on it until, years later, it'll come up.  Someone will ask.  I'll shake my head.  A flood of emotions.  The future will "before", I hope it will be, but I'll never be "before" again.

 

Summer Rock 'n Roll

Already in the middle of Summer, despite my lazy (read: relaxed) self, I've had a greater demand for experiencing the simple pleasures of the season.  These staples used to seem common (or borderline mundane) until they were taken away.  Now that they're back, I can't get enough.

At the pool, I was in line for the waterslides again and again.  The lifeguard incorrectly assumed I was there to assist someone, but no.  No, I'm going solo, over and over.  Mostly down the lazy one, occasionally down the covered "lightnin'" slide.  Look at all these other adults.  Either yelling at their (or other) kids, or face-to-phone.  Meanwhile, I road the waves until I began to feel my equilibrium over-index juuuuust a bit.  Hey, I'll take that sign.  Head home for drinky time.

The following day, I finally shook off cobwebs to get a massage, followed up by a visit to 7-Eleven for a Slurpee.  I dined on leftover ribs under a tree, and I was later told it seemed obvious to all that might get into my way that I'm in the flow.  

Looking back, none of the aforementioned activities are unique to me in sum, nor unusual at all for Summer...and yet, you remove those from day to day life, well, shit...no wonder why I was breaking down so often last year.  

Sometimes I wonder if I'd be different if I moved to Hawaii...or maybe when I get even older and (god forbid) be allowed to retire.  And I could be wrong....but I doubt it.  The wave will continue.

Of Leopard Geckos and Lounging

When it comes to vacations, there is a fluid, ongoing disagreement of the pace.  I don't want to be completely sedentary; I want to do stuff, but my main objective is to relax.  More than anything else, I am happy made in the shade.  I'm also happy being in the pool, careening about a float with others, or about to jump in, clapping my hands saying "This is CRAZY."  I don't need to be on the go that much.  The other side is constant planning, daily discussions, and a "let's go" attitude.  These 2 waves crash when we're out of town, and I'm hopeful yet weary of the blend.

I think I was still settling in to my new surroundings when the Big Scoop herself came out of the owner's home.  "Dad!  Look!  It's a leopard gecko!  They said it's a great pet, easy to take care of and everything!"  Upon quick inspection, it sure was, and it was resting on her forearm.  Look, that's fine for YOU, but when do I get to have this pet hang out on me?  Well, ask, and next thing I know, it was climbing up my arm to my neck.  How about this, huh?!

(I want to reiterate again one of the qualities she has that I don't is her way to become America's Guest and just immediately make fast friends with anyone under any circumstance.  She'd known this family less than 24 hours and they offered to make her chocolate chip waffles the next morning)

A trip to Coronado one day was supposed to yield more of that: we'd sight-see, wander, dine, and hit the beach.  Such items in sum shouldn't become an ordeal under any circumstances.  But when someone pushes for "riding" a contraption that looks like a man-powered golf cart...it has to be done until all agree that life is now done the hard way.  It's unneeded effort that was paid for.  I was more than hesitant on this idea, went along with it to stop someone talking about it, and yet we only went a block.  "I don't like this."  I had to be polite but blunt, sounding like a child...which is a coincidence since an actual child was saying the same thing in even saltier language.  We received an immediate refund.  "OK, well now what?"  I was asked.  Who says "now" has to be anything?

The following day, La Jolla remained scenic, the food delicious, and the waves angry.  Mother Earth was sending a message, yet a companion wanted to push ahead.  So there I found myself hours later surrounded by people I've never met, wearing a wetsuit that was previously worn maybe 30 minutes ago, missing vital instructions because there was always someone uncomfortable.  As such, I went out to sea getting 2 giant waves right in the mush, paddling and seemingly getting nowhere, exhausted and cold, all to see a sea lion asleep.  On the way back in, I tried my best to follow instructions only to wipe out and have the kayak land right on my noggin.  I was fine because kids: wear a helmet.  Always take the helmet option.  Last time I went horse riding I wore something called a "polo helmet" and I don't give a fuck how I looked, because if Buttercup got spooked by a squirrel or something, I'll be...well, not AS hurt.

Like the sea, we were all salty.  Once cleaned, we searched for nightlife and found it.  Tasty food, funny waiters, goings on in the dark.  Now, isn't THAT a vacation?  Or am I the only one who thinks so?  

Day of depart it was sorrowful looks, one last swim, one last gecko visit.  "Dad, let's look up getting one."  And so it begins.  I returned home, sat on the patio in the backyard, and drank beer.  All I heard were the birds ready for Summer and the occasional prop plane.  Maybe it took this vaca for some in my surroundings to realize that, because I’m not talking, or simply being quiet, does not mean I want or need to be talked to...and if after this physical vacation I needed a mental one, too, it makes me think I'm not the first and it won't be my last.

Good health in filth

How quickly things change from bad to good and vice versa.  I could give a million examples but I'll cut to the quick: I was able to receive my vaccines in April and earlier this month.  I'd have gone anywhere to do this, but what worked out for me was the infamous Ralphs on Sunset.  It was a go-to market for me in my Hollywood days in the early to mid 00's, and creator of many tales.  And, for a while, that stretch of Sunset was "Rock n Roll" for everything in title with it being east of the Strip, but with Guitar Center and many similar shops nearby helping give that moniker.  At the time, it was merely a nickname, but it was the clientele that enhanced its nuttiness.

I couldn't tell you when I was last in this place - maybe 16 years?  Just arriving back to that part of town was a rush of memories.  It was late, wandering nights.  It was occasions where I was one of the folks closing down El Compadre.  And it was the Filthy Falk himself, stumbling in and out of many bars and apartments.  The very definition of a functioning alcoholic, he agreed that central AC was important over the summer, as was a pool.  The rest did not matter.  When I say "the rest," I mean it.  And in this area, I can think back to him:

Getting kicked out of multiple bars, all before midnight.

Falling face-first on the sidewalk in a drunken haze.  Before an ambulance could show up, he rode the 3rd rail home and then ate 2 cans of Chef Boy-ar-Dee.

Him drunkenly buying 3 hot dogs (with ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise) eating one, and then throwing two simultaneously at another apartment's parking garage door...and the hot dogs sticking sideways in place.

Myself, driving home and thinking a wino was sleeping in the floral arrangement in front of my building, only to discover it was ol Filth himself, having some trouble standing up.

Some of those thoughts, and others, were clouding me as I parked and walked inside.  The Ralphs had now installed a giant mural reading "Rock n Roll" leaning into this experience, and had altered the lighting to match.  Both times, there I was in a room off a very small pharmacy, getting a shot to help bring my immediate society somewhat closer to the old days.  And I'm thankful.  As a location, it's large, it has a lot, and it's a touch dumpy.  That's a rather good summary of where I lived that year and the neighborhood in general.

In my youth, once I had the chance I altered between my living area surrounded by niceties and wanting to be where the action is...because at that price, I could only have 1 or the other.  It wasn't much longer I realized that you should aim more toward the former than the latter...but when hitting the town is your default plans, why would you think otherwise?

 

The Brands You Trust

Whatever shopping habits you had...they changed once the pandemic began.  Brand loyalty went out the window, as did actual deal hunting.  That a store had something you needed was a triumph in and of itself.  This has lead to some interesting purchasing changes for me, but none that were long-term.  It is easy to keep an open mind because it could always be worse and you got what you needed, so who cares?

To that point, in Autumn the school sent emails and texts that they were providing food free of charge as it was already in the budget.  I figured that was for those who needed it, so I ignored the notes.  However, in the middle of winter, making the same ol shit for a VERY finicky eater I noticed that the school missives said "for everyone."  I reached out and confirmed this claim.  "Yes, we have it, come over Friday morning."  

That first visit was a surprise.  A quart of milk, a hothouse cucumber, and a large box.  Inside the box were individually portioned and frozen foods along with fruit cups, juice boxes, cereal cups, and more sporks than I'll ever need in my life.  Just having these options invigorated the two of us.  She'd adhere, mostly, to the menu, and we find hits (she loved Salisbury Steak from the first bite) and losers (you don't want government chicken nuggets or "General Tso's Chicken").  Even as we've started to bore of the usual fare, that these helpers are there are still a welcome delight.

Last week's pickup brought some news: next week will be more supplies than frozen foods.  It'll be items so we can make things ourselves.  Which...was 1 of the problems (because, according to my employer, at home alone doing work with a kid I therefore have all the time in the world) but so be it.  Opening the box this morning brought, well...some interesting staples.

The cans, though.  The cans brought a chuckle to my face.  "What is that?" said the Big Scoop.  Oh, she saw what was reported to be in the can, but in this young age, even she seemed suspect by the items.  Let's just take a look, shall we?

Teasdale Pinto Beans (a can of Jean's own!)

Just because I've never heard of a brand doesn't make me laugh.  On the contrary - if anything I get eager to see if I like it (and, like Newman, to see if I can tell the difference).  Teasdale is a Texas brand, out of Carrollton out there on Belt Line Road.  I think what caught my eye was the red on top with white writing (not unlike Campbell's) but I did like the drop shadow and 60's font.  Just in time for Cinco de Mayo, too.

Tuny tuna fish

Abasto Magazine, the publication for Hispanic food and beverage industry news, says Tuny "began its commercialization in the ’90s and quickly positioned itself as one of the favorite tuna brands by Mexicans."  "Tuny is backed by the most prestigious national and international certificates to give you the confidence that you are consuming an excellent and safe product."  It IS important that you know what you're eating is safe, isn't it?  Although, just that statement does leave a lingering doubt.  Since they're such sticklers about safety, do know the can is not BPA free, and is in soybean oil, not water.  But hey, free tuna.

Great Choice canned fruit

4 cans, Mr. Potthoff?  You've made a Great Choice!  The ingredients of the pears was simple: Pears, Water, Pear Juice, citric acid.  It is distributed out of Stockton, but a product of China.  The bottom of the label has the California warning about BPA, which, you'd think, would be an issue for a California company doing the distribution, but that doesn't move the items off the shelves.  Searching for more information about this company didn't go far: there is already "Great Value" and "Best Choice" so are they going after the confused consumer?  Highland Wholesale Foods Inc. describes themselves as "quality food distribution nationwide."  They just forgot to tell you what kind of quality. 

Chef Maxwell mixed vegetables

When the Big Scoop was little, I bought a toy set of fruits and vegetables that came with some boxes and cans and utensils.  We'd play "restaurant" and learn about foods and so on.  This can immediately came to mind as something lifted right from that set.  As for Chef Maxwell, 5 years ago the FDA stated the frozen version of their mixed vegetables were recalled.  Pay no mind, as this is the can, whose ingredients are listed as carrots, green peas, potatoes, sweet corn, water, and citric acid.  Citric acid in vegetables?  LA Foods in Agoura Hills was kind enough to send this our way, but another product of China.  LA Foods' slogan is "stretching food budgets from coast to coast."  

 

The following are the LA Food categories: Mass Feeders (not passing judgement on anyone in that photo), shelters, food banks, schools, and hospitals.  "Our customer base is diversified; including schools, correctional facilities, manufacturers--" I'll stop there and say thank you for putting schools above correctional facilities.

And I'll say thank you to the school district for helping me break her away from daily mac n cheese desires, saving me a minor amount of time on a daily basis, and teaching me something new.  Now, who's up for some Chef Maxwell?!