So Anyways

Size Matters

Apparently, size does matter. At least when it comes to soda.

Just before the holidays, all of the soda vending machines in our office were mysteriously allowed to run out of sodas. The machines weren't restocked for a week or two, so that eventually they were all empty. For those of us with addictions to feed, that was not a pretty time. It was pretty easy to tell who the soda addicts were - we were the ones who began pacing the halls early in the day, and who, by the end of the day, were gathering around the machines with looks of hopeful desperation as one after another of us would feed coinage in in hopes that somehow we'd be lucky and magically get that one magical soda that was still lurking somewhere in the machine just toying with our emotions.

It became clear today why the machines were not restocked. They were all switched out, so that now, instead of vending 12-ounce cans, they now only offer 20-ounce behemoth plastic bottles.

Now, I don't have a problem if people actually want that much soda, but I'm already feeling guilty about my addiction and I'd prefer to limit myself to 12 ounces of the stuff a day. No way do I need that extra 67%. I drink the diet stuff, and I get lectured everyday by several busy-bodies around here who claim that I'm going to die of cancer as a result. The extra 8 ounces is not going to make those people happy.

I guess I should be happy because, although there's a corresponding price increase with the larger bottles, it's a relatively small percentage increase (up to $1.10 per soda from $0.85, or a 30% increase in price). What a bargain. For only 30% more, I increase my risk of developing cancer by a whopping 67%.

I know that for a gay guy to wish for a smaller size of anything is a little unusual, but I'm no soda-size queen. Small is just fine with me.

The Spice of Life

In what's become one of my favorite annual traditions, Ed and I bought our green chile supply for the year yesterday. Life is looking up again. We buy a few pounds (7, this year), bring them home, separate them out into smaller containers and freeze them for later use. It makes me feel all Martha Stewart and domestic-like.

Having grown up in southern New Mexico, near the self-proclaimed green chile capital of the world - Hatch, NM - I've been a chile-head for most of my life. I can't ever seem to get my fill of the darn things. I don't think many people from outside of southern New Mexico really realize the love affair we New Mexicans have with green chiles (there's not a lot else to love around there besides cows and tumble weeds), but I'm proud to say I alone was able to convert Ed, a New Jersey boy with absolutely no "hot and spicy" experience, over to chile-head status in almost no time. Now it brings a smile to my heart anytime I see him breaking out the green chile to spice up whatever it is we're eating.

I really don't know what it is that I love so much about green chiles. They're often very hot, which I like, but beyond that, they have a unique flavor that makes just about anything you can imagine taste better. Even when they don't set your mouth on fire and send flames shooting out of your ears, they still add a nice spice to just about any meal. They make a great stew and add excitement to everything from scrambled eggs to steak to mashed potatoes to hamburgers. I've even known people to chop them up and add them to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, although I admit that's going a little overboard, even for me.

One of my fondest memories of growing up in New Mexico is the memory of chile harvest season, typically from late August through early October. The weather would be starting to cool down and vendors would be set up with their chile roasters around town, roasting tons of chiles in a gas-fired rotating barbeque grill type contraption. You couldn't escape that roasting green chile smell. That, more than the arrival of football season or the leaves turning color or cooler weather settling in, instantly signifies the arrival of autumn to my brain.

I think even though he's a convert, Ed still thinks I'm a little freaky about my green chiles. But, just like sex adds a certain spice to life, I'm thinking green chiles do pretty much the same thing. I won't rate green chiles up there with sex, but they're a not-too-distant second.

Feliz Cinco de Mayo!

I have no idea why really, but Cinco de Mayo (the fifth of May) is a big deal in Phoenix. (And as Ed keeps pointing out, it's 05-05-05 as well!). I have no idea why it's such a big thing - it's the anniversary of some relatively obscure, but victorious battle by the Mexican army against the French back in 1862 - but I think I can guess.

Phoenix has a lot of Mexican restaurants. People like to have an excuse for drinking and partying, and the restaurants are only more than happy to give the people what they want.

I admit I'm as bad as anyone. I love mexican food. And I love a nice cold cerveza. So, I love Cinco de Mayo.

The only problem is, everyone in town tends to go out to their favorite Mexican place for lunch or dinner on this day every year, so unless you enjoy crowds and long waits for dinner, it can be more of a hassle than it's worth.

As much as I really would love to celebrate the Mexican victory in an 1862 battle, I'll probably skip the festivities tonight. Instead, a Chalupa Supreme and Diet Pepsi from Taco Bell will probably have to suffice.

Whether you celebrate the day or not, have a muy bueno cinco de Mayo!