Forgetting To Remember...

Today is just one of those days.  There's simply no other way to explain it.  The morning looked so promising, too...sunny skies, temperatures in the low 90s, and plenty of humidity.  It would be a crime not to spend some quality time outside on a day like today.  So I did what any tough guy would do--I threw my rollerblades in the car and headed toward Lake Calhoun.

The uptown area is a solid 20-30 minute drive, but with Sam's Club along the way, it works well to combine a trip to the lakes with my weekly journey to restock the freezer.  There was just one problem...when I arrived at Calhoun and started putting my rollerblades on, I realized that I left my wallet at home.  Any idea what's hard to do without cash, checks, credit cards, or debit cards?  Buying things!

No IOU's allowed.

I was already at the lake, so I did my rollerblading, still frustrated with my memory lapse. I shamefully and walletlessly returned home, curious if the Maple Grove Sam's Club location might be a closer option than the St. Louis Park Sam's Club that I'd already practically driven right by.  Unfortunately, Google Maps showed me that I'm magically positioned equidistant from both Sam's Club locations.  If I'd chosen anywhere else to live, I would have more optimally positioned myself for faster shopping.  What hurt even worse was that I also drove right by Sam's Club last night on the way to that tennis match that didn't happen. At the time I told myself that I'd go to the lakes tomorrow anyway, so why not just shop tomorrow?  If I only knew.

When I took the rollerblades out of the car, I noticed something was missing--the white headphones that came with the iPhone.  Where could they be?  I was wearing them the whole time I was rollerblading, and I distinctly remember sitting in the passenger seat of the Malibu and unplugging them right before I changed back into my shoes.  I checked my pockets, and I checked every last inch of the car...nothing.  They must have fallen out of the car when I walked around to the driver's seat back at the lake.

Normally I wouldn't care too much about losing a pair of headphones--I have a few other pairs, and ones with better sound quality, but that specific pair that came with the iPhone has one critical feature that all of the others--including my old Apple iPod headphones--lack.  The base near the plug-in is narrow enough to fit through the tiny hole in the Lifeproof case on my iPhone.  Without those headphones, I'll have to use the annoying, clunky headphone adapter that I've avoided for so long.  Oddly, Apple is known for low quality headphones that break easily, yet they still come with the infamous Apple price tag...so replacing my lost friend will involve an expensive trip to the Apple Store....and I'm not referring to my apartment.

Since I had to go back to Sam's Club anyway, I figured I might as well drive the few extra miles to Lake Calhoun to search the area where I'd parked.  So, with a sense of annoying deja vu, I drove back toward uptown.  For some reason traffic had picked up considerably, so I spent nearly an hour sitting and staring at multiple cycles of the same red lights...all for the unlikely chance to maybe find those headphones.

When I finally got to the lake, I experienced a rare moment of luck.  Despite the crowds, I found an open parking space right near my spot from earlier in the day.  But my luck immediately ran out. As I pulled in, some jerk decided that open spot was big enough for two cars, and he tried to squeeze his car in front of mine.  I graciously tried to accommodate his stupidity and backed up until my bumper was literally within inches of the car parked behind me.  He, too, continued backing up, nearly parking me in.

Not wanting to get stuck for hours, I had about fifteen seconds to quickly scan the area around my old parking spot in search of the headphones before the guy walked away from his car.  No luck.  I ran back and asked the guy to move his car so I could exit without leaving tan paint on the bumper of his Mercedes.  He seemed confused as to why I was already leaving, but he moved his car and let me be on my way.  I've noticed that the Malibu has a unique ability to part seas of expensive cars...

I'm now down a $30 pair of low quality but much-needed headphones, and my future either involves a frustratingly unnecessary purchase or years of fumbling with an annoying headphone adapter.  After spending my Saturday afternoon driving all over the suburbs of Minneapolis, I finally returned home with my groceries.  Disappointed, but home. 

Then I realized that a friend had stabbed me in the back...well, technically that friend had burned me in the arm.  That friend, of course, is the sun. A glance down at my red left arm reminded me that I'd also forgotten the sunscreen this morning.  I'd hoped that there was enough shade and that I'd wouldn't be facing the same direction long enough to pick up a sunburn, but like I said, it's one of those days.  The sleeveless shirt, my Minnesota-white upper arms, and a hot summer day were a perfect recipe for disaster.

 I want to strangle my friend right now...

My plans for the rest of the day involve re-reading yesterday's blog post to remind myself that things will eventually even out, then lying on the floor in the fetal position for the rest of the day, avoiding sharp objects as I wait out this bad luck streak.  With a day like this and a car like mine, I'm certainly not going to drive anywhere.

Un-Undefeated

I've found that things have a way of evening out over time.  When things aren't going so well, it's nice to know that life will eventually get better again.  On the other hand, when everything seems to be going my way, that also means that rough times are probably ahead.  In terms of my tennis game, 2010 was one of those times when I had to just sit back and hope that things would turn around...

Tendonitis in my left Achilles kept me from playing competitive tennis for more than a year.  After a demoralizing, pain-in-the-ankle match in a work tennis league in mid-January, I hung up the racquet and didn't pick it up again until May 2011.  But sure enough, things have a way of evening out...

When I started up again in May in a USTA mixed doubles league, my two goals I set for myself were very, very basic: (1) don't re-injure the ankle, and (2) no crotch shots--well don't be on the receiving end of any crotch shots.  It was a simple game plan, but I hadn't gone fifteen months without playing tennis since I first started practicing when I was twelve.  Shockingly, despite my horrendous lack of practice, we won the match in straight sets.  And, even more shockingly, we continued winning matches in straight sets all summer.

As my partner and I piled up the wins, our team continued winning, too.  By August, we'd finished the season at the top of the standings, qualifying for sectionals in September.  Somehow, the wave of victory continued, and my partner and I swept our matches, the team went 3-0, and we qualified for nationals in November.

I fully expected our team to get destroyed at nationals--the warm-weather teams from California and Texas have a long history of dominating the pathetic, frigid northern states.  Though my partner and I went 1-2 and our team also finished 1-2, I was pleasantly surprised at how competitive we'd been--every one of our matches was close, and we didn't even have our best lineup playing.  Things were looking very promising for the 2012 summer season...but I should have remembered that things have a way of evening out...

After nationals wrapped up in mid-November, I barely touched a racquet for the rest of the winter.  To make matters worse, the USTA finally came to its senses and bumped up the rating of our semi-pro ringer, Tony, from 5.0 to 5.5, which meant he was no longer eligible to play in the league (yes, the same Tony from that crazy hybrid singles/doubles match this spring.  Then my partner said she was going to be too busy to play regularly this summer, so she didn't sign up.  The old team was getting dismantled, but somehow, I still felt optimistic that we'd field a solid lineup when the season started.

The summer season kicked off in mid-May.  The captain found a new partner for me.  We'd never met or played together before, and to say it didn't go well just doesn't do justice to the epic craptacularity that unfolded on the court that day.  I played bad, and she played even worse.  We were matched up against a middle-aged team with mediocre tennis skills, yet the lone highlight of the match for us was the one game we put on the scoreboard in the second set before they put us out of our misery, 6-0, 6-1.  Any prospect of another undefeated season was blown off the court in about forty-five minutes, and the team's hopes were also squashed as we lost 2-1.

I figured the next match couldn't get any worse, and fortunately, I was right.  I got better, but not better enough.  The captain paired me with a different partner again (it wasn't hard to notice that the last pairing hadn't gone well).  She was a tennis instructor at one of the Lifetime clubs, but I wouldn't have guessed that from watching her play.  My performance was a lot better than the previous match, but her double faulting and consistently inconsistent play led us to defeat.  Again, the team lost...0-2.

Two losses had already all but eliminated us from sectionals, so I really didn't care what happened going into the third match.  I was paired with the instructor again, and things started well enough before they came crashing down.  We blew a 5-3 lead in the first set, then lost the second.  I was 0-3 and the team lost again, also falling to 0-3.

Tonight was my fourth match of the season, and all I could do was hope that things would start evening out. I was scheduled to play with yet another partner, so I hoped that might help end the sad winlessness that's been plaguing me for two months.  The good news is that I didn't lose tonight...but the bad news is that I didn't win tonight, either.  After driving to Lifetime, I learned that one of our opponents' three teams had to default.  I was still scheduled to play, but then one of the guys on their remaining two teams failed to show up.  Default number two meant that I'd driven to Lifetime for nothing.  On the plus side, our team picked up a rare win...

Looking back, why was I even considering the possibility of a turnaround tonight?  After all, it's Friday the 13th, a day far better known for chainsaw massacres and axe murders than tennis comebacks.  There's always next week...but I'm hoping things start to even out swing my way again.  After last year's undefeated season, I now run the serious risk of going winless in the summer of 2012.

This wildly unsuccessful streak of tennis makes me apprciate my old partner that much more.  She hardly ever double faulted, she moved up to the net on every point, and we never felt the need to congratulate each other for good shots or apologize for bad ones.  We barely talked when we played...it was like two singles players covering halves of the same court.  We never tried anything fancy and didn't talk strategy at all, but not overthinking seemed to be the key to success.  Now, as we approach the midpoint of the summer, I have to keep reminding myself that things will eventually even out...right?

Playing With The House's Money

It turns out that July has been quite the month for big news in Iowa.  When I was back home, I heard that an audit found that the University of Iowa payroll department issued over-payments totaling nearly $650,000 during the previous school year.  Now, the lucky recipients of those payments have to pay back the excess funds, either through payroll deductions or via direct billing from the university.

The article mentioned that the audit uncovered a total of 338 payroll over-payments.  That really makes you wonder why the university needed an audit to uncover the problem--didn't a single person come forward?  I don't know if it was 338 different people who received over-payments, but at least some of them had to notice, and it's surprising that not a single do-gooder pointed out that their paycheck mysteriously increased.

  Overpaying employees for more than 160 years.

On the surface, receiving a windfall from an artificially high paycheck sounds fantastic--who wouldn't want more money for the same amount of work?  But even though many months have passed between the time the payments were issued and someone figured out what had happened, these things always seem to get uncovered.  (Though, in all fairness, I guess we don't hear about incidents like this that go undetected...)

Anyway, I'm willing to bet that some of the people who received over-payments didn't even notice.  People with direct deposit who don't pay much attention to the ins and outs of their bank transactions and account balances could easily have let this slide.  You've gotta feel a little bad for the unfortunate employees who had no idea this was happening and now find themselves holding an unexpected bill from the U of I.  But I guess that's a good reminder in why you should pay attention to your bank account...

On the other hand, this is a hilarious miscalculation for those who knew they were getting paid too much, remained silent thinking this would go undetected, and spent the money.  If they don't have the money to reimburse the university, it looks like it's wage garnishment time.  And if any of those employees lost their jobs at the university and are broke...well...like I said, hilarious.

Here's my personal philosophy.  If you realize you're getting overpaid and decide to go the dishonest route and say nothing about it, at least have the common sense to hold onto the money.  There's a good chance someone's going to eventually uncover the error and you'll have to return it.  So if you're going to remain silent, at least enjoy the ride and collect a paltry interest rate on the overpaid funds until someone discovers the error and you're forced to plead ignorance and return the money.  Taking a more "aggressive" approach with this accidental can lead to serious problems, as a recent story illustrates.

A Detroit man named Ronald Page held a checking account with a regional bank called Lasalle Bank.  To say that Mr. Page was not wealthy would be an understatement--he had only a few hundred dollars in his checking account...but that was about to change.  What do banks do best?  Buy other banks.  Several years ago, Bank of America (the self-proclaimed "Bank of Opportunity") acquired Lasalle Bank, and in the process of transferring cusomters' account information, BoA made a costly error.  Costly for everyone involved, it would turn out.

A computer glitch at the Bank of Opportunity presented Page with the opportunity to withdrawal unlimited funds from the bank's ATMs without any overdraft restrictions.  When he discovered this, Page did the only logical thing and withdrew more than $1.5 million between late 2008 and early 2009.  Had he kept the money and deposited it into a savings account, the interest alone would have been staggering--this was back in the days when interest rates weren't fractions of a part of a tenth of a percent.  I wonder if Bank of America would have noticed if he deposited the money back into his own account...and could they still charge him with theft of bank funds?

After withdrawing all that money, Page tried parlay his new found wealth into an even larger fortune by heading to the blackjack table.  Needless to say, things didn't turn out as he'd planned--all Page succeeded into doing was earning compound interest on his own stupidity.  Over the course of two weeks, he gambled away all $1.5 million, and BoA discovered the missing cash.  Unable to repay his ill-gotten debt, Page now faces more than a year in jail for theft of bank funds.

.

Interestingly, the only reason Page isn't facing a longer prison sentence is because the U.S. Attorney's office placed part of the blame on Bank of America, because it was their computer error that presented Page with the opportunity to steal all that cash in the first place.  That sounds like faulty logic to me, but as a bank customer, I do find it incredibly annoying when banks merge, change everyone's account numbers, staff their branches with ignorant tellers, and add a bunch of new fees.

And it would seem that the University of Iowa has plenty of problems of its own.  The university audit claims that the $650,000 in over-paid wages was an increase of $73,000 from the previous school year. What are they doing down there?!  A one-time error of this size is bad enough, but it sounds like faulty payroll controls are as much a part of the school year as spring break and finals week.  That's pretty weak for an institution that publishes the salaries of all its employees online.

This just goes to show you what not to do when accidental monies show up unexpectedly.  I'm not here to preach the virtues of honesty, but if you decide to keep the cash and hope that the missing funds go undetected, at least have presence of mind to invest conservatively in case your luck runs out.

Here are a few links to the stories:

http://siouxcityjournal.com/news/state-and-regional/iowa/state-audit-shows-university-of-iowa-payroll-overpayments/article_4aea7116-c86f-11e1-8afe-0019bb2963f4.html

http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/sideshow/detroit-man-gambles-away-1-5-million-accidentally-191619543.html

When Life Gives You Lemons...Get A Permit!

Between kids on summer vacation and the heat wave that's been sweeping the nation for the past two weeks, I've seen far too many child-operated lemonade stands popping up in driveways, on street corners, and even at Lake Calhoun.  But you have to wonder...is this legal?  Every so often, you hear about the police shutting down a child's stand because they didn't have the proper permits for street-vending.  These stories are followed immediately by a public outcry from people who think the law enforcement officials shouldn't take the law so seriously.

When Iowa comes up in conversation, I normally keep my mouth shut and attempt to sneak away silently, hoping to avoid the embarrassment, shame, and mocking that others typically bestow upon me for having grown up one of the nation's top five most boring states.  But this week marked one of the few times that I stood up tall and shouted proudly from the rooftop that I hail from the corn capitol of the world.

On Monday night, I heard on the news that police officers in Coralville, Iowa recently shut down a child's lemonade stand because he didn't have a vendor's permit.  I tried to look up the story online, but my search yielded both delight and disappointment.  Somehow, I couldn't find any record of the story, but I did turn up a remarkably similar tale from last summer.

In late July of 2011, Coralville cops shut down three different lemonade stands in one weekend!  My favorite line from the article came from a woman named Bobbie Nelson, whose six children had their stand shut down after just twenty minutes after negligently failing to acquire the necessary $400 vendor permit.  Nelson said, "The kids were devastated. They just cried and didn't understand why."

The only thing I don't understand is why these stories are newsworthy.  These vendor permit laws are designed to protect the health and safety of the public.  Why should age exempt anyone--especially children--from a well-intentioned ordinance?  Especially when children are notoriously germy and wash their hands after going to the bathroom about as often as they purchase vending permits.  Having their lemonade stands shut down provides these budding entrepreneurs with a valuable life lesson in the mechanics of running a business and in adhering to the laws of their local communities.  I've heard that Kenneth Lay, Andrew Fasdow, and the other criminal executives at Enron all ran unlicensed lemonade stands as children.  Coincidence?  We may never know for sure...


I'm a law-abiding citizen--and one who finds children endlessly annoying--but I also have economic reasons behind my delight in the noble efforts of the Coralville P.D.  Let's face it: these days, you can't find a kid selling lemonade for less than a quarter a cup...and those cups are usually tiny.  Based on the input costs, that cup of lemonade shouldn't cost more than five or ten cents, which would still provide a reasonable return for the stand operator.  What gives these kids the right to think that they can gouge the unsuspecting public by charging more than double the fair market price for their product?  And it's not uncommon to find children hawking cups of fifty-cent lemonade!  The profit margins are outrageous--I think they're involved in some kind of twisted price-fixing scheme!

The situation has me thinking about a fun and potentially profitable way to spend some vacation days next summer.  On those unbearably hot July days, I'm going to take a week off work, find a town with a lax police department, and locate some children running lemonade stands  I'll set up shop right next door and give 'em the old Bill Gates routine.  First, I'll buy lemons and sugar in bulk quantities and achieve tremendous economics of scale, then I'll set my prices so low that their little enterprises will be crushed within minutes, leaving them with nothing but tears and an unsold inventory of overpriced lemonade.  Then it's off to the next driveway to destroy the next competitor who dares challenge me.

I'm confident that the public will welcome a trustworthy, adult vendor who is offering a fair price for cold, refreshing lemonade on a hot summer day.  If the cops won't take care of business, someone has to step in...and that someone is me.  With my love of hot weather, spending time outdoors, and crushing the dreams of children, I can't think of a job better suited to my unique interests and abilities.  And I can guarantee this: my business will hold all of the necessary and required permits.  Now that's newsworthy, and I'll glady welcome the free publicity that will undoubtedly swarm to my stand.

Here's a link to the story of Coralville's finest police work:

http://www.kcrg.com/news/local/Coralville-Police-Shutdown-Several-Childrens-Lemonade-Stands-126592563.html

The P.A....Potentially Awful?

When I'm not at work, I do my best to avoid checking work emails or my Outlook calendar.  That's not easy when that stuff gets sent directly to the iPhone, and I certainly loathe the annoying chimes that start to go off around 10PM when coworkers with children put their kids to bed, then log into their work computers and start firing off emails and setting up meetings.  But that's precisely why Steve Jobs invented silent mode on the iPhone.

The advantage of ignoring all those late-night messages, of course, is peace of mind and relaxation.  But there are times when I walk into work and pay the price in the form of an unwanted surprise.  Today was one of those days.  The problem wasn't that a meeting popped up last night after I left work, it's that I didn't bother to check today's calendar in advance.  When I walked in this morning and checked Outlook, a dreaded one-hour, 11AM meeting was staring me squarely in the face: Performance Appraisal!

Ahh, the annual P.A.  I should have known it was coming--the fiscal year ended in May, and late June/early July has always been performance appraisal season.  But my manager put it on the calendar weeks ago, and it seemed so far off at the time that it slipped my mind entirely.  But sure enough, today was that once-far off day, and I figured I've used the "I can't make it, I have a bad hamstring" excuse enough times that that well is officially dry.

I have mixed feelings about the performance appraisal.  On the one hand, it reminds me a bit of the horribly uncomfortable IDP discussion in that the P.A. is inevitably an awkward conversation.  It's not often that you have someone sit across the table from you for a full hour and tell you to your face what they--and all of your closest co-workers--think of you.  Whether the feedback is good, bad, or indifferent, it's a bit of an unusual situation. Usually when people tell me how they feel about me, it involves more yelling, a lot more spontaneity, and a fair amount of obscene gesturing.

If your manager is showering you with praise, you have to fight the urge to smile giddily and say something like, "Of course!  You don't have to remind me that I'm awesome!"  If the feedback is bad and it becomes clear that your coworkers universally hate you and consider you dangerously incompetent, what can you do?  You certainly can't talk your way out of unlikeability, and any attempt to explain your actions over the past year will come across as a series of pathetic excuses from a defensive loser.  The main advantage the performance appraisal has over the IDP discussion is that it's a much more one-sided conversation--you pretty much sit there and listen and don't have to do nearly as much talking about feelings, hopes, dreams, and goals...and that's obviously a very good thing.

Though awkward, the P.A. is extremely entertaining at the same time.  Unlike school, full-time work doesn't involve test scores and graded homework assignments...which is both good and bad.  The P.A. is the one time each year that someone actually grades and assigns a score to your work...and it can be nice to know where you stand.  And who doesn't spend time wondering what their coworkers think of them?  To receive a piece of paper with their word-for-word comments about you is delightfully informative.  The comments are listed anonymously from a large number of people, but it doesn't take a genius to quickly figure out who said what.

The funniest part of the process is that there are only two characters of text in this entire booklet of information that anyone really cares about: the individual performance rating.  There are pages that cover what you accomplished (or failed to accomplish), along with comments from co-workers, qualitative discussions about strengths and weaknesses, and on and on.  But when it comes right down to it, everyone is looking for that magic little number that factors into the bonus calculation...the rest is just details.  They say that actions speak louder than words, but in the world of finance, numbers speak the loudest.

Fortunately, another P.A. is behind me, which brings twelve more months of relatively awkward-free days at the office...or at least a few months' worth until it's IDP season again.  Instead of the formal one-hour production that takes place every year, I wish they could just post the performance ratings on a bulletin board somewhere, listed anonymously by employee ID the way colleges handle test scores.  As for the feedback portion of the P.A., just tell me real-time when I screw up or when I'm awesome...or at least the latter...

Working For The Weak-End

Over the past four weeks, I've made some breakthrough fitness discoveries that I'm generous enough to share with the world free of charge.  First and foremost, I've learned that a monthly workout regimen that includes one week in the gym and three weeks away from the gym does little to improve strength...quite the opposite in fact.  Disappointingly, further research suggests that increased ice cream consumption does not offset this loss in muscle mass.  It's been a rough month.

I can't honestly say that I'm looking forward to my return to the gym this evening.  It's unfair how strength disappears in a matter of days but takes months to rebuild.  And I can't get over how seven short days can make all the difference in the world.  One week off every few months?  No problem--it's a welcome and much-needed rest, usually without any noticeable loss in strength.  Two weeks off in a row?  Major issue--that first day back in the gym always feels like a fat woman is sitting on the bar on every rep.

I can still remember my disappointing--and life-threatening--return to the gym after two weeks of vacation last summer.  I fully expected the overwhelming weakness, but still I managed to overestimate my diminished strength.  I approached the decline bench press,  lowered the weight to embarrassingly low levels, and proceeded to almost plant the bar directly on my neck.  Fantastic!

I further lowered expectations after this year's vacation.  This time I managed to clear the pathetic hurdle I'd set for myself and kept the bar safely off my neck, but the second day back was worse than I expected.  I hoped to slowly claw my way back to the glorious niche that I had previously occupied at the gym, which I affectionately refer to as "not that weak for a skinny guy."

But after one week on this long journey, I returned to Iowa for the Fourth of July.  The local YMCA is stingy with the guess-passes, so it would seem that for the foreseeable future, my weakness will keep me relegated to my new status at the gym, which can be best described as "sickly high school JV basketball bench-warmer."  At least I won't have to hang out near the crowded end of the dumbbell rack with all those heavy weights.  But it'll be a long while before I can glare with disdain at those annoying half-rep idiots.

Now I have to restart my comeback, and I have some additional motivation to fuel my efforts.  While in Iowa last weekend, I drew the attention of a waitress at a Mexican restaurant who was impressed with my hearty appetite.  After devouring a substantial plate of food in a few short minutes, the waitress came back to retrieve the empty plate and commented, "You ate all that?  You're so small!"

Needless to say, that comment came directly out of her tip.  But I'm sorry to say it wasn't the only indicator that I need to get back in the gym ASAP.  When I first arrived in Iowa, Mom momentarily mistook me for James.  Honest to god--James!  I can't do much about the face, but I couldn't be more motivated to return to the gym as reestablish my dominance in the "not that weak for a skinny guy" segment of the population.

It may take a few months, but eventually I hope to look as good as Brandon here, at which time I'll be able to flex in situations where it makes no sense at all and have people take my picture.  I just hope that I won't be so unfortunate as to find myself holding a baby in the process.

Goodbye Again, Iowa

After five more days spent outside the office, I have further evidence that the better the break, the tougher the return to work...because Sunday night feels especially bad this evening.  It doesn't help that July has traditionally been the slowest month of the year at work, but with all this fantastic corporate restructuring, it appears that I'll be heading into a chaotic mess that may not resolve itself until the fall.  Hence the return to Minnesota this afternoon was no picnic.

Work aside, there are certain things about Iowa that you just can't find in Minnesota.  For example, as far as I know, you can't find a Fareway store anywhere in this state.  After all, it does refer to itself as "Iowa's Most Economical Food Store."  It's like a whole new shopping experience in there--look what I saw this week:

It may not be too easy to see in the picture, but those are Larry the Cable Guy-branded potato chips.  If you look closely at the sign with the price on it, you'll see the phrase "Get -R- Done!"  The classiness knows no bounds.  I realize that Iowa is south of here, but I never thought of it as deep south.  I haven't seen these chips anywhere before...I'm not sure if they just haven't caught on yet or if someone recently restocked the shelves, but they didn't appear to be flying off the rack.

This particular Fareway location has a trailer park nearby, so if these chips are going to gain a following anywhere in the state, they're set up for success at this exact spot.  I can guarantee they have a hard time keeping these on the shelves at the Piggly Wiggly stores in Alabama and Mississippi.  The top-selling flavor there is Larry's White (Trash) Corn Tortilla Chips.  See what I'm missing by leaving Iowa?!

Every time I go back to Ankeny, I feel a decade older, even if only a few months have passed since my last visit.  Every time I return, new buildings are under construction, others have been torn down, and new businesses are popping up everywhere.  On this most recent stint in Ankeny, I stumbled across a newcomer in town when I drove to Fareway. And let me tell you, the excitement in town hasn't reached these heights since the Olive Garden opened a few years back.  This is the view looking east from Fareway's parking lot:

That may not look like much yet, but let me give you a hint what the future holds for this hallowed ground:

Yes, Ankeny will be home to a Pizza Ranch in the not-too-distant future.  It's like the culture of New York, London, Rome, and Paris are all pouring into town at once.  On a side note, I'm betting the driver of that rusted out, bumperless truck in the picture above is the one who bought the lone bag of Larry the Cable Guy chips that was missing from the shelf.

It's precisely this type of thing that makes me feel so old.  A Pizza Ranch is on the way!  Across town, a new frozen yogurt shop called Cherry Berry is days away from a grand opening.  A few miles south of that, an old building that's been sitting at the corner of the city's busiest intersection since the dawn of time was torn down since I my visit.  Now I feel like one of those seventy-something grandpas who's always saying, "Son, I remember when that building used to be a gas station, and gas cost 89 cents a gallon!  And see that over there?  That used to be a real estate office.  Beyond that, it was corn fields as far as the eye could see!" 

These days, everything in town used to be something else, and I have very vivid memories of what those somethings used to be.  I fear that recognizing that is one of the first steps toward old age, and I don't like it one bit.  The city shouldn't have been allowed to change anything starting the day I moved away.  But I suppose I'll allow the Pizza Ranch...

Now it's time to break some pool cues over my head in preparation of a difficult and demoralizing work week.  Until next time, Iowa!