It’s hard to be eloquent when you’re in shock. I’m in shock. A friend of mine was killed yesterday and I’m still just getting my head around it. I am stunned, in disbelief. He was in an accident on his motorcycle, riding with a group of friends, something he did often, because he loved it. He was a very capable rider, with skills far beyond those of most of the people out there on two wheels. It was sudden, freakish, and, truly, an accident. Our shared passion, riding motorcycles, is an inherently dangerous one. We know, understand, and, above all, respect this fact. Even with that in mind, things happen.
I first met Robert on a group ride. He was gregarious, funny, and genuinely interested in others. He wasn’t a guy to talk about himself; he always enjoyed hearing about others, he engaged the new members, and made them feel welcome right away. When it comes to sportbike riders, there’s always plenty of ego to go around; speed, adrenaline, and lots of testosterone have a way of bringing that out. Robert, while party to all three, didn’t have a problem with his ego. He wasn’t caught up in proving he was better, on any level, than anyone else. He was real; he enjoyed having a good time, and seeing others having a good time too. It was his selfless nature, and concern for his friends that, ultimately, may have cost him. It was his own effort to avoid and protect other riders that put him in harms way yesterday. His friends were spared; Robert was not.
I often ponder the logic of the Universe, or the lack thereof. So much chaos; so much of our everyday life seems to be spinning at a frantic, dangerously kinetic pace. There are no controls. Not enough safety handles to hang onto. Robert, and people like him, are safety handles. Centered points amidst all the craziness of life, that, when we reach out to touch them, grab onto them, they help us to find the calm in the storm. So, like many, I am tempted to ask, “Why?” Why Robert? Why now? The world really was a better place with Robert in it, so why would it make sense to remove him from it? And what really sucks is I don’t have an answer, and never will. I have lost other friends before what I believed was ‘their time’. I found myself asking the same questions then as I do now. In my mind, the only way I can begin to make sense of it is to figure that this was simply his mission in this life. Robert was a better man than most that I have come across; he led by example. His death is a shock, a slap in the face, and has permanently burned who he was and how he lived into my memory. I, for one, will move forward with that example in my head and in my heart. If I live my life even a little bit more like he did, I’ll be a better man for it. I owe my friend in life and in death.
Robert Becker was a good man, a great guy, and a skilled rider. He was a lover of his family, his friends, and critters of all shapes and sizes. He brought many smiles, much laughter, and lots of wonderful memories to the lives of everyone he knew, and it really sucks to think about him not being around anymore. I will carry Robert in my heart, I will keep him alive by speaking of him often, and I will ride knowing he’s on my shoulder keeping an eye out for the blind corners.
Rest In Peace, Robert David Becker.
I live all of a block from my local supermarket. While a definite convenience because of its proximity, it has also created a bit of a problem in my eating and shopping habits. Because it is walking distance from my house, and parking where I live is always hard to come by, I prefer to hoof it to the store when I need groceries. This effectively limits me to purchasing only as much as I can carry back to my house. I rarely drive my car to do a full weekly grocery run, instead I just figure out what I need to get me through the next twenty four to forty eight hours, and then amble down the street and get the supplies. I'm usually pretty good about sticking to the items that I need, but I am vulnerable to the "impulse buy", especially when I get to the checkout counter. I am notorious for grabbing a couple of Butterfinger candy bars, along with some Altoids gum, a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos, a couple of Slim Jim's, and the occasional LIFE magazine, or DVD. In my own defense, I do buy the Cheetos and the Slim Jim's for my fiance, but, admittedly, the rest of the crap is for me.
Yesterday, I changed things up a bit, and grabbed a medium sized (4 1/2 oz) bag of Cracker Jack. Cracker Jack and I go way back. As I'm sure it does for a lot of people. Cracker Jack, according to the website, was first introduced at the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago. It took its place in popular culture when it was included in the song "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" in 1908. Bottom line...its been around a long time, and most everybody has tried, or is at least aware of the "popcorn, peanut, and caramel confection". Cracker Jack is a comfort food, it still tastes the same to my taste buds as it did when I was four. My grandfather used to take me to the Loyola Theater to see matinees when I was small, and he would get me Cracker Jack. I don't know if he bought it there, or if he brought it with him, my memory is a little vague, but I remember my grandfather and I remember the Cracker Jack. Maybe he had taken me to circus, or a freaking carnival...I don't know...but the two are somehow connected. There is also a bit of nostalgia, and longing for childhood innocence worked in there too, but I digress. Like I said, Cracker Jack is a comfort food, and it seemed like the right call as I was checking out with the rest of my stuff.
I opened the bag a little later that evening, and sent myself back to the soft theater seat, or circus bleacher, or whatever I was sitting on when I was four, with the salty sweet combo of flavors. The caramel coat on the popcorn was just as I remembered it, but something wasn't quite right. I realized quickly that it was the absence of peanut. While popcorn is the true foundation of the recipe, the peanut is secondary only in quantity. When it comes to overall flavor impact, the peanut is just as much a role player as is the popped corn. The salty-sweet end result satisfies all of your mouths desires, and is equally complimented by soda or beer (I prefer the latter, but will go with the former when looking for full nostalgic impact). On this occasion the combo was definitely hurting when it came to peanuts. I looked down into the open bag and didn't see any. I shook the bag a little and looked again...nothing. Now I understand that the contents of the bag, during transport, experiences some "settling". The heavy stuff will find its way to the bottom of the bag as it is jostled on its journey from the factory to the store. But even with that in mind, I wasn't seeing near enough peanuts. I continued to eat my way through the bag until I got about an inch from the bottom, it was here that my hound-dog-like investigative reflexes kicked into action, and I decided to...well...investigate.
I poured the remaining contents of the bag into a pie tin, and separated the popcorn from the peanuts. Keep in mind I had not eaten a single peanut from the bag yet. I counted thirteen whole peanuts, and fourteen half peanuts...a grand total of twenty peanuts, all of which were sitting in the rubble at the bottom of the bag, pretty much ruining the whole flavor experience. This pissed me off. I paid $1.29, plus tax, for the bag...my grandfather paid a nickle...a fuggin nickle! I was most certainly being hosed. I did some more calculations, and in approximate terms, based on the size of the bag, the number of popped corn kernels left in the bag when I dumped it out, taking into account the aforementioned "settling of contents in transport", and deducting, of course, the area occupied by the peanuts, it was determined that each bag would have in it between 375 and 425 popped corn kernels. For purposes of the investigation, I split the difference and called it an even 400. So we have a 20 peanut to 400 kernel ratio...or 1 peanut for every 20 kernels. When you consider that an honest mouthful of Cracker Jack requires 2 to 3 kernels to a peanuts, for maximum flavor, it is more than apparent just how terribly wrong, and completely unacceptable, this ratio is. There should be a minimum of 125 to 135 peanuts per bag in order to achieve an acceptable balance between the corn and the nut.
The more I though about it, the more pissed I got. There were definitely way more peanuts in the bag when I was a kid. Waaaay more! Not only that, the nuts were stuck to the corn by the caramel...not laying impotently at the bottom of my sack like they do now. They are taking advantage of us. They are putting one over on us people! We're being hornswaggled! We're being bamboozled! They are taking us to the cleaners and laughing all the way to the bank. All for a buck...your buck...my buck...my grandfathers buck (after he bought twenty). A buck twenty-nine actually. The bastards. Commie pinko's. They'll make excuses about packaging weights, and the cost of the peanut. They'll point the finger at shipping costs, and import taxes, but it's all a load of crap. We need to rise up people and demand some satisfaction. We are the consumer dammit! Without us they're nothin'! They expect us to just lie there and take it. To just sit on our fat asses and shovel their almost entirely popcorn product down our gullets. But we can do something! We can write our congressman! Perhaps a letter to the editor of Rolling Stone or Newsweek? Or maybe just call the customer comments toll-free number on the back of the bag. Whatever the case, let's make a change for good America. Lets send a message that we know what's worth fighting for in this country today. Lets tell whoever will listen, "We want our nuts back!"
