Fun Fact Friday - Vendor now or vendor later?

I have an addiction to the carbonated arts, particularly in diet cola form. This has persisted for years, even though I did manage to quit for an arduous three months back in 2006. My co-worker quit smoking at the same time, and NOBODY wanted to work with us.

I like vending machines. They're convenient and impersonal, so nobody can judge your unhealthy choices. Today while buying my third soda of the day, I got to wondering about the original vending machine concept.

Apparently, during the early 1880s, the first commercial coin-operated vending machines were introduced in London, England and dispensed post cards. English publisher and bookshop owner, Richard Carlisle invented a vending machine for selling books, around the same time. I don't like this, personally, because how can you randomly read a few pages to know if you'll like it? And unless there's a coffee-and-pastry machine right next to it, how do I get my full Barnes and Noble experience?

In 1888, the Thomas Adams Gum Company introduced the very first vending machines to the United States. The machines were installed on the elevated subway platforms in New York City and sold Tutti-Fruiti gum. In 1897, the Pulver Manufacturing Company added animated figures to its gum machines as an added attraction. The round candy coated gumball and gumball vending machines were introduced in 1907.

Vending machines soon offered everything including; cigars, postcards, stamps, etc. In Philadelphia, a completely coin-operated restaurant called Horn & Hardart was opened in 1902 and stayed opened until 1962. In the early 1920's, the first automatic vending machines started dispensing sodas into cups. In 1926, an American inventor named William Rowe invented the cigarette vending machine.

Beginning in the 1940's, A company called Vendorlator Manufacturing Company of Fresno California made a series of classic vending machines that mostly sold Coca-Cola and Pepsi.

Of course, I look forward to an eventual trip to Japan, where they have the best vending machines ever. Beer? Don't mind if I do. And while you're down there, could you pick me up some panties and a 25-pound bag of rice? And if you get the chance, you can play the claw game, too.

The Original Badass

My dad, for all the shit he gave me as a kid, for as embarrassing as he chose to be (or as we thought he was), Dad was a badass.

Dad had a temper, consequently my life was spent looking for ways not to piss him off. He was given the wrong TV at a loading dock once, and when he tried to return it, threatened bodily harm to the clerk when he was told all sales were final. When the Pondarosa gave him a four-ounce sirloin and tried to pass it off as the King Cut, the scene was epic. The dialog that will always stick in my mind is the district manager asking my father "Now sir, please don't make a scene", to which Dad replied "I'll make a scene if I G**-D***ed well want to!" Now I itch to make a scene and dedicate each and every one to my Dad.

I cut myself or walk into things from time to time, and I try to just walk it off, but I wasn't always that way, and I'm sure it irked him horribly to have a sissy for a son. You'd walk up to my father with a cut, and he'd spit on it and tell you it was better. Hey, spit is antiseptic, right? Just like when your mother would lick that napkin to wipe your face, you sloppy drooler. Walk up to him and ask what he did, why he was bleeding profusely and his response would always be 'Am I? I didn't notice.'

Now he's on blood thinners, and even had to switch to an electric razor so he wouldn't bleed out in the bathroom in the morning.

The standout badass moment is something I'll refer to here as the 'Infamous 48 hours of punishing bloodiness', or IFEHPB. My father worked maintenance for most of my life, and one day at work, he and another guy were moving a ladder into place. The ladder slipped into my father's pocket and scratched him, but he thought nothing of it. It wasn't until 30 minutes later when he went for change for the soda machine and came out with a wet, bloody hand that he thought something might be amiss. Of course, the city being paranoid about such things sent him to the hospital, where he got a tetanus shot and stitches. Yes, that's right, Dad walked off a cut that required stitches.

Cut to dinner the following night. Dad was slicing something while dinner cooked, and he opened the cabinet to get a plate. A platter slid out of place and launched toward him, so his instinct said to put up his hands to catch. Had he put the knife down first, this probably wouldn't have been such a bad idea.

So Dad and I pile into the family truckster, him with his hand wrapped in a blood-soaked kitchen towel, and me with my learner's permit, and we drive to the hospital. In a moment that made IFEHPB history, my father and his blood-soaked hand was still able to get out, disapprove of my parking and re-park the truck before going into the ER.

How badass is that?

***You should have seen the look on the ER attendant's face when my father proudly responded that he'd had a tetanus shot the day before.

Just one of those days

Yesterday was a beautiful day. Not that vacation days shouldn't be, but this was a rare, nearly exquisite summer day in Florida. The sun was shining, it wasn't deathly humid, and it didn't decide to rain until we were finally in the house for the night. Took a nice drive and had lunch with a friend's parents, in town to pick up a pristine car they got off of eBay.

Today, there were stray dogs in the conservancy with unknown intentions, which really upset the Dammit Dog. I did tell him that if he really wanted to be stray, it could be arranged. It is pouring ouside, and the ceiling next to my cubicle is dripping into the trash can that's been collecting the drips for weeks now, each drop making that quaint 'ploop' sound. There is no excitement, no anticipation, that the day could still get better, and I still have eight hours left.

Ah, vacation days. What would we do without them?

(Am I being a downer? Maybe you should stop reading this and go venture a guess at the movie quote contest. Just sayin.)

Movie Mania Monday (or...this blog goes to 11)

Some of you may (rightfully) regard me as a nerd. Hell, I regard me as a nerd. I love obscure movies, and frequently notice the little things that I'm not supposed to notice, thanks to a Film Art class at UWM back in '89. This doesn't hurt, either.

In an effort to enlighten and annoy the masses (that's you, dear reader), I will deign to point out the happy little comment beneath the blog title (Over there! Red room!) that changes from time to time and is usually a happy movie quote.

Now, CONTEST TIME! Every Monday, I will post a new quote. First person to guess correctly the original source of the quote wins a prize - no movie characters quoting other movies. Right now, the prize consists of the people's ovation and fame forever, but if you give me creative, inexpensive and generally humorous ideas, that may change.

This week's quote, as it appeared in last week's headline:

"You've got to have flowers in the warzone, baby!"

Easy target for the first one, but you get bonus points if you don't have to Google it. Bonus points, too, if you can identify this week's headline listing. Now, Allez Quoting!

The sun at the beach

So, no recipe today. We had the AC fixed in the truck yesterday, so the world of super-hot Florida was our oyster. Took a great drive out to Fort DeSoto Park, incredible beach (#1 rated in the nation four years ago) and the gulf was bathwater warm. Growing up, my only context for swimming in the great outdoors was Lake Michigan, where you were done swimming when you couldn't feel your legs any more, so this was quite the event for me. My parents informed me tonight that Lake Michigan is up to a balmy 65 degrees. Ahhh, refreshing.

The park has some awesome campsites, too, overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, your box fan blowing on high so you don't steam cook overnight in your tent. We miss camping, but this is NOT Florida's tent camping season.

Even better than the park, though, was our side trip through one of the nicer deed-restricted waterfront subdivisions in south Pinellas. At which point, we discovered the best. Mailbox. Ever.

I have to state here that Lori took this photo. Note that it is perfectly centered, a sure sign I had nothing to do with it.

I realize that deed restrictions aren't standard across the board, and other people have mailboxes held by manatees and dolphins and alligators, but come on. Best. Mailbox. Ever. Did I mention that? In the land of Jose Gaspar, where pirates invade the city once a year and the pirate's galleon resides downtown year-round, it's tough to find someone who might be taking the area traditions a tad TOO seriously.

At least their friends don't have to look too hard for the house on their first visit.