“It’s like pulling 4 G’s in the simulator at space camp, dad!” the General shouted over the gale force winds.
They walked out of the bathroom with the hair disheveled messes, blown back behind them in every direction. It was the same effect as walking behind a jet engine. When that happened at the airport we called it “jet blast.” “Jet blast” was the nickname of one of my co-workers at Midway Airport. A hold-over from the big hair 80's, she styled her hair in such a way that it looked like she stepped out of the shower and onto the ramp where she asked a pilot to light off an engine on a 737 to use as a blow dryer.
The boys love the Exlerator. The girl hates them. She screams and covers her ears every time they opt for a cyclone instead of a square of paper to dry their hands. In the great debate between paper and hot air hand dryers, and which one is better for the environment, I prefer swiping my hands on my pants and being done with it.
The Target visit came after a nice dinner at the Olive Garden. We don’t eat out much anymore. It will be even less after I realized last night that eating out is no longer buying dinner for two adults and three children. That can be costly. Now we are feeding three adults and two children. Well, two adults and a teenager who eats enough for two adults, and three children. Yikes! That jump from the kid’s menu to the adult menu is costly, and will only get worse until I qualify for the 55 and over discount. That won't happen as soon as the Boss would have you believe.
The Olive Garden children’s menu came in a nicely decorated folder that provided a surprising trip down memory lane.
I immediately recognized Ricky Ravioli. He’s the second character on the right on the front of the menu. Ricky was the leader of a Speak Easy jazz band called Ricky Ravioli and the Marinaras. The group played in the red light district of Chicago. They had a robust, spicy sound. Their lead singer was Tonya Tomato. Oh, and what a ripe little tomato she was! Rumor has it that she had a mélange with Bene Breadstick, the band’s drummer, that simmered over a low heat for years. Ollie the Olive was the band’s manager. Nicknamed “the Oil,” Oillie the Olive oiled the gears with the mob that controlled most of the joints where the band played, ensuring everyone received their share of the greens. That's how a band booked gigs back then. Gina Grape was a restaurant hostess who could be pressed into service as a wine steward if needed. She quit her job and joined the group as a back-up singer and Ricky’s main squeeze. After hours those two could really jam! I shared this story with the family as we waited for our food. The band was quite old when I was a child, but I remember hearing stories of their hey day from my grand parents. It brought a tear to the eye!
It's nice to see a big chain like the Olive Garden celebrating the good ol' days!
