Cotton-Candy Flavored Grapes: A Sign Our Species Is Doomed?

At our recent summer dinners, my daughter and I fight over cotton-candy flavored grapes, seeing who can grab and eat the most from the bowl of mixed fruit. The winner is the one who grabs the last from the bowl.

Grape-fight Royale.

But then I got to thinking, which is always a dangerous thing in my case, why make grapes taste like cotton candy?

Yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, burp, yum, burp.

Yum, yum, yum, yum, yum, burp, yum, burp.

Grapes already taste great by themselves. It’s not like you need to convince most people to eat grapes – it’s not a hard sell, though I’m sure there are grape haters out there. But if I had to guess, I’d say grape lovers outnumber broccoli lovers.

So, why improve the taste of a smooth, green fruit that Mother Nature made ready to eat as is? That’s not to say she didn’t make broccoli ready to eat and full of healthy ingredients. She just gave the good taste to grapes, not broccoli.

It makes me wonder if these wonderful flavor-injected grapes aren’t a sign of something greater, something wrong with our world.

Like global warming and the end of our species.

cotton candy grapes 2

As in . . . the world is melting while we’re all marveling over how great cotton-candy grapes taste, and saying, wow, how did they make grapes taste like cotton candy? and, Aren’t these impressive? and the person who came up with this should get a medal . . . and meanwhile the world is heating up and a bunch of scientists are jumping up and down screaming, “the planet is in trouble and we’re hosed if we don’t act now,” but no one hears them because we’re all gorging on these amazing grapes.

Okay, so I’m pressing some boundaries here, but these grapes are telling me something about the way we live. Or, maybe, they’re just fruit improved by humans. I don’t know. But there is something about them that bothers me.

And until I figure it out, I’m going to eat as many as I can.

Parents of a Jr. High Schooler

I wonder if we had fed her less over the years, she would have stayed small and cuddly?

I wonder if we had fed her less over the years, she would have stayed small and cuddly?

I remember the day she popped out her mom. It was yesterday. Or it feels like it. I remember every detail of it.

Where did all of that time go?

Today, our daughter started Jr. high school. 6th grade. Holy Tweener, Batman, when did she get that old? I remember going to the school’s Christmas shows and thinking, “wow, look how big those Jr. high school students are. Glad that’s a long way off.”

I AM AN IDIOT. That time is here.

So, on my 29th work day in a row, I’m a little discombobulated by the speed at which my daughter aged. It seems very unfair. And, if there is a God, I’d like to register a complaint with her right now.

The sweet spot of childhood is definitely over. Ages 2 to 11 are the golden years – pajamas with feet, princess dresses, riding on my shoulders, Santa, the Easter bunny, Disneyland trips just before Christmas, a homemade dollhouse, the beach, bringing home a yellow lab puppy.

Don’t be surprised if you read my blog post in seven years about how I’m going to miss the last seven years and how quickly they went. It’s gonna happen.

Yes, Heaven, hello. Please connect me to the complaint department. I’d like to discuss the concept of time and childhood and how to improve it. Yes, I’ll hold. 

The 87-hour work week (Yes, there is a hell)

I wake up between 7 and 8 in the morning. The red light on my Blackberry flashes and I check my email while I’m still in bed. Then it’s a short walk to my laptop.

The workday begins. And it’s intense. Not a leisurely day. Juggling to-do items, and nervous people who have never done a multi-city event before, and email – loads of email, which makes me remember I used to be creative in this job. Now I write email.

Chisel this on my tombstone: He wrote a shitload of email, and some were well written. My legacy.

As the day goes on, I eat breakfast and lunch at my desk. I take a couple of short breaks during the day, and I eat dinner with my family before going back to work until between 11 and midnight.

My dreams are made of these. © Tryfonov -

When I work at Home Depot, I plan and saying clever things, such as, “ex-screws me, do you need help?”  © Tryfonov –


Tomorrow will be my 24th work day in a row. At least my schedule is easing to 11 and 12 hour days, but I am tired. And I think a lot about doing something else with the remaining hours of my life. I should be able to do better than this.

I dream of working at The Home Depot in the screws and bolts aisle, and telling customers the unique qualities of flatheads, phillips and square-drive heads – when to use galvanized, stainless steel, or deck screws – and when to give up and call a contractor.

I dream of simplicity and meaning.

Treadmill desk update – background tasking at its best

[Written with British words to make it easier for my two mentally challenged British readers to understand. You know who you are.]

After three weeks of using a treadmill desk, my arse is so ripped you could shoot it with a gun and the bullet would bounce off. I have a rear-end Superman would be jealous of.

Go ahead, shoot me in the rear. Nothing's gonna happen. It's like rock. I look just like this now, but without the curly cement hair. © PRILL Mediendesign -

Go ahead, shoot me in the rear. Nothing’s gonna happen. It’s like rock. I look just like this now, but without the curly cement hair, which looks a lot like a brain popping out of his head. © PRILL Mediendesign –

Actually, I’m not writing this post while walking. I’m too tired because I walked 12 miles yesterday in just over six hours, and 10.5 miles today.

Five minutes ago, I was stretching on the floor and it was hard to get up. It feels like the first week again, but only because I’ve upped the speed to 2.0 mph, and sometimes 2.5 mph.

And I’m feeling every mph of the increase and wishing I could rip the cap off of bottle of Motrin and take it all, pills falling out of my mouth like broken teeth. All because I’m a madman and want to see how far I can push myself.

Working on the treadmill is better than I ever thought it would be, as I don’t have a lot of other ways to move during the day. And I’d never go outside and walk 12 miles all at once. Bor-ing. But doing it in the background as I work, which I have to do, well, it’s awesome for someone like me. And I feel like it’s helping my conditioning.

There are only two downsides that I can see so far:

  1. I drink a lot of water and thus visit the loo more often.
  2. Now that I’ve upped the speed, I sweat more and get hot and have to strip down to my boxers and running shoes, which made my wife turn her head today. She noticed the man musk too. If I didn’t have to work, an Axe commercial might have played out in my office. I’m irresistible in black and blue labrador boxers and orange/gray running shoes.

My weight is still the same, but it could be because I eat a lot of crunchy Cheetos or M&Ms mixed with gummy bears while walking. Or it’s the steroids I just finished. I’m trying to cut down on the snacks. 

That’s it for tonight. I plan on sleeping like a baby – A BABY WHO JUST WALKED 10.5 MILES! Oh, yeah, I’m awesome like a possum.