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Hello, I’m Veronica

The sky is not completely dark at night. Were the sky absolutely dark, one would not be able to see the silhouette of an object against the sky.

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    Recycled Airbags

    As I build the beginnings of this week’s blog post (three “b”s already for those keeping count) my screen distracts me with alerts for Cyber Monday deals. Laptops at 30% off retail. E-readers at 25% off. DNA tests at 70% off (which begs the question: do we really care about our ancestry anymore?) Cyber Monday is a sort of second chance for those who shunned the big box stores the Friday after Thanksgiving (good decision). But here’s what I wonder today. Why endure Black Friday or get distracted by Cyber Monday when you can shop through lost luggage any day of the year instead?

    I’ve finally found a reason to visit Alabama.  A six-hour drive due west of my keyboard puts me in the little town of Scottsboro, of which an entire block is consumed by a business known as Unclaimed Baggage.  UB is exactly what you think it is: deep-discounted personal belongings made available to you by the traveling misfortunes of others.  Think of UB as one person’s trash becoming another person’s treasure only, of course, the original owner had no intention of throwing it away.

    “Where’s my owner?”

    Unclaimed Baggage is the kind of entrepreneurial enterprise I wish I’d thought up myself.  Consider the end-to-end process.  You and your luggage start at Point A, but sadly one of you doesn’t make it to Point B.  The airline (or the bus or the train) spends several months trying to reunite the two of you.  Failing that, they compensate for the loss (sometimes).  But what of your bag if it turns up later?  Dump it into a “Dead Luggage” office?  Actually, yes, and then Unclaimed Baggage comes a-calling.

    Here’s an encouraging stat: 99.5% of lost luggage is reunited with its owner.  You wouldn’t think Unclaimed Baggage could make a business of the leftovers.  But those leftover are, on average, 7,000 items every day.  No wonder Unclaimed Baggage needs a city block to house all that it sells.  And the best part of the business?  UB never knows what it’s going to get because the airlines don’t (or aren’t allowed to) open the bags.  It reminds me of the show where bidders vie for contents of storage lockers without being able to raise the roll-up doors beforehand.

    The most expensive item UB ever sold was a Rolex watch for $32,000 (50% of retail).  Visit the store today and you can purchase a diamond ring for $20,000 that surely appraises for more.  Some items are so strange they’re relegated to an area known as the “Museum Gallery”.  Wigs. Shark teeth.  A funeral casket key (?)  Items considered “unsaleable”, and items where you have to wonder why they were on an airplane in the first place. 

    Treasures from chests suitcases

    When I first learned about Unclaimed Baggage I thought, they have something of mine and I want it back!  No, I’ve never lost luggage.  Rather, I’m the passenger who keeps forgetting the little things in the seat back pocket right in front of him.  Reading glasses.  E-readers.  A rather expensive pair of noise-cancelling headphones.  Somehow my stuff gets left behind despite the pointed announcement from the flight attendant: “Please check in and around your seat for personal belongings, as you will not be allowed back on the aircraft after you deplane.”  Sigh…

    Unclaimed Baggage has at least one example of an item unintentionally returned to its original owner.  At UB’s annual ski sale (which earned an LOL from me; I mean, just how many skis are left at baggage claim?), a shopper purchased ski boots for his girlfriend.  When he brought them home, she discovered initials on the inside of the boots – hers.  The airline had already compensated her for the lost boots so effectively, she re-owns her boots at a deep discount.

    Time is cheap at Unclaimed Baggage

    As you might expect, a good percentage of shoppers at Unclaimed Baggage are the same ones who troll garage sales and eBay for items they have no intention of owning.  They simply relist their wares online for purchase (and profit) from others.  It’s another enterprising way to make a buck but it’s not my cup of tea.  I’m the shopper who shows up at sales well after the best items have been picked over.

    Unclaimed Baggage has cornered a lucrative market.  I don’t think they have any competition for the business of repurposing lost luggage.  I will say this: I’m less likely to leave my stuff on airplanes now that I know about UB.  I mean, do I really want some stranger buying my stuff for way less than I paid for it myself?

    Final thought for the day.  Why don’t they call it Unclaimed Luggage?  Baggage?  Luggage?  Bag?  Lug?  Who the heck added two words into the English language when we only needed one?  The Oxford English Dictionary estimates we use 170,000 words these days.  I’m here to say that’s one too many.

    Some content sourced from the CNN Travel article, “US travelers lose millions of suitcases every year…”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

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    Minuscule Marvels

    For Christmas this year I’m putting a small ornament into my wife’s stocking. It’s a miniature of… well… let’s just leave it at “a miniature” in case she reads this post. But I know she’ll love this ornament and promptly hang it on our tree for the remainder of the season. Why will she love it? Because it’ll spark fond, romantic memories. But she’ll also love this ornament because she can’t help loving something that’s a little, well, little.

    Ornaments are little

    One of my bucket list items – still to be fulfilled – is a trip to the south of France for a taste of those wonderful wines created from Burgundy or Bordeaux grapes.  Maybe you hope to make the same trip some day so I’ll let you in on a little secret.  If your trip only allows a visit to Paris, you can still visit a vineyard… right in the middle of the city.  Most people visit the neighborhood of Montmartre to see the Sacre Coeur cathedral but most don’t know about the tiny vineyard just steps away.  Clos Montmarte produces wine on a single acre, from 2,000 vines forging a connection to the long-ago rural times of the region.  Compare an acre to the wineries in Bordeaux, with vines covering an average of fifty times that much property.

    Harvesting the grapes at little Clos Montmartre

    Clos Montmarte wines probably aren’t award-winning.  Who knows if I’d even care for the taste of their reds or rosés.  But does it really matter?  I love the thought of a teeny-tiny field of grapes right in the middle of Paris.  I love how the grapes are harvested by locals and transported to the cellars of the nearby Town Hall to be pressed and turned into wine.  The whole operation is appealing to me because it’s quaint and because it’s small.

    This affection for itty-bitty things must hearken back to our childhoods.  Who among us didn’t spend countless hours of playtime with (take your pick) little dolls, little cars, little houses, or scaled-down trains?  When we played at the beach we built little castles.  When we played in creeks we made little boats out of sticks or leaves and watched them flow with the water.  Tea parties meant tiny cups and plates on tiny tables.

    My granddaughter’s little favorites

    In today’s world the toys might be different but the attraction to small things remains.  It fascinates me to watch my (little) granddaughter choose her favorite toy from among dozens: a set of ten two-inch high Sesame Street characters.  She stands them up all over the house.  She hides them and then finds them.  She always seems to have one or two in her hands.  Even though my granddaughter doesn’t speak in complete sentences yet, she probably has complete thoughts as she considers tiny Big Bird.  You are a lot smaller than me and that’s why I like you so much.

    Wee little cube

    If you include Japanese toymaker MegaHouse in this year’s Christmas purchases, maybe you’ll go for their world’s smallest operational Rubik’s cube.  You can’t get one until next April, but picture this: the minuscule marvel is one 1,000th of the size of the original.  Pull out your metric measure to confirm it; a single face of the wee cube measures only 5mm from side to side.  Best throw a pair of tweezers into the Christmas stocking along with the cube.  There’s no way you’ll be able to rotate the Rubik’s colors with fingers alone.

    Would I want the world’s smallest operational Rubik’s cube, you ask?  Heck yeah!  Consider, the faces of a traditional Rubik’s cube contain a 9×9 grid.  Then someone went and created a miniature Rubik’s cube with 2×2 grids.  I thought, how very cute.  I just had to have one so my original would have a little buddy.  My cubes are hanging out together on my home office shelf as we speak.  And they’re asking for an even littler buddy for Christmas.

    Rubik’s “Mini”

    So let’s summarize the pint-sized products we’ve covered today.  I already have the ornament for my wife in-hand (soon to be in-stocking).  I won’t put a bow on a bottle of Montmartre wine this year because I want the chance to see the tiny Paris winery for myself first.  And you probably thought I sprung for one of MegaHouse’s pee-wee Rubik’s cubes (and a pair of tweezers). Sadly, no.  I don’t have the $5,300 it costs to buy one (minuscule marvels aren’t cheap!) Thankfully, my wife will be happy with an adorable little ornament for $15 instead.

    Some content sourced from the CNN Travel article, “The secret vineyard in the middle of Paris…”, and the CNN Style article, “This is the world’s smallest Rubik’s cube…”

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    Overblown Air

    When you travel to Colorado, you should pack a few things you might not think to bring. A reusable water bottle will be your constant companion since it’s high and dry in the Centennial State. Lip balm will be your pocket pal. Your wardrobe should be designed in layers since Colorado’s weather is so unpredictable. And finally, for the lack of air in the Rockies, don’t forget to bring a can or two of oxygen.

    Canned oxygen?  For the longest time I thought this was the biggest scam on earth.  There was a time you could find “oxygen bars” at Colorado ski resorts – high altitude establishments where you’d pull up a stool and choose from a menu of “airs” to augment your oxygen intake.  Watching those suckers – heh – with their mouths attached to transparent hoses had me picturing a guy on the other side of the wall furiously working the plungers of bicycle pumps.  But forget oxygen bars.  Now you can take a hit from your very own can instead.

    Boost , a popular brand of canned oxygen, has been around for a while since its humble beginnings through Shark Tank.  In Colorado you’ll find Boost products in every market, drug store, gas station, and airport concession.  Boost is  advertised as “95% Pure Supplemental Oxygen in lightweight, portable, and affordable canisters for health, recovery, natural energy, and athletic performance”.  That’s an impressive string of words to describe nothing but canned air.

    First-timers will react to Boost with a well-defined smirk.  Gag gift for the relatives back home?  Stocking-stuffer?  After all, you’re paying $10 for a can of… well, nothing.  Yes, Boost comes in flavored varieties like lavender or eucalyptus menthol but in the end, it’s just air.  And watching someone take a hit of Boost is just like the goofball in your kitchen who tips the can of whipped cream directly into his mouth.  Even the sound of escaping compressed air is the same.  Just no whipped cream.

    Naturally this is the point where I admit I’m a canned-air convert.  Never thought I’d see the day I’d actually need a “boost”.  But last January as I was moving belongings out of our Colorado house, I came to a breathtaking realization: I was no longer acclimated to the thin air of the Rocky Mountains.  Climbing a set of stairs had me huffing and puffing.  Lifting a box made my heart go pitter-patter.  For some reason I’d thought to add a can of Boost into my suitcase, so what do you know?  Compressed air to the rescue.  Every now and then I’d blast the can into my mouth and darned if it didn’t clear my head and help me breathe.  I was no whipped-cream junkie but rather a bold astronaut, seeking the occasional hiss of his supplemental oxygen.

    For all its success, the legitimacy of a product like Boost is sullied by similar products having no health benefits whatsoever.  On your next trip to Italy, head up to Lake Como in the far north for a look at the pristine waters and nearby snow-covered Alps.  While you’re there you can purchase a can of “Lake Como Air” for $11.  Lake Como Air claims no value other than “something original, provocative, and fun”, or “… a tangible memory you carry in your heart”.  Really?  I have lots of tangible memories from Italy and they didn’t cost me a dime.

    On your next trip to Israel (which best not be anytime soon), head over to the Dead Sea for a look at the biggest, saltiest resource of natural minerals in the world.  You can float in the Dead Sea without even treading water.  And no surprise, you can “purchase” the Dead Sea in small containers.  The so-called manufacturer claims its consumption “contributes measurably to feeling better and to looking wonderful and healthy”.  Huh.  Not sure about you but I like to think I feel better and look healthy just by drinking from the tap at my kitchen sink.

    The list goes on and on.  Holy dirt from New Mexico.  Healing waters from right here in western South Carolina.  Rocks from outer space.  I mean, seriously, when are we going to stop paying for natural elements we can help ourselves to just by stepping outside our front doors?  Yeah, probably never.  That train left the station for good the day someone decided to bottle water.  Now we have canned air as well… and it’s a good thing.  Turns out, I’ll never take another trip to Colorado without a little Boost in my suitcase.

    Some content sourced from the CNN Travel article, “Cans of ‘fresh air’ from Lake Como on sale to tourists in Italy”.

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    Let Freedom Ring

    In an Election Week – especially one as consequential as this year’s – it’s only fitting I can’t seem to focus on blogging. After all, my country and its prospective leaders demand (and deserve) my undivided attention. Any topic I choose to write about here pales in comparison.

    So I urge you to do the same. Set aside the blogs you read or write, if only for a little while. Watch tonight’s tallies, accept tomorrow’s outcomes, and pray for peace and continued prosperity. As the patriotic “My Country, ‘Tis of Thee” reminds us, we live in a sweet land of liberty.

    Let freedom ring.

    Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

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    Flop O’ the Mornin’

    Parked prominently within my wife’s impressive collection of teas are colorful boxes of English Breakfast and Irish Breakfast. The first is described as “expertly blended… a smooth classic” (strength: 4 tea leaves) while the second is “brilliantly blended… bold & robust” (3 tea leaves). Maybe those descriptions are right on the money but I’m a coffee drinker so what do I know? What do I know? I know I’d never let English breakfast or Irish breakfast anywhere near my dining table.

    Sorry to disappoint but we’re not talking about tea at all today.  Instead, we’re talking about the food that goes with the tea.  Or rather, the food that should go with the tea.  In my world, the sanctity of breakfast is second only to the cornucopia of the Thanksgiving meal.  There’s a certain well-defined menu of dishes that screams BREAKFAST!!! and nobody in the Western Hemisphere (or at least, in the New World) would disagree.  Even so, I must acknowledge the “illegal aliens”; the dishes that try to crash the morning party when they really belong on the lunch or dinner table.  Or in the trash.  Or at least on the other side of the Atlantic.

    The “Full English”

    In its various forms, the full English breakfast starts out promising.  You’ll find eggs, bacon, and sausage almost without fail; even hash browns on occasion.  But the plate shatters after that.  You have a tomato, cut in half, fried, and doused with salt and pepper.  You have baked beans in tomato sauce (which aren’t even sweet the way Americans think of VanCamp’s or Bush’s). Finally, you have the horror known as black pudding, which can only be described through the hyperlink above instead of the words of this post, for fear I’ll lose my lunch – er, breakfast.

    Unlike the teas, the full Irish breakfast is virtually identical to the full English, with the singular exception of white sausage instead of black.  Again, the definition will remain behind hyperlinked for the sake of a clean keyboard.  I was in Dublin on business years ago and took the “try anything once” approach with white pudding.  Bad, bad, very bad decision.

    White pudding (not for the faint of stomach)

    If I were born in England or Ireland I probably wouldn’t rain on the breakfast parade on the other side of the pond.  But here’s the thing: even if you like a savory tomato or “pudding” for breakfast, the entire plate is greasier than the wheel bearings in your car.  There’s not even anything to mop up said grease (like the slices of dry toast we Americans prefer).  I can’t imagine having much pep in my step after a weighty meal like this.

    Denny’s is very helpful to reestablish breakfast order. If you walk into one of their restaurants and order the “Build Your Own Grand Slam”, you can construct your plate from four of the following: Eggs (7 different ways), pancakes (9 different), bacon (2), sausage, potatoes (3), toast (countless), muffin, biscuit, ham slice, or seasonal fruit.  With all those combos you could eat breakfast at Denny’s every day of the year and no version would be the same as another.  But more to the point, Denny’s offers breakfast items decidedly “All American”.  Add in waffles, hot/cold cereal, baked goods, and hash browns, and you’re looking at everything deserving of the list.

    Where real “full breakfast” is served

    American breakfast menus do include a few trendy alternatives these days (even at Denny’s).  You can keep it simple with a fruit smoothie, breakfast sandwich, or avocado toast.  These all-in-ones strike me more like convenience foods than full breakfasts.  Yes, you paint yourself a little healthier just for ordering them.  But let’s hang in there a few generations and see if they still show up on breakfast menus.  More likely they’ll just be memories the way porridge or salted meats have become breakfast history.

    For the record, my wife’s English and Irish tea boxes sit largely untouched, except for the few bags she’s brewed.  They’re untouched for good reason.  Just the words on the box have me thinking of tomatoes, baked beans, and pudding.  Someone bring me a blueberry waffle stat.

    Some content sourced from the CNN Travel article, “The Full English: How a greasy feast came to define and divide a nation”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

About Me

The sky is not completely dark at night. Were the sky absolutely dark, one would not be able to see the silhouette of an object against the sky.

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