Soodhalter’s Informagoriam

My former coworker, Chris, sent me this aerial view of my former workplace. I wanted to share it with everyone for a couple of reasons. First, the white arrow points to the window of my old office. Second, I want to point out something in the picture that I think is surprising. This picture was rendered only a few years ago, and the two parking lots marked with red arrows are already gone. They are being replaced with buildings as we speak. I was witness to the fast construction of one building directly outside my window. It was amazing. I share this just so people get a better I idea where I carried out my daily activities as a medical writer.

Philadelphia Inquirer | 09/10/2006 | Buckhalter has bunch of backers to thank

Correll Buckhalter

I was just reading about local sports and I came across this article about a player returning to the Eagle’s from a knee injury. His name is Correll Buckhalter. This is just amazing. I need to meet this guy. The possibilities are endless. We could open a store called Sood-a-Bucks. I don’t know what we would sell, but it probably would not matter. I know the store would be popular and successful even if we sold unsavory candies or punches to the face. He’s making his return in Houston against the Texans, which is also a sign that I should meet him. I will keep everyone informed as more information develops.

I have gotten a little busy with the start of grad school this past week, but I still intend to finish the story of my travels along the coasts. In fact, I am going to do it in this very entry. I got an email from a friend who shall remain anonymous. Among other things discussed in the email, this person stated that, “maybe you should put [your tale of social awkwardness] on your website, instead of those long-winded travelogues about nuns and racism-two subjects that should never mix.” I understand this reader’s sentiment, but what this person fails to realize is that travelogues are always long-winded, by definition. Furthermore, I cannot include the tale of social awkwardness on my website because it might be discovered by the subject of the story causing more awkwardness.

Anyhow, I woke up in my king-sized hotel bed in Fayetteville, NC. I took a quick shower and packed my things. I did not have to check out of the hotel. I just dropped my key cards at the front and left. Despite the high incidence of robberies of cars with out of state plates, my car was unmolested during the night. I headed out of town, continuing north on 95 to the Washington D.C. area to pay a short visit to my friend Li’l Daddy J.

Jonathan had literally just arrived home from Dubai, where he sells used submarines. He spent much of time over there trying not to look American, going so far as to wear pants and dress shoes. He also ditched a Semitic-themed book on the plane. I spoke to him on the phone to get driving directions to his place. It turns out that April is not the only friend who has not been honest in describing where she lives. Jonathan does not really live in Washington D.C. He lives outside the DC Beltway in Bethesda, Maryland. I thought after the fiasco surrounding April’s actual place of residence, that I might be prepared for further disappointment. It turns out I was wrong. I felt quite disillusioned.

The drive was fairly uneventful. The scenery certainly was changing as I drove further north. It seemed to be getting a bit hilly and greener. Eventually I hit the DC Beltway that we hear so much about when political operatives are described in the news media. Since I hit it around 3:00 PM, I missed the political rush hour traffic, when our congressional representatives slither back to their abodes. Jonathan gave good directions and I got to his house around 3:30 in the PM. After not answering to my knocks and doorbell rings, he finally came up from his basement room when I called him on the cell phone.

I had not shaved thus far in the road trip and was quite scruffy. It turns out Jonathan had also build some significant scruff at this point. Normally a baby-faced scientist, he now appeared to be a rugged mountain man, whose mother used to pick up his laundry for washing in college. After thirty minutes of introductions and salutations, based on a strict protocol, followed by a discussion of our facial hair, Jonathan helped me unload my bags and computer, and we went inside. We walked through the living room and kitchen on the way to the staircase down to his basement dwelling. In the first floor rooms, there were some waste-items, particularly food-related ones, left out by one of Jonathan’s roommates. Apparently, two of the housemates are a bit untidy in their daily comings and goings. The basement area, particularly Jonathan’s room, was quite tidy, though the common area did have a bit of flood damage from the recent inclement weather that that area of the country had experienced.

It turns out that one of Jonathan’s housemates was a former Tulane student whom I knew in passing. I don’t remember his name, but he always looked like he had an idea. Based on our limited interactions, though, it seemed that he likely did not. I sat all my stuff in the corner and chatted with Jonathan for a while, catching up on the last two years of happenings. There was really no place for me to sleep, so we had to go out to buy a floor pad on which I would lay. These pads are generally meant for camping and cost more than a few bucks, but Jonathan did not mind since he wanted one for camping anyway, and I provided an excuse to purchase one.

We went back to his house and I checked my email before we headed out for dinner. We walked to the downtown Bethesda area to grab a quick bite. I was quite tired, so I was not particularly interested in looking around too much, even though I do want to eventually visit the DC area to do tourist things. Jonathan knew of this brewery/restaurant that served good food, so he led me there.

On the way, though, I made a distressing discovery. Across the street from the path we were walking at one point was a restaurant called Guapo’s Seasoned Beef. Jonathan told me it was a relatively new establishment. Anybody who has known me long enough knows that part of my family is in the restaurant business. Among the chains of restaurants in which that family is involved in is one chain currently under development called Duke Guapo’s Spicy Meat Hut. Unlike some of the other restaurants my family is involved in, this one was not originally developed by members of my family. Duke Guapo’s Spicy Meat Hut actually dates back to the mid 1880’s and was a prime player in the events surrounding the Great American Meat Wars (1882-1894); though, at the time it was group of loosely affiliated meat purveyors known as the Indiana Spiced Meat Consortium. About three years ago, representatives from the Hildegard Restaurant and Entertainment Company, a subsidiary of the Vareidant Corporation, approached my uncle about redeveloping the establishment around the historical leader and mascot of the consortium from that time period, a man known as Duke Guapo. The Hildegard Company had recently bought up all the rights to the old Duke Guapo’s establishments including old recipes and other trade secrets. My uncle began developing the concept and decided to rechristen the restaurant Duke Guapo’s Spicy Meat Hut, a name that he was able to trademark nationally because it is fanciful. So, to see this new Guapo’s Seasoned Beef restaurant clearly trading off the obvious name recognition related to Duke Guapo got me upset. I placed a call to my uncle so that he could take whatever actions were necessary.

After I calmed down, Jonathan and I continue on our way to dinner. Since it was not too hot, we ate outside. Our waiter was both flaky and smarmy, but he managed to get the job done in a passing manner. I ate Quesadillas and Jonathan had a burger. We spent most of the meal antagonizing each other about events that one of us was invited to while the other one wasn’t. We rubbed it in each other’s faces how much fun these events were to attend. Our conversation also covered various incidents in which I inadvertently maligned his good name. Jonathan, apparently, still has a great deal of anger at me. I was surprised he even let me stay with him. He even covered the meal in anticipation of impending poverty related to being a graduate student. After dinner we went back to his house. We basically goofed off and listened to music until bedtime. I was pretty wiped out from all the driving. I passed out on the camping pad, but I am pretty sure Jonathan did not sleep much because of the jet lag from selling used submarines.

The next morning, Jonathan got ready for work, and I took a shower and packed my suitcase. I followed Jonathan on the way to his place of work so that I could get back on the DC Beltway traveling in the correct direction to reenter I-95 traveling North. Jonathan warned me that there would be a number of tolls on this last leg of the journey and that I should get some cash before I travel too far north. At first I thought he said ‘trolls’ which did not make much sense, but then he corrected me. I first stopped at a gas station, since I needed to fill my tank anyway. The ATM informed me that it would charge me a $3.00 fee, which I found unacceptable. Instead, I roamed the area a bit until I found a local grocery store. In such situations, I usually purchase a stick of deodorant from the store with my debit card and then ask for money back. I have never been to a grocery store in the morning, and I am not sure I ever want to again. As I was parking, I noticed a large group of people in Khaki shirts and black pants in a circle dancing. I got out of my car and walked toward the store. Apparently, most of the store employees were dancing and singing some song. A few of the employees were in the middle of the circle breaking it down in a particularly funky manner. It was an odd display. They all seemed way too happy about this morning dance routine. The actually grocery store was staffed with barest minimum of employees, who were excluded from this fun activity. I grabbed my deodorant and used one those self-checkout machines in order to avoid interacting with an actual store employee. I did not want to be indoctrinated with their propaganda and end up as an unwilling member of this grocery cult, consuming low nutrition porridge every day. As soon as I had my toll cash in hand, I booked it out of that store faster than I have moved in a long time.

I drove back to the highway and continued this ultimate leg of my journey to Philadelphia. There was a total of $12 of tolls, which seemed excessive. I did not complain, though. I did not want to get kicked out of the North before I could even settle down. I passed through about seven states, and before I knew it, I was in Delaware. The blue sign alerting the driver to his presence in Delaware states, “Welcome to Delaware, the land of no sales tax!” My experiences of the next couple of weeks would solidify in my mind that Delaware is a wonderful, magical place. I drove in Delaware for a bit before I was suddenly in Philadelphia without any warning. I had not even realized I had passed into Pennsylvania. I crossed a suspension bridge and then followed the instructions to my friend Hap’s house in South Philly. It would be good to finally be in the city in which I will spend the next five or so years. I also had a few questions for Hap, mostly relating to his obsession with the Dixie Chicks. Further information, though, will have to wait until a future entry. I have math homework to do.

Regarding: JS Online: Day Watch

Dear REDACTED,

I hope the restraining order issued against you with regard to your obsession with Bob Uecker will allow you to better to control your obsessive urges. We have all at one time or another been obsessed with Bob Uecker. I cannot remember a morning that I have not been shaving or combing my hair wondering if Bob Uecker would think that I look good. Many times, I fall asleep thinking of what he might be doing, as I reread his autobiography, Yes, I was the father in ‘Mr. Belvedere’. I often wonder, if Bob Uecker were to fight Wilford Brimley, who would win? Brimley certainly has the size and girth advantage (at least a couple of quarters), but Uecker doesn’t have “dia-beetis”; so, that gives him an advantage in the later rounds. I would certainly root for Uecker in that bout, since I have had quite a few negative life experiences involving Wilford Brimley (I am pretty sure he is the one who knocked the driver side rear view mirror off my car a couple of weeks ago). Despite this obsession to telephone or otherwise contact Bob Uecker that lives inside us all, 95% of the US population has learned to suppress this urge. You must also learn, lest your life be consumed in a flurry of restraining order violations. Good luck to you in your future, non-Uecker endeavors.

Sincerely,

Ted Lee Phillips