Five highly underrated candies

(5) 100 Grand Bar

When I was growing up, this delicious mixture of chocolate, caramel and crisp rice was known as the "$100,000 Bar." I have no idea why they changed the name, but thankfully, they don't seem to have changed the recipe. I could eat a dozen of these. I won't, but I could. 

(4) Chunky

The key here for me is the raisins. I love me some raisins. I realize some people do not love them some raisins. It's their choice to ignore one of the greatest snack foods mankind has ever known. Anyway, the chocolate and peanuts help, too. I feel like Chunky bars had their heyday 30 or 40 years ago and are just kind of hanging around the candy universe these days. When I buy one, I like to think I'm helping the brand stay relevant.

(3) Charms Blow Pops

All Blow Pops are good (I especially like how the Blue Razz turns your tongue a completely different color), but cherry Blow Pops are the default classic flavor. It's the one I'm looking for anytime Blow Pops are an option. Actually it's like having two options, since your reward for getting to the center is a nice chewy piece of bubble gum.

(2) Raisinets

Quintessential movie theatre candy. And again, we get back to my love of raisins. If I'm having candy at the movies, it's almost always going to be Raisinets. Chocolate-covered raisins are dangerous in that I could eat several boxes. Not only does that mean copious amounts of sugar and a high calorie count, it also means the very real possibility of intestinal distress thanks to the raisins. So yeah, gotta be a little careful here.

(1) Charleston Chew

I never understood how Charleston Chews weren't more popular. I particularly love the strawberry flavor, but chocolate and vanilla are also great. And of course, to have the full Charleston Chew experience, you have to put it in the freezer and let it harden, then rap it against a table edge to break it into pieces and eat cold. Absolutely delicious. I associate Charleston Chews with a 7-11 store that used to be near my house, but I think you can still get them anywhere? If not, try Amazon. I'm telling you, it's worth it.

Four days without air conditioning revealed just how soft we've become

Like much of the U.S., Northeast Ohio has experienced extended periods of heat and humidity this summer.

At first we barely noticed, as we spent much of the time cooped up in the house with our central air conditioning working 24/7 to maintain a comfortable temperature.

That is, until our AC gave up the ghost.

Thankfully, it happened after the worst of the first heat wave had passed, but it was still plenty warm and humid outside.

Soon, it became warm and humid inside, as well. And the three of us (Terry, Jack and me) were miserable.

It turned out our entire AC system needed replacing at a cost that was not unexpected but still painful.

In the four days between the start of the problem and the installation of the new system, we lived much like I remember living in the 1970s and 80s. We sat around under ceiling fans, sweating and generally longing for winter.

We also complained. A lot. That's not something we did much when I was growing up on Harding Drive. Back then, having a hot house in the summer was just a fact of life. I knew very few people with central air.

My parents did have a powerful window AC unit in their bedroom, and on the hottest nights they would set up blankets on the floor so I could sleep in comfort with them.

But most of the time you just kind of gutted it out.

The whole thing made me realize just how dependent we've become on central air, and how we simply don't need to be as tough as we used to be in order to live day to day.

I love technology, but perhaps predictably, for many of us it has stripped away our ability to deal with any sort of adversity, no matter how minor.

The only thing I can think to do is purposely shut off the air several times a summer and force my family to endure heat the old-fashioned way.

I would probably only get to do that once, though, because Terry and Jack would rip me apart once the indoor temperature hit 80 degrees.

Instead, to ensure my own safety, I'm just going to pray the AC never gives out again.

I know almost nothing about plants other than the fact that Japanese knotweed is evil

My wife is a gardener and somewhat of a flower/plant expert. Well, "expert" when compared with me, anyway.

I have little knowledge and even less interest in all things botanical. When it comes to the greenery in our yard, I care only about the grass getting cut and potentially hazardous tree branches being trimmed.

The rest is Terry's domain.

Over the years, she has done the majority of weed pulling and flower tending, and she is a saint for it. The kids have gotten involved sometimes, and I'm out there whenever she needs a little extra muscle or simply cannot take bending over to pull out stray thistles and morning glory vines anymore.

We've spent considerable time in the flower beds this summer removing unwanted green things, some of which were quite obviously weeds even to a novice like me, and others of which I would have just assumed were desirable plants but in fact were also weeds.

An example of the latter is Japanese knotweed, a plant that has been growing freely in our backyard bed. It's the one in the photo at the top of today's post.

I thought it looked kind of nice, but do a little reading on Japanese knotweed and you'll find it to be the very definition of "invasive."

For one thing, it's roots run deep and strong. We're talking roots that go down 30 feet or more. To the point that they can break through concrete, choke out native plants, and do a heck of a number on backyard ecosystems.

You can pull it up – and we did – but it's almost certainly going to come back in time.

I only learned all of his about Japanese knotweed from my daughter Elissa, who gave us the details about the demon plant infesting our backyard after I identified it using the highly useful Google Lens app.

We removed enough Japanese knotweed to make the backyard look nice for my daughter Chloe's baby shower this Saturday. We will, however, inevitably have to deal with it again, and soon.

This is one reason I can't stand pulling weeds. It's a never-ending job, and it seldom feels like you're really getting anywhere.

On the other hand, I do have some appreciation for the beautiful flowers Terry has planted around our yard. They look nice, but I never know what each one is called.

I can point out marigolds and black-eyed Susans when I see them, but beyond that, I tend to be lost.

That's why I made up a fake/generic name for any plant or flower I can't identify. One time Terry saw a plant she wasn't sure about, so I confidently told her, "Oh, those are Jupiter Polkas."

She looked at me strangely, as this would have been the first time I've ever known the name of a plant she didn't. After a half-second of bewilderment, though, she realized I was just making stuff up.

Which is what I do 99% of the time. I seldom really know what I'm doing or what's going on, so I just make stuff up. You would be shocked how well this approach to life works.

In fact, let that be your takeaway from today's post: If someone asks you to identify a plant, flower, shrub or tree, just tell them it's a Jupiter Polka. And say it with conviction.

If it's not Terry you're talking to, they'll be so impressed, trust me.

Tonight we will be among the old people gathered to listen to (and cheer for) Men at Work, Toto and Christopher Cross

 

Only one of these original members of Men at Work will be onstage this evening at Blossom Music Center.

I have long since passed the age when you fret over the fact that the music you listened to as a teenager is now regularly played on "oldies" stations. That happened years ago.

On the spectrum of musical fandom, I'm at the point where I willingly attend cheesy, nostalgia-laden reunion concerts. I revel in being surrounded by other mid- to late-middle-aged people whose enthusiasm is perhaps muted compared with what it once was but who can still be described as "spirited."

I also make no apologies that the average age of the crowd at the concert I'll be attending tonight (along with my brother Mark and sister Debbie) is likely to be older than 50 and possibly pushing 60.

That's the demographic I expect will turn up at Blossom Music Center in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, this evening for a triple bill featuring 80s acts Men at Work, Toto and Christopher Cross.

I suspect most in the audience will be there because they're particular fans of one of those three bands. For Mark and me, anyway, the clear headliner is Men at Work.

I have been a pretty ardent MAW fan since 1983, when the first 45 I ever bought was their single "Down Under" and the first cassette I ever purchased was their album "Business as Usual." (Northeast Ohioans will appreciate the fact that I bought both of these items at Zayre's.)

The thing is, as is so often the case when bands tour decades beyond the peak of their popularity, the group performing tonight under the name "Men at Work" only has one original member. That would be lead singer and guitarist Colin Hay.

Mark (along with his son and my nephew Mark) and I have seen Colin perform live several times as a solo artist, and we saw this incarnation of Men at Work play a few years ago. You can say we're fans.

Don't get me wrong, I'm also looking forward to hearing Toto play its hits, notably "Africa" and "Rosanna." And there's no doubting the talent Christopher Cross brings to the stage with his "Sailing," "Ride Like the Wind" and "Arthur's Theme."

But I'm there for the Men, who actually now include two women. One is a wonderful musician named Scheila Gonzalez, who plays saxophone, flute and keyboards in a way that eerily recreates the sound and vibe of the late Greg Ham, Men at Work's original multi-instrumentalist. (NOTE: Since writing this, I've come to find out Scheila won't be there tonight, but is instead touring with Weird Al Yankovic. Darn.)

The other is Cecilia Noël, Colin's wife and a talented singer and performer in her own right.

We'll have a good time, I have no doubt. It will be 2-3 hours of letting the music take me back to when I was much younger and much dumber. And also skinnier. With more hair.

You couldn't pay me to actually go back to that era of my life and live it again, but I don't mind taking a temporary trip back in time. I look forward to the whole thing.

As long as the bands don't play too long, of course. I need to get home and get my sleep, you know.

Determine whether you're a Real Guy in three easy questions

Some years ago, I developed a three-question quiz a man can take to figure out whether he's a "Real Guy."

By "Real Guy," I mean a truly masculine man, at least so far as society tends to define masculinity.

The quiz is easy and somewhat reliable, in my experience. As I said, it's only three questions long. For each question you earn either 0 points, 1/2 point, or 1 full point. At the end you add up your points, and that total determines your Real Guy Quotient (I just made up that phrase, but it sounds very scientific.)

Before we dive in, let's be clear on a couple of things:

1. My Real Guy Quotient is 0. I fall short on all three questions and am not a good example of modern masculinity. I have learned to accept this about myself.
   
   
2. To that point, there are many women who score higher on this quiz than I do. And that's saying something when you consider that, for most females, only the first two questions really apply.

OK, here we go. Again, this is a self-scoring exercise, so be honest:

QUESTION #1: Can you explain in some level of detail what a joist is?

• If the answer is no, or if you have to look it up to provide an answer, give yourself 0 points.
• If you sort of know the answer, or if you made the common mistake of confusing a joist with a beam, give yourself 1/2 point.
• If you can instantly give the correct answer, take 1 full point.
  
  

QUESTION #2: Do you own, or have you ever truly and genuinely wanted to own, a motorcycle?

• If you're like me and the answer is an emphatic no, it's 0 points for you.
• If you've at least considered it but didn't necessarily have a real passion for owning a motorcycle, you get 1/2 point.
• If you've owned a motorcycle or have spent your life really, really wanting one, grab that 1 full point.
  
  

QUESTION #3: Do you refer to your friends as "buddies?" That is, will you say something like, "A buddy of mine has a truck just like that" as opposed to "A friend of mine..."?

• Again, if you're me and you've only ever had "friends" and have never referred to an acquaintance as a "buddy," mark yourself down for 0.
• If you have an even mix of "buddies" and "friends," you've earned 1/2 point.
• If you refer to other guys solely as your "buddies," or your buddy-to-friend ratio is at least 80/20, take 1 full point.

All right, add up your score and use this handy scale to determine your Real Guy Quotient:

2 1/2 OR 3 POINTS: You, sir, are basically Rambo. You will likely be killing a deer with your bare hands this evening to provide dinner for your family.

1 1/2 OR 2 POINTS: You're in good shape. Very masculine. Maybe not top tier, but there's a good chance you'll soon be riding your motorcycle to your buddy's house to discuss joists. And spit a lot.

0, 1/2, OR 1 POINT: Welcome to the club, Cupcake. You and I are going to have a blast watching Lifetime movies together.

Sometimes it feels like your kids match their chronological age and sometimes it doesn't

Tomorrow our son Jared turns 27, which feels about right.

What I mean is that, yes, instinctively I think of Jared as someone in his later mid-20s. Or early late 20s. However you want to say it.

He's well established in his career, he has a wonderful fiancée we all love, and he's a responsible adult of the sort you expect your kid to be at this age.

Our other kids are also doing well for themselves, but with Elissa, for instance, I still can't believe she's 31. I can't believe she's 30-anything.

Maybe it's because she's the only one of our kids who has crossed that three-decade age barrier, but man, I have a hard time equating 4-year-old Elissa (who by my reckoning was part of our lives as recently as last year) with successful, mature 31-year-old Elissa.

It just doesn't seem possible.

And Chloe? Same thing. She's 28, married, and on the verge of becoming a mother. But to me she's "Little Chloe," which is how she would refer to herself when she was of preschool age. "Little Chloe, coming through!" is something she used to say that Terry and I reminisce about often.

Don't even get me started on Melanie and Jack. They're doing adult things now but simply shouldn't be. Maybe I've tried to hold onto their youth too long simply because they're our two youngest children, I don't know.

But yeah, Jared turning 27 feels about right. I've often called him "the hardest working man in sports communications" and I still think that's true. He puts in a lot of time and effort on behalf of his employer, the Tampa Bay Rays, a sure sign he has made significant progress since he was a hard-working but somewhat disorganized high school student 10 short years ago.

It's baseball season, so Jared is of course hard at work. He can't be in Ohio celebrating with us, but we'll at least grab him for a quick phone conversation tomorrow, I'm sure.

Happy 27th birthday to our oldest son and a man who fits his age.

When people start giving you stuff like this, grandparenthood suddenly gets real

Last month I was in the grocery store and ran into Jenny, a high school classmate and track teammate of mine. We were chatting and updating each other on our lives (as one does while standing in the produce section) when I mentioned that Chloe was due with our first grandchild in mid-September.

Jenny, a grandmother herself, lit up.

"Oh," she said, "it's amazing. You have no idea how much you can love a grandchild until they're actually here. You hear about it and agree that of course you'll love that little one, but you don't really understand until you hold them."

I've heard lots of people say things like that, and it makes me even more excited than I already am to become a grandpa.

That word "grandpa", by the way, sounds much older to me than "grandfather" goes. Your grandpa has white hair and walks with a cane. Your grandfather has salt-and-pepper hair and plenty of energy to play with you.

It's all semantics, of course, and as I've said, I really don't care what this little boy calls me. I just can't wait to meet him.

This year for Father's Day, Chloe gave me a bag of Starbucks coffee (she knows me well) and the mug pictured above. When your Father's Day presents become more like Grandfather's Day presents, you know you're entering a new phase in your life.

Well, the grandparent phase, of course, but also the phase when I will only drink out of coffee mugs 10 ounces or larger. I have no time for those useless little 8-ounce teacups...