Tequila Ambush At Fitton Springs

Tequila and I are no longer on speaking terms.

Haven’t been for quite some time now and I don’t see us making up for a long, long time–if ever.

 

The culmination of my affair with the green-labeled bottle is too many years ago to remember and too few to have forgotten.

What is it about tequila that for so many people, a single event of having just too much of a good (?) time ends up being the last time?

 

Sauza Hornitos Reposado.

Even the words strike terror to my tummy.

 Just today I was talking about this phenomena with a guy at my local gym who commented that,

“It seems like tequila is the only [alcoholic beverage] with so many people having a lifetime aversion [after one act of significant overindulgence].

Amen, brother.

For me, the event was a camp-out up in the high desert of northeast California, at which I was totally lacking of adult supervision–meaning my wife was not around that trip to monitor my behavior.

As often is the case with tequila, one swig leads to another…dozen.

This lead to hours of abject suffering from intestinal gymnastics, which you might say became a significant emotional event: basically I never wanted to feel that way again. Ever.

And now after, oh, so many years later, even the smell of that vile cacti-based potion causes my stomach to churn.

You know the oft-repeated line from Dodgeball, “I just threw up in my mouth a little?”

Well for me, if I even smell tequila it’s more like throwing up an entire putrid, rotting, maggot-infested cow carcass in my mouth.  (Oh, were you eating?!?)

Yes, it’s really that bad.

There are some things that we can’t remember and there are things we wish we couldn’t.

On a subsequent camping trip at Punta Chivato, along the Sea of Cortez in Baja, after one evening of emptying multiple bottles of the same poison, we had two campers down…face down in the sand, to be specific. This lead to the young kids of one of them to ask their father, “dad, is mom going to die?”

The answer, luckily, was no, but she probably was wishing so later that evening.

And to this day, Laura gets the same stomach-wrenching reaction when smelling tequila.

While researching this topic I never thought that a study on aversion therapy of sheep would enter into this picture.

“[The study] divided them into three equal groups, ear-tagged with red, white or blue. Those in the red group got a liquid dose of lithium chloride, a drug with therapeutic use for humans. The blue got the same drug in capsules.”

“The white group got placebos — empty capsules or plain water. Yes, placebos. They might be sheep, but this is science, Doran said.”

“Doran likened the sheep’s reaction to humans who…down too much tequila and come away with their own personal cautionary tale.”

“Afterward, the sheep showed no outward difference, but the drug was apparently doing its job on the reds and blues: a mildly unpleasant sensation in the stomach was sending a message that apparently lasts a lifetime.”

I am not sure how these scientists determined the level of sheep discomfort.

“Mr. Sheep, on a scale of one to ten, please rate how much you hate this research project.”

But the “lasts a lifetime” part I get.  Oh, do I get it.

 

                                           

Dressing For Adventure - It’s Not What You Think

In previous episodes we have discussed adventure travel and the occasional infusion of fear we all sometimes experience, whether during extreme activities or almost spilling your $12 glass of single malt Scotch.

I have often read about–and sometimes admired–those with the cojones to, with whatever motivation drives them, dive headlong into almost certain danger.

Take mountain climbing, for instance.

No, I haven’t done any fourteeners. Not that I haven’t tried. 

My daughter and I had every intention of summiting Mt. Shasta a few years ago, but only made it to Helen Lake on our practice hike and–for a number of reasons–opted for a sail on Lake Siskiyou, rather than a summit attempt a few days later.

 And I found it much easier to hold a beer when I wasn’t wielding an ice ax.

With my interest and respect for those who have the fortitude–and in some cases vast amounts of time and money–to tackle monumental challenges such as Mt. Everest, I watched the PBS Frontline show last night on the terrible tragedy that occurred up there twelve years ago. The show, Storm Over Everest, was produced by the person who was filming an IMAX movie on the incredible task of climbing the highest mountain in the world.

More of you are probably familiar with Jon Krakauer’s story, Into Thin Air, which chronicled the same deadly event.

Probably nothing in the world epitomizes extreme sports more than a climb up Mt. Everest.

Most of my outdoor endeavors are pretty mundane compared to such a feat.

And I read about a lot more adventure activities than I undertake.

That is why years ago I started subscribing to Outside Magazine. 

But somewhere down the road to the wilderness, the magazine seemed to cover more fashion trends than outdoors travels.

So I dropped it.

For the last year, or so, I have subscribed to the twins of National Geographic outdoors reporting: N.G. Adventure & N.G. Traveler.

So imagine my dismay when I opened the April 2008 edition of N.G. Adventure to find a feature-length article on apparently what “spring apparel” the hip twenty-something’s are wearing in, of all places, Morocco.

If I am lucky enough to go hiking in Morocco I doubt it will be wearing $200 Synchro cargo pants: the only syncro I want is in the transmission of my V.W. Westfalia.

And what’s with the woman wearing the Rip Curl Tropical Ditsy bandeau (translation: bathing suit top)?

Nice way to show respect for the locals: ditsy is dead-on.

Alright, National Geographic–you’re on notice!

Keep up this Über fashion wear foolishness and you’ll lose my money, for sure.

This is what an adventure trip to Morocco should look like.

Not an article on which fedora is in fashion.

(by Dakine; $27) 

 

Less fitting, better travels.

Bullets and Beer - What Could Go Wrong?

I strive for a post on this site about three times a week.

Often I am an abject failure in this regard.

My excuse du jour is an article I am working on for the local newspaper about an upcoming three-day adventure. I get to walk a 17-mile stretch of a local creek.  The purpose of this is mostly scientific in nature where a bunch of bureaucrats and academic types study stream conditions and then make recommendations for the betterment of society in general.

Kind of like an aquatic version of the United Nations.

I, on the other hand, am going because I really enjoy the sensation of muck and mud oozing through my shoes and getting stuck between my toes.  That, and the very real chance to get bit by a rattlesnake or at the very least, by hordes of aquatic insects.

Last year the trek varied from walking miles on cobble and gravel in vast stretches of hot, dry conditions to wading in ever-deepening pools, uncertain when the bottom might drop out.  And did I mention the occasional crawl through thickets of brush and brambles, loaded with blood-sucking ticks.

If you like poison oak you will enjoy sections of this hike. I itch just thinking about it.

 

But not all was without merit, as much of the area is quite remote and scenic and often with long stretches without an indication of past human presence…except for the abandon heavy-equipment tires the size of a Prius and entire vehicles that apparently took a very wrong turn somewhere along the way.

This stretch of river is almost entirely across private land, but there is frequent public activity in the form of hiking, ATV’s (four-wheelers), shooting, and sometimes trespassing, vandalism, and other damage.

Potential for conflict? Color that orange on the threat board for “hell, yes.”

Wildlife, both under the water and on the surface is a significant area of concern and discussion. When you think that at one time grizzly bears and wolf roamed this area, people want to save what is still here.

At one time, there was even spawning for salmon and steelhead.

But one of the biggest concerns does not even occur within the creek, itself, and that is namely the potential of flooding of a nearby growing community.

Things have changed over the years: in-stream gravel mining has not been done for 14 years and some of the mining areas are being rehabbed and will become county parks.

But some things never change. There are some who insist to enjoying two great American pastimes at the same time:

Drinking beer and shooting high-powered weaponry, as evidenced by littered cans and spent bullet casings.

And then there is that little matter of the Public Trust Doctrine.

Oh, sorry…our time together for today is up.

See you at our next session. 

Deciphering The Duty Free Dilemma Or Is It Really Border Smuggling

This is a story about the kindness of strangers.

Don George put together a wonderful compilation of stories from some of the best travel writers on the planet.

The book, aptly titled, The Kindness of Strangers, is about,

“A timely collection of inspiring tales…explores the unexpected human connections that so often transform the experience of travel, and celebrates the gift of kindness around the world.”

This is a wonderful book about the often life changing situations that impart on us a real sense of the potential for human kindness.

My story happens to be about a buying a bottle of booze.

I have never really understood Duty Free shops.

Of course I have seen them in countless airports and even aboard a ship on a midnight crossing of the Baltic while in a Euro-train sleeper car that happened to be in the belly of that ship. To be honest, I somehow assumed that as an American I could not take advantage of the supposed lower Duty Free prices for personal necessities such as alcohol. 

I have always figured that anything I bought there would either be confiscated once I returned to the U.S. or, at a minimum, be taxed. 

I had already almost gotten busted once for attempting to return from Mexico with what was apparently considered contraband and I certainly did not need another blemish on my personal passport file.

(The fact that the item that attracted the attention of the fine gentleman with the U.S. Customs uniform was a few carrot sticks–yes, the kind that Bugs Bunny crunches–will have to be a story for a subsequent post.)

While I was hanging out in the Cabo, Mexico, airport a few months ago, waiting for my flight, I was wandering around the many Duty Free shops in that little airport transit area and noticed a sign.

Now that sign would have me believe that, as a traveler to the United States, I could buy stuff and take it home.

The sentence applicable to people going to the U.S. reads,

“Travelers are able to purchase any Duty Free products.

I guess a lawyer-type person might notice that says you can BUY any Duty Free product.

It says nothing about your being able to actually get the item home.

My fist clue there might be an issue is when I noticed that they sold Cuban cigars…the kind really from Cuba.

Unless “W” has recently eased the travel and trade restrictions with Cuba, I just did not wish to risk another “carrot” incident.

While comtemplating the mysteries of the merchandising of Duty Free items, I had a particularly interesting experience while cruising the the well-stocked liquor aisles.

While I was bent over trying to figure out one bottle of Scotch from another, I sensed that someone had rapidly approached me from the rear as I could feel his breath on my neck and hear him pant.

Apparently he had spotted a particular brand that was the object of his desire and intense excitement.

Whew!

I have never been a Scotch drinker–yes it’s true, I’ve lead a limited life–and was actually looking for a gift for someone back home. 

This guy behind me regales me with a dissertation of a type of Scotch that was only available in Duty Free shops– this 12 year old Macallan Elegancia that we were both looking at–that he claimed was absolutely fantastic and not always available even in the Duty Free shops.

Well, since I owed someone a nice gift–and since this someone is a Scotch drinker–I bought two bottles: yes, one was for me. (The guy bought either two or maybe even four.)

And, now I am a professed Scotch drinker.

And, yes this stuff is REALLY smooth.

But I did appreciate the kindness of this stranger and the time this dude spent explaining to me the intricacies of various brands of Scotch and even the best method to enjoy drinking Scotch (pour the Scotch over a few ice cubes and let them melt for a few minutes).

Just think how good this Scotch would taste while puffing on a choice Cohiba. 

Maybe I could hollow out a carrot and…

Who Knew Sand Dollars Were So Darn Sexy?

As an official travel writer wannabe and sole author, editor, typesetter, coffee go-getter, and drink mixologist of this blog site, I had a dilemma when it came to creating an original name.

After being summarily rejected for every clever, clichéd, and catchy nom de plume, related to my desired genre that I could come up with–while my soon-to-be-out-of patience blog mentor was standing over me while I navigated the WordPress sign-up page–I began to grasp for titles that might somehow have a tenuous connection to my pretend professional life as a global adventure humor writer.

As I state in my “About” page, the sand dollar adventures theme somehow crept from the deep recesses of my muddled mind and on to the keyboard.

While for some real travel writers, having a name that seems to have no obvious connection to the world of travel does not seem to have done any permanent damage to their web popularity.  (Exactly who goes around killing batteries, unless on some form of bizarre safari in the alkaline isle of Costco?)

On the other hand, most of the web search terms that come up in my blog stats have more to do with the sex life of sand dollars than the hilarious histrionics of my travelers tales.  Oh well.

But maybe there was more in my subconscious that drew me to the sand dollar reference.

Did I realize what was really behind the simple symmetry of the lowly beach souvenir?

How about this connection:

Caine’s rear end manages to “pucker” at a suitably tense moment in the narrative. The money trail leads finally to Joe, Paul’s sleazebag lawyer, and his partner, the sultry Lorena Garcia, who has lured many a hapless soul into unrequited lust and patently unwise real estate investment. At the close, following a Rambo-esque feat of savage mayhem, John gets a spiffy new boat.

What?

Well, apparently there has been a novel out there all this time with the promise of,

Sand Dollars: Hot Bodies, Cool Cash, and Cold-Blooded Murder… (John Caine Novels)

And all this time I have been limiting myself to the general genre of travel.

But then again, the storyline does include,

Run-ins with both gang members and the Mexican police stand in his way, but Caine finally finds the truth on a deserted Mexican beach.

“Deserted Mexican beach?”  With all my stories of deserted Mexican beaches of Baja, could I have some sort of psychic connection to this John Caine guy?

Cue Twilight Zone intro ;fade to black…and CUT.

 

                                            

A Virtual Vacation That Costs Virtually Something, or Nothing…I’m So Confused

Help me here, would you…

I cannot keep up with the pendulum that swings between reality–whatever that is–and everything else–within the vicissitudes of the virtual world.

Alright, I admit I grew up when a calculator, which did nothing more than add, subtract, multiply and divide, cost my college roommate $179.  No…really.

Hey, my first Zeos desktop computer had 89 megs of hard drive storage.

No, not 89 gigs: I may be old but I DO know the difference.

Hell, nowadays, 89 megs wouldn’t run a can opener!

A few years ago, I recall the big craze about this virtual world, called SimCity, where you could build stuff without hitting your thumb with a hammer during the construction phase–that is if you don’t count the misinterpretations of the online command to “hit any key, when ready.”

“A few years ago” might have been a little shy…how about almost 20 years ago. 

Well, you kids are so clever that a few years ago (this time it really was) when you had such abundance in your enjoyment of life and energy to appreciate the wonders and beauty of the real world around you that you found a way to venture to borders beyond your physical realm.

Masses of computer advantaged citizens got all agog when they could not only participate in the here-and-now, but develop a kind of second life not limited to the realities of school, jobs, taxes and tuna sandwiches gone bad.

And for those of you who have just come out of an extended coma, that exactly what it is called; Second Life.

Now, me commenting on the virtues of this virtual world would be like the multitude of travel writers–legitimate and wannabe (that’s me)–who have not read the recent books dissing the travel writing profession, in particular the preparing of guidebooks, yet blogging their brains out on the topic (including me).

 

I have never even visited the outskirts of that Second Life place: I’m waiting for someone to publish a guidebook and give me a Garmin update.

But I have read enough to know, that somehow, you can spend real money on something that you are making up in a made up world, while interacting with other made up characters in made up places. (I don’t think I am making this up.)

Wait, this sounds like the money I invest in the stock market…I have never seen that place, either!

But there was obviously one drawback with the development of Second Life.

 

They are missing a brick and mortar storefront presence where you go to talk to real people before you give them your real money for…well, that I haven’t figured out yet.

So for those of you who lack a computer (and are reading this as published in numerous prestigious newspapers and nationally syndicated magazines) there is a real world alternative for your virtual travel planning.

Except the traveling is not really virtual.  And it is not real either.

It’s pretend, and no, that’s not the same as virtual, at least is this case.

A company headquartered in Southern California is advertised as,

Superior Holiday, located in the Station Tower, is a practice firm office that markets and sells vacation packages to a network of practice firms selling their own assortment of goods and services throughout Canada and around the world.

(I am not sure why Canada is singled out as different from the rest of the world.)

So, if you happen to find an online ad for a great sounding heli-skiing vacation, you might think twice before entering your credit card number for $1,397.50 (per person; I assume, double occupancy).

Package Code:  059Price per Unit (piece): $1 397.50

---

This one day action packed ski trip includes 4 hours of great heli-skiing at the ‘Bachuh-wah-nuh’ ski hills just north of Sault Ste. Marie with helicopter service, ski instructions and a great midday lunch

But it does include a great mid-day lunch. Or not.

“Bachuh-wah-nuh.“  I guess that says it all. Or not.

When Pigs Can Fly…On Second Thought, Maybe They Shouldn’t Try

Some things just don’t seem normal.

A while back I wrote a story about flying sea objects that seemed to be quite natural, albeit not something you see every day. 

Being in the midst of a multitude of flying manta rays was quite mesmerizing and did not at all seem menacing–at least until I got home and read about a unlucky woman killed by one in a “head-on” collision.

As you travel around the planet you are sure to find many things that are very unfamiliar from what you are used to. The word “odd” comes to mind.

These differences could just be the way other people live; often it is about what other people eat and how they go about it; it may be just the way they dress; or anything else we see as just not normal from ourselves.

Some call it exotic, and they would say it is one of the greatest reasons to get off the couch and trek out into the world.

Some call it weird and are put off by it. You wonder why these people every leave home.

And some people just don’t know what to make of it.

Religious practices are often near the top of the list of things that people see as dissimilar beliefs.

 

Dropping your baby off the roof of a 50-foot high building might just qualify in that category.

But in India they have been doing this for 500 years.

And it might be a leap of faith (pun, intended) but they claim they do it for good luck of the baby! Really.

Some things just don’t seem normal.

But as conscientious world travelers, who are we to judge?

 

Although I thought one of the posted comments on this story was poignant:

Posted by Bobby from Scotland 

“I am just expecting to see Michael Jackson’s head appear from the top of the temple.”

Ouch! (Can’t we just leave poor Michael Jackson and Britney Spears alone?!?)

So, apparently we can sometimes find natural acts that only seem disparate from our norm but occur whether or not we are there to observe the behavior, such as in the case of the flying rays.

And then people do things to themselves–or their babies–and seem just a little odd to us; but who are we to judge?

 

And sometimes we combine the two, with occasionally calamitous results.

In yet another story of airborne sea animals, dolphins jumping at a so-called “guest interaction program,” which may be another way of saying, forcing intelligent sea mammals to perform for our entertainment and allowing people of means to be able to pet them in an unnatural setting, lead to the death on one of them–the dolphins, not the tourists–caused by, yes, another mid-air collision.

Some things just don’t seem normal.

What is one to conclude?  Flying is hazardous for sea creatures?

Maybe there is a reason pigs don’t fly; could rumors of their intelligence be true?  

Banff On $10 A Day - And No Airline Fuel Surcharges

Yes, you read that correctly…wait, you didn’t think I meant you could actually go to Banff for those prices, did you?!?

That might be tough, but how about if I bring Banff to you?

As for many skiers and snowboarders, the name Warren Miller has been synonymous with the annual film tours.

These depict well tanned, buff, 20 & 30-somethings doing it - not always in style - on steep snow-covered slopes, with an occasional stairway railing or rooftop thrown in for good measure.

I thoroughly enjoy these snow-based action movies, which often includes a little dry humor, but the theme is predictably based.

Must…have…more…adrenaline based activities.

Until a few years ago I had never heard of the annual Banff Mountain Film Festival, which to my surprise comes every year to visit me, or least to a nearby movie screen.

The charming, young Canadian woman–eh– who brought us the current year’s crop of action movies, intro’ ed the sold-out, two day event, by informing us that this all started about 32 years ago with climbing videos in a small Banff theater that seated a mere 250 people, but three times that showed up.

They figured they might just have something there.

In addition to the film showings there is a photography competition (which included the two in this post).

Now, after the week long festival, which is attended of upwards of 12,000 people, they load up the film reels (or maybe, nowadays, the digital versions) of only a small selection of the roughly 300 submitted videos and hit the road for the better part of the year.  They estimate that 200,000 people will view the films in about 30 countries.

(Editors note of clarification: not all of the viewers will view the viewings in all 30 countries).

Although extreme sports–or at least sports done extremely–are a common theme of many of the videos, many are wonderful human interest stories or well made slower paced documentaries.

Just to mention a few of this years selections:

Searching for the Coast Wolves–which included some of the most spectacular scenery imaginable.

20 Seconds of Joy–a frightening look (at least for a wimp like me) at the world of base-jumping, including those crazy winged outfits.

Ain’t Got No Friends on a Powder Day–which I thought should win just based on a cool name.

Other films covered wide-ranging activities such as: snow kiting (think snowboarding meets kites sailing); mountain and unicycle biking (in places you don’t see everyday); kayaking (think slickrock climbing locales); rock climbing (a local favorite topic as the local host is the rock climbing place in town);

And too many others to mention (translation: I can’t read the notes I took in the dark).

 

The individual showings last from a few minutes to almost an hour long. 

The athletic, enthusiastic crowd, which not surprisingly, consists primarily of the same age demographic I mentioned above in reference to the Warren Miller films, is replete in cargo shorts, Teva sandals, knit caps, and Nalgene bottles of water (?).

Generally, a good time is to be had by all.

 

There is no doubt that the two evenings of films are well worth the ten bucks per night.

And if you are lucky, maybe you will walk away with one of the raffle prizes donated by the Banff folks and the local sponsor.

If you want to be the first on your block to see the next crop of films, this whole process starts over again in Banff from November 1-9.

But depending where you live and if you wish to travel some, yourself, there are still showings this year.

And finally, as an old fuddy-duddy father I am obliged to close by saying,

Now children…don’t try this at home. (Or at least wear a helmet.)

There’s A Reason Cops (and Campers in Grizzly Country) Carry Pepper Spray

File this one in Sunday cooking tips.

One that might save your life (in where you only wish you could die).

While you are preparing for that great Mexican feast for later today–you do have the cervazas chilling, right?–and you are just about ready to do all your slicing and dicing for that great homemade pico de gallo recipe (that I will link to, in case you lost yours), STOP. STOP. STOP.

HOLD everything until you read this.

Remember your mother telling you that doing certain things with your hands could make you go blind…

(Not sure if this admonition was true for the daughters, but the warning was prevalent among us sons.)

Well here is what she REALLY was talking about.

If you get cavalier with certain hand manipulations you might get a burning sensation much worse than the burning sensation you might suffer through hours AFTER eating all this great spicy food.

Anyone who has minced hot chili peppers and gotten their fingers anywhere near their nose, or even worse their eyes, will attest to a result that will bring on all sorts of entertaining gyrations–at least to those near-by who don’t hesitate appreciating the suffering of others–as long as it is not permanent or doesn’t involve children, old people, or dogs. (cats may be fair game, depending on the audience).

While we were in Baja earlier this year (http://sanddollaradventures.wordpress.com/category/baja/) one of my daughters volunteered to make some fresh pico de gallo. While I was probably peaceably preparing my daily blog post, all of a sudden my daughter was running around like there was a fire (which was not totally ironic as she actually is a fire fighter).

Her first stop was the bathroom sink where she was splashing, snorting, and immersing her nose in as much water as possible with a kind of reverse waterboarding objective in trying to reduce the torture she was going through having apparently put her finger in her nose while preparing the salsa–which, in and of itself, is gross enough as we were going to be eating that mixture a short time later.

Well, as we all know water does little to nothing to quell this discomfort.

What transpired for the next few minutes was her applying various bathroom–and kitchen–liquids, salves, creams, lotions…and food products.

The picture submitted for your entertainment–and the likely justification for revenge to her father for publishing it–shows just one of the items that was attempted: yes, that is a spoonful of yogurt; and, no, it did NOT help.

The internet has great advice how to avoid the problem from occurring, consisting of really clever advice such as:

Don’t touch your eyes or nose while cutting hot peppers.

What DID we do before we had the internet to answer difficult questions with such sage advice?

The other prominent suggestion is to wear gloves, which does help later, but not while doing the pepper prepping.

So, did anything work to quell the pain, which was not at all funny at the time to the sufferer?

After the spreading of numerous items from the bathroom and refrigerator–there went dinner–I finally dug out a small plastic bottle (TSA legal at less than three ounces, of course) of Vaseline Aloe lotion…and it worked.

 

 

And if you peruse the internet for a while you will probably see that one item is listed by a number of people, and that is Aloe Vera.

Just remember, if anything with that pepper oil on it goes into any bodily orifice with sensitive tissue you’ll get that, oh my, burning feeling.

 

 Hmmmm, maybe THAT is why mom told us to not touch that thing!

"Costco Limits Food Sales." What, No More Free Samples - There Goes My Free Lunch

Are we running out of food now?

Probably not.

I assume by now you have seen the national press about Costco and Sam’s Club limiting the amount you can purchase of one particular food item, namely rice.

If you want to read more about this topic, than the link I provided, you may find a few places on the internet to do so; like the 126,000 Google hits I just saw listed.  Good reading to you.

As I was skipping around today on various travel blog sites, I found one discussion going on where someone seemed surprised that rice is even grown in the United States. 

This reminds me of the old adage that too many people think milk comes from Safeway (it really comes from hormone-juiced cows kept in small, filthy stalls) and 2 by 4’s (lumber) comes from Home Depot (they really come from erosion-causing clear-cuts in old-growth redwood forests that kill Bambi deer and spotted owls).

Yes, rice is grown in the United States.

U.S. rice is processed and consumed domestically and exported all over the world. Supplies are plentiful throughout the year.

Almost 90% of the rice consumed in the United States is grown here. We are also one of the largest exporters of rice in the world. In fact, the United States supplies about 13% of the rice for world trade.

Anyone who has traveled outside of the United States has certainly noticed differences in not only what people eat elsewhere, but also how we truly live in the land of plenty–at least in the rows of your local Costco.

I remember, years ago, while we were on a road trip down the spine of Baja, Mexico, and we stopped at a small town Super Mercado (grocery store), I pointed out to my two young daughters that the food shelves were fairly empty and the produce did not look like the vast amount of fresh food what they usually see at our local, well yes, Safeway.

A while back I was in a local California grocery store and noticed a woman reaching for a box of tea. What struck me was the absolutely massive selection of just one food item. There were, I would estimate, dozens of choices.

Are we running out of food? 

I doubt it.

If you ever read that Bush/Cheney are giving us reasons to invade some defenseless, third world country, rich in whatever crop or food we are supposedly running low on, then worry.