Oh, the places you'll go ... maybe.

If you're like me, you like to spend your weekends inside gigantic convention halls and exposition centers, learning about things you may never need and meeting celebrities you have never heard of. Who needs daylight, am I right? And Connecticut is right there with you, supplying these events like they're going out of style (heck, we like these things so much the Hartford Expo is only 2 miles from the Hartford Convention Center).

Here are a few of my favorite upcoming events:

Did you watch The Wrestler and think, "You know, I think I need a firsthand look at that lifestyle?" Then keep August 2nd open, because that's when the Pro Wrestling Icons convention hits the Courtyard Marriott in Cromwell. See Terry Funk! See The Giant Silva! See .... this guy:

I guess he's supposed to be an umpire? Wait, I get it, he's from New York!

Anyway, don't take my word for it. Here's their commercial:

Oh, it's going to be quite the event. Lots of greased men, lots of stringy, sweaty hair, lots of women in tight tops and too much make-up. Hey, according to the website, King Kong Bundy is going to be there. That's all the advertising I need. I'm sold. Who do I give my $99 to? (Yes, the "superticket" to the expo, which allows one autograph and one photo-op with each special guest, costs $99. Make sure you bring your own camera. They don't supply the photos, only the opportunities. And don't haggle. Some of these guys probably need the money.) Just promise to not beat me up. I'm fragile.

Wrestling not your thing? Then you're probably a woman. And, since you're also most likely a total stereotype of what women have been trying to break free from for the past, oh, forever, then maybe the 7th Annual Connecticut Women's Expo (sponsored by Comcast) is more your speed. According to their advertisements, they have everything the typical woman wants in an expo: psychic readings, FREE samples (yes, FREE with capital letters), shopping, fashion shows, beauty makeovers, seminars on things like diets (I've been there, sister), and ... and this is big ... SOAP STARS! Yes, that's right, on September 12th (and 13th), you can get your psychic-loving, vendor-pawing mitts on none other than Lucas from Days of Our Lives!

I know if I were to meet him I'd ask him why he's always such a snake! "You don't need to be a drunk, Lucas!" I'd yell. "All of your relationships turn to mush because of you!" I ... I've said too much.

To be fair, a portion of the proceeds from the 7th Annual Connecticut Women's Expo (sponsored by Comcast) go to the Susan G. Komen fund. So, while you sit in on that sex therapy seminar, you'll know that at least part of your $10 admission is going to a good cause. Of course, you probably will have already known that, thanks to the free psychic reading.

Now, I know what some of you are saying: "Ben, I'm neither a wrestling fan OR a stereotype of the female species. I'm fun and have a family. Is there anything on the horizon for me, or should I just pack my things and move?" All I can say in response is, "Put that Samsonite back in the basement and cancel the U-Haul, my friend!"

My final awesome upcoming expo is just for you!

No, it isn't a scuba expo (but, man, that'd be cool. I imagine there'd be some neat harpoon guns at such an event). It's the Lego Kidsfest, and it's happening November 20-22. Dude, there's going to be so much stuff! Legos! And more Legos! I bet there's going to be BIG, BIG things made out of Legos! Maybe a life-size M. Jodi Rell! Or a big ol' Mark Twain mustache! That'd take quite a few gray blocks.

Seriously, though, I need to borrow my nephew come November. My inner child really, really wants to be in a giant room full of Legos. And my nephew'd probably have fun, too.

So, there you have it, something for everyone: the angry guy, the June Cleaver, and the children (young and old). Now if only they somehow combined all three of these ... I can see it now: Lego wrestlers giving women advice on nutrition, while soap opera stars battle it out in the square circle. Good times ... good times ...

The strangest chalk outline ...

From this week's Ocean State Job Lot flyer (I admit, the OSJL, Job Lot, or Ocean State - the nickname changes depending on my mood - is a guilty pleasure. They've got some good deals. Seriously.). Is the average consumer so dumb that we really need the dashed outline?

"It was the weirdest thing, Sarge. When we found the body, which, as you can see, is now represented by these dashes, it had this wire contraption inside of it."

"Son, that's a genuine 'Beer Can' Chicken Roaster! Our suspect must buy his goods at the Job Lot! He may be a murderer, but he knows where to find sweet deals!"

What's in a name?

Since becoming a member of the Nutmeg state, I've always wondered how Connecticut earned its unusual nickname. Well, thanks to a back issue of the fun publication Hog River Journal, my questions have been answered. Many of you lifers probably know this tale, but for those who don't, read on:

During the years surrounding 1800, Connecticut sea captains actively traded Wethersfield onions—used largely to feed Caribbean slaves—for much-sought-after nutmeg, a spice grown only on the West Indian island of Granada and in the Mollucas islands of Indonesia. Also during this time, young Connecticut men ventured in ever-increasing numbers to the American South and Midwest to peddle the clocks, buttons, needles, and other sundries being produced by a host of small, new Connecticut manufactories.

These Yankee peddlers loved having the hard-shelled nutmegs—durable, light, and profitable—among their goods. They were highly desired and always easy to sell. So easy that, so the story goes, some of the craftier—and less ethical—of these Connecticut lads took to mixing wooden nutmegs in with the real ones, simultaneously increasing both their profits and their “nutmeg” supply. They, of course, counted on the fact that the purchaser wouldn’t discover the difference until the trader himself was back in the Land of Steady Habits (or was that the Provision State?). As a result of these and similar trickster-like practices, Connecticut Yankees’ reputation for clever-but-not-fully-principled trading spread widely and quickly, and the homeland of these likeable but shrewd hucksters became known as “The Nutmeg State.”

Just as their forefathers had done when they adopted as their own the song “Yankee Doodle”—a tune originally intended to ridicule Yankees for being crude rustics—Connecticans took to “Nutmeg State” the way “snake oil” took to “salesman.” At an early and quite formal dinner gathering of the Connecticut Historical Society, one of the dignitaries—following a numerous and extended series of toasts preceding his own—offered this salute to the assembled guests, “To the Nutmeg State,” he said, lifting his glass yet again. “ Where shall we find a grater?”

Yes, it's true. The nickname comes from bad businessmen. From deceit. And from people too daft to know that they were being mocked. Ah, New England. You've got to love it.

You can read the full article over here.

Made in the dark

The Nutmeg has been waterlogged. Hard rains, lightning storms, hail, and even a tornado in Wethersfield (and yet the DMV still stands ...) have hit lately. It has gotten to the point where, sadly, power outages have become common. The Professor and I were in the dark along with 30,000 others just yesterday (thus my excuse for not writing until now).

So, with this strange turn of weather pounding us here in Connecticut, I've begun to think about activities to do when the electricity inevitably cuts out during the next deluge.

My best idea, as I'm sure you've already guessed, is becoming an expert shadow puppeteer. I've got the tools: hands and a flashlight. And it seems like a pretty open market. I can't tell you of many local expert shadow puppeteers. You know, maybe I'll start some new trend. I've even got a book called "Shadow Art," where everything from geese to sea anemones (I'm not kidding, this book is almost 300 pages long) is displayed in all its black and white glory.

The only problem I've run into thus far is my realization of how completely inept my fingers are when it comes to bizarre contortions. I've got the bird down. Dog is easy. But, my God, have you tried to make a silhouette tiger? You've got to get a hood for your arms! And don't even get into making a mouse. Miniature wire whiskers between your fingers. Before you know it, you end up with a trunk full of props like that weirdo Carrot Top.

Some of these puppets are so difficult that the author of the book, Sophie Collins, provides a chapter on finger and hand exercises to prevent cramps. Maybe I need to play more computer games or take up the piano or something. Get my fingers stretched out.

On second thought, maybe I'll just read a book the next time the power blanks out. Shadow puppets are too much work. Besides, if I'm going to die in a horrible lightning accident, I'd rather not go out making a horsey with my hands. I'll die with a book in my hands. Something manly. Hemingway or some Ian Fleming.

Learning (the hard way) what Ikea instructions are trying to tell me

Ikea. Inexpensive items, a little elbow grease, and voila: a full home on a budget. The Professor and I have frequented the Swedish box store giant off and on for years. I have assembled a dining room table, three cabinets, one chair, a long CD tower, and one end table. And I have never once gotten injured in the process of said constructions.

So when it came to mounting a magnetic knife strip, I had little worries. There wasn't much to it: a magnetic strip, a mounting bracket, and two washers.

Then I looked briefly at the instructions, specifically step number two:

 "What is the person in the right image doing wrong?" I wondered. Is lightning striking them? Are they sliding their fingers to the left and right and causing some sort of magnetic friction? It reminded me of old issues of Highlights. What's different in one picture from the other?

I dropped the instructions and began to look at the pieces. The washers went behind the bracket. The bracket gets screwed into the wall. Then the magnetic front gets dropped onto the bracket. I placed the washers on the counter and held the long strips. I brought them close together. Again I wondered: "What's the problem with picture number two?"

If you guessed that the person on the right, Mr. No No we'll call him, has his fingers stuck between the two pieces of metal, one of which contains a long string of powerful magnets, you'd be right. If you also guessed that I was doing the exact same thing as Mr. No No when holding the two pieces precariously close together while standing in my kitchen, you'd also be correct and I would like to have you sitting next to me the next time I do something quite as stupid as what I'm about to confess.

I brought the pieces together. I never once thought about the magnetic pull between the two. Then it happened. It snapped shut like a lobster claw. The Professor, casually observing to this point, looked at me as if I was joking, as if I was possibly pretending to crush my finger between two pieces of metal. Then she saw that the entire magnetic knife holder was dangling from the pinched pad of my fingertip. I danced around the room like a fool or a Woody Allen character being portrayed by Woody Allen. "Helphelphelphelphelp!" I said, knowing fully well there was nothing she could do to help. The Professor flailed her arms. 

I don't know what was worse: the shock or the pain. Either way, I had to do something. Logic would have had me grab a butter knife to pry the pieces apart from each other. But logic doesn't work when a metal knife rack is hanging from a quarter inch of skin. The only thing I could think to do was grab the holder with my free hand and yank out my finger. So that's what I did. It hurt. The pad instantly puffed to twice its normal size and a nice bite of skin was removed. I will spare you with photos. But I laughed. I laughed at the pain and the ridiculousness and the sight I imagined any passing neighbor saw for that brief, ten second burst of panic.

Thankfully, ice brought the swelling down.

Afterward, I looked at the instructions once more. The obtuse imagery made perfect sense. Mr. No No on the right was clearly doing something wrong. Perhaps that is why they also include this image in their instructions:

Maybe if I had called Ikea with my direct line, like Mr. Question does in the image, I could have asked what was Mr. No No doing wrong. Instead, I had to learn the hard way.

Unappealing food products

I never realized how much a simple color balance error could ruin the look of photographed food. Something must have gone wrong at the printing press, because the greens and blues seemed all out of whack in this recent grocery flyer:

Anyone up for some cold cuts? Mmmm, nothing says flavor like some blue salami. And the pale turkey is simply delicious!

How about some pasta salad? What, not green enough for you? So what if it got left outside all day!

This has nothing to do with me or West Hartford ...

Chris Knox is, among other things, a musician from New Zealand. A pretty prolific guy, I got into one of his bands, Tall Dwarfs, several years back.

Anyway, earlier this month Chris had a stroke. And since then his family and friends have been keeping an ongoing blog of his slow recovery. It's a pretty interesting read and something that truly makes me realize that blogs can be useful and not just nonsense about cats or complaining about the world.

Give it a read over at: http://chrisknox.blogtown.co.nz/. 

A walk in the center ...

In recent visits to the center of town I've noticed what seems to be an overabundance of empty storefronts staring at me with sad "for lease" signs in their windows.

How many of these are there, I wondered.

Feeling the need to answer my own question, I decided to do a little walking tour with my camera. The trip was to be arduous. I made sure to pack extra supplies, my tent, and a spare set of clothes. My goal: snap a picture of every empty storefront in Blue Back Square and on the center's main stretches (South Main Street, Farmington between Main and Lasalle, and Lasalle Road).

Here's the result:

Sorry, but it's Debbie Downer time. The town center is beginning to look like some impossible 7-10 split. At what point does this become an epidemic? I counted 23 empty storefronts (though, as you see, I only photographed 22 - the 23rd had some people hanging out in front of it that looked tough and willing to punch a weak man with a camera). Granted, some of these spaces have signs promising new shops in the near future, but if we've all learned anything from the "Chow - Coming Soon" debacle (which, I noticed, has finally been removed), we may not want to hold our collective breaths for very long waiting for some of these places to open (cough ... Green Tea ... cough). 

Now, if I'm really ambitious, I'll take a walk down Park Road ...