How to Eat of Bowl of Kellogg’s Frosted Mini Wheats

mini wheats

I love Kellogg’s Frosted Mini Wheats!

Kellogg’s has accomplished an incredible feat by taking a food product that basically has the consistency and taste of dried, toasted hay and made it delicious by coating it in a thick layer of sugar.

To emphasize my point, have you ever eaten plain Shredded Wheat? There are a few brands on the market but Post Shredded Wheat is the most iconic and well-known. Could there possibly be a more disgusting, choke-inducing cereal than plain, shredded wheat? Well, maybe Grape-Nuts, another Post creation. I’m not sure my goats would even eat plain shredded wheat.

But Kellogg’s has nailed it by adding a sugary coating. It’s a food product that allows us to avoid wallowing in the poor self-esteem issues of our food choices by hiding under the guise of eating healthy and regulating our bowels, while still consuming massive amounts of sugary goodness.

Herein lies the problem. When you add milk to your Frosted Mini Wheats the sugar will start to dissolve and they will begin to deteriorate faster than the most aggressive of ionic reactions.

Like this one, which takes about 10-14 to 10-16 seconds for completion:

formula

Precipitation of BaSO4, Barium Sulfate, when solutions of Barium Chloride and Sulphuric Acid are mixed.

Now I’m no scientist, but those speeds sound like some serious business! Those are negative powers bro!

I’d venture to guess that the significant deterioration of a Frosted Mini Wheat in a bowl of milk starts happening in about 10-25 seconds. So, just as you would never in your right mind try precipitating Barium Sulfate without a well thought out plan of action, you should never eat a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats without an equal level of preparation.

The important thing to note about Frosted Mini Wheats is that Kellogg’s has not figured out how to accurately coat each Mini Wheat with equal amounts of sugar. This will be important later.

So, here’s how to eat a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats:

  1. Pour Frosted Mini Wheats into a bowl.
  2. Arrange all of the Mini Wheats so that they are “face up”, meaning sugar side up. You should have no more than two layers of Mini Wheats.
  3. If you have more than two layers you will need to return some to the box.
  4. As you are arranging the Mini Wheats, carefully study and mentally document each of them to determine the amount and consistency of the sugar that coats each piece.
  5. Try to put the Mini Wheats with the most sugar on the bottom layer.
  6. Make special note of the one or two Mini Wheats that are coated with an incredibly thick (1-2mm) of sugar-coating. There will always be one or two of these.
  7. Prepare yourself mentally to eat the Mini Wheats, i.e. get in “The Zone”.
  8. IMPORTANT: Pour milk into cereal bowl but only enough to lightly soak the Mini Wheats. If you use too much milk you will end of with a giant bowl of mush.
  9. Eat as fast as you can starting with the least sugary Mini Wheats on the top layer and finishing with the most sugary Mini Wheats on the bottom layer. As the Mini Wheats will shift around while eating, you will need to be fleet-of-spoon to be sure you are continuing to eat in the correct order. The Mini Wheats noted in #6 should be eaten last.
  10. If you’re a milk drinker, go ahead and drink the milk, but keep in mind, Frosted Mini Wheat milk will have significantly more “silt” in it than milk from other cereals.

So that’s how you eat a bowl of Kellogg’s Frosted Mini Wheats.

Next up… How to Eat a Bowl of Lucky Charms!

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A #SoWrong Guest Post

Today is a milestone! You can read my very first guest post over at my friend Renée’s house: www.rasjacobson.com.  She has a series on her blog called #SoWrong where bloggers can write about humiliating and embarrassing moments they’ve experienced and then share those moments with about a zillion people. Sounded like a good idea to me!

You can read my post here: http://wp.me/pViQq-47Q where I share four funny #SoWrong parenting moments.

renee

Renée and I met a couple of years ago and she has been a loyal follower and commenter on BRC. She write’s about lots of things including her family and her son who is into fencing, which has to be on the list of coolest extra-curricular activities a kid could be involved in.  She can be funny, serious, profound, silly and she’s a Glasses and Hats enthusiast! Unlike me, she is the consummate blog promoter, running guest posts and giveaways and all kinds of other fun things… in addition to writing!

So, go check out my post. It’s funny and it’s true. Poke around Renee’s site while you’re there too. You’ll probably find something good to read.

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In a Pickle

Have you ever tried to grab,
A pickle from a jar?
Its swimming in the juice.
Down very, very far.

First you try your hands.
Five finger grabbers each.
Your hand goes in the jar.
But that pickle’s out of reach!

The pickle glares back at you.
On it’s face, a smirk!
You come to the conclusion.
Your hands aren’t going to work.

You go into the drawer.
That holds the silverware.
You glance back towards the jar.
And see that pickle glare.

You grab yourself a fork.
The longest you can find.
You have a plan in place.
You’ll sneak up from behind.

You reach into the jar.
That pickle’s oh so near.
You jab down with that fork.
As if you had a spear.

But that pickle has a plan.
It gives your fork the slip.
It dodges and it weaves.
You try to keep your grip.

You jab down with that fork again.
You’ve got something to prove.
You just can’t seem to catch it.
That pickle’s on the move!

Then finally you connect.
You spear it with the tines.
You start to lift that pickle,
From deep in its confines.

But when you’re just about to,
Get that pickle from the jar.
Something awful happens
Something so bizarre!

Your progress gets impeded.
A challenging impasse.
That pickle is too long.
It catches on the glass!

It falls off of the fork.
And dives back towards the juice.
Once again that pickle,
Is free and on the loose.

You hear that pickle laugh.
It’s averted your attack.
You close the pickle jar.
And decide to put it back.

You know you’ve been defeated.
You gave it your best shot.
Instead you eat an Apple.
‘Cause they don’t fight a lot!

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A Guide For Men: Five Rules for Wearing T-Shirts

Whether we like it or not, the basic men’s t-shirt has become the apparel piece of choice for most of us guys when we are everywhere other than at work, out on the town or anywhere else where some more adult fashion sense should be adopted. Glenn O’Brien who writes a column for GQ magazine, has called the imprinted t-shirt “the worst thing that has ever happened to Men’s Fashion”. I struggle with this a little, as I make my living selling imprinted apparel to college bookstores, high schools and other retailers. That being said, it’s very infrequent that I actually wear imprinted t-shirts.

Just not my thing, I guess.

In any case, the t-shirt is clearly here to stay.

So, here’s my Guide for Men: Five Rules for Wearing T-shirts.

5. A t-shirt should fit you properly, slightly fitted but not skin tight. Sleeves should fall somewhere around the middle to lower portion of your bicep. The waistband should rest on your hips. It can bunch up slightly, but it should not cover your ass. A good rule of thumb is if your t-shirt sleeves are covering your elbows and/or touching your forearms, it’s probably too big.

4. Unless you are wearing a t-shirt as part of a uniform, you should NEVER tuck it into your shorts or pants. If you are wearing a US Marine Corp t-shirt with your Marine issued fatigues or a Scout uniform, or a work uniform, any of which likely requires a specific uniform belt, then sure, go ahead and tuck it in. If you are wearing a t-shirt with your Madras cargo shorts and you have it tucked in and you’re wearing a belt, you look like a dork. Never tuck in a t-shirt. Unless you also wear socks with your sandals. In that case, we’ve already lost you and you can do whatever you want.

3. If you are over age 30, you should limit (not eliminate, just limit) your wearing of t-shirts imprinted with sports teams, colleges, rock bands, tourist attractions, Abercrombie and Fitch or Hollister logos, stupid adolescent jokes, offensive slangs, giant flying Eagle images stretched over the back shoulders, skulls and crossbones, company logos (that you got free at your last work conference), etc. Sure, if you are at a professional sporting event, or rooting on your favorite team, or even your kids sporting event, proudly wear the team colors! But sorry, after age 30 you have definitely become an adult. Stop dressing like you’re twelve.

2. NEVER wear t-shirts that don’t have sleeves unless you are cutting your grass or doing other work around your house, or leading a meeting of the board of directors at a white trash trailer park. There’s a reason these shirts have been dubbed “wife-beaters”. This includes tank tops too. T-shirts also shouldn’t have pockets on the front. Seriously, what the hell could you possibly want to put in that pocket?

1. Cotton t-shirts still reign supreme. I know Under Armour style performance wear has become the latest trend. I get it, the fabric is typically soft and comfortable and it wicks away sweat if you are doing something athletic. But are you really doing something athletic? Plus, people are also finding out that performance wear fabrics eventually start to hold your stink, even after they have been repeatedly washed. Who needs that? Being smelly is okay if you are at the gym, not so much if you are hanging out with your buddies.

So next time you decide to buy a t-shirt, find one that fits properly, that isn’t imprinted, that has both sleeves and no pockets and that is made from good, high quality cotton. White is a good color.

And for God’s Sake, don’t tuck it in!

*Unless it’s one of these t-shirts! :-)

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How are Ducks like Salespeople?

How are Ducks like Salespeople?
I really don’t think they are.
They don’t have much in common.
Except when they’re driving a car.

How are Ducks like Lawyers?
I really don’t think they are.
They don’t have much in common.
Except when they’re taking the Bar.

How are Ducks like Policemen?
I really don’t think they are.
They don’t have much in common.
Except when they’re using radar.

How are Ducks like Tourists?
I really don’t think they are.
They don’t have much in common.
Except when they’re traveling far.

How are Ducks like Golfers?
I really don’t think they are.
They don’t have much in common.
Except when they’re scoring a par.

How are Ducks like Road Workers?
I really don’t think they are.
They don’t have much in common.
Except when they’re leveling tar.

Lest you think I am drunk, the title of this post was a search term today. Apparently my site will now attract people interested in ducks… and salespeople… and duck salespeople… and salesducks. I wondered if the searcher was a salesperson who was acting like a duck or a duck acting like a salesperson. Maybe its a salesperson trying to get his ducks in a row. Maybe he or she should listen to my song. Maybe I am over thinking this.

So, how are ducks like salespeople? Please give me your detailed analysis. Careful now, I am a salesperson, so be nice. Or better yet, how are ducks like whatever you do for a living? Or better yet, how is any animal like what you do for a living? That could make for some great discussion.

Leave me a comment. Or don’t. This isn’t Rocket Science going on in this post. Or leave me a comment on how Ducks are like Rocket Scientists. Or how ducks are like Brain Surgeons.

Or go jump in a lake… whatever…

Quack, quack!

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Ducks in a Row (the song)

A couple of weeks ago I wrote this story: Ducks in a Row.

ducks in a row

Last night it occurred to me that this would make a great song. So I wrote a song! It’s not the exact same story but it’s the same premise… and frankly its much more awesome! Please take a listen and let me know what you think!

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A Moment in Time

I’m sitting outside. It’s about 9:00 pm on Saturday night. A plastic cup of cheap wine by my side. The old boom box radio sings to me from just outside the barn. “Grassroots”, a bluegrass and roots music program is playing on NPR. We listen to it almost every Saturday night and again on Sunday mornings. A warm fire is burning in the firepit.

Nothing out of the ordinary except the usual heat of your average summer night has been pushed out by a cold spell. The temperature is in the 50’s and I sit here in long pants, a sweatshirt and stare beyond the fire to our apple tree, full of small yellow apples. I imagine the tree is wondering if it has somehow fallen behind and missed its growth season. I’m happy to see apples though, as the last two years have been very sparse.

Three of my four goats are grazing away, happy to have some human companionship outside but on this occasion not hovering around looking for their heads to be  scratched. Goats are extraordinarily affectionate creatures and it occurred to me today that I could never have imagined “farm animals” bringing me so much joy. Goat number four, Heath, is inside their barn. He is getting old and doesn’t get out as much as he used to. Like any animal, none of them will live forever and that thought saddens me, yet I am grounded knowing that we are providing them a comfortable lifestyle.

The corn field across Brown Road is being irrigated. I was annoyed this morning when the farm equipment woke me up, but now I’m soothed hearing the sound of water soaking the stalks. I hear the fsh, fsh, fsh, fsh, as the gigantic, prehistoric looking irrgation sprinkler fires out spray after spray of water, as if it is trying to keep beat with the upright bass that anchors the latest bluegrass tune on the radio.

Jonathan is inside. The girls tonight, out of town at a softball tournament. It seems like that’s the stage of life we are in, with something going on every weekend. “Divide and conquer” we like to say. You go here, I’ll go there and both kids will be happy having a parent around. He’ll come out  soon enough though and we’ll cook hobo pies on the fire before calling it quits for the night.

Though the girls are away, I’m happy to be home.  It’s peaceful tonight, a little rare, quiet, alone time. I worked around the yard a lot today, until my 45 year old back told me enough was enough. There’s something about physical work though that is rewarding. Sometimes I think it’s what we were supposed to do, before technology took it all away.

In contrast, I sit here and type on an iPad and wonder what I would do without it. The bright screen, the fire and the two security lights the only thing interrupting the total blackness of the night. Soon the bats will be out, circling the lights and getting their fill of insects.  Later tonight the coyotes will stand around in a circle, far away, but close enough that we’ll hear them howl and laugh as if celebrating a reunion of old friends. It’s dark now and everything around me has become a scene of outlines and shadows. The radio seems louder as if somehow it is disturbing the night solitude. But there’s nothing to disturb here, no one around, just me and the goats and the bats and lots of crickets and likely lots of other wildlife that I can’t see or hear.

The fire is dying now, so I will go put more wood on. Because this may be just a moment in time. But if I have any say in the matter, I’d like it to last just a little bit longer.

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