"I still can't help wondering how we can explain away what to me is the greatest miracle of all and which is recorded in history. No one denies there was such a man, that he lived and that he was put to death by crucifixion.
Where ... is the miracle I spoke of? Well consider this and let your imagination translate the story into our own time -- possibly to your own home town. A young man whose father is a carpenter grows up working in his father's shop. One day he puts down his tools and walks out of his father's shop. He starts preaching on street corners and in the nearby countryside, walking from place to place, preaching all the while, even though he is not an ordained minister.
He never gets farther than an area perhaps 100 miles wide at the most. He does this for three years. Then he is arrested, tried and convicted. There is no court of appeal, so he is executed at age 33 along with two common thieves. Those in charge of his execution roll dice to see who gets his clothing -- the only possessions he has.
His family cannot afford a burial place for him so he is interred in a borrowed tomb. End of story? No, this uneducated, property-less young man has, for 2,000 years, had a greater effect on the world than all the rulers, kings, emperors; all the conquerors, generals and admirals, all the scholars, scientists and philosophers who have ever lived -- all of them put together.
How do we explain that -- unless He really was what He said He was?" --President Ronald Reagan (1911-2004)
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Oreo Fudge Cremes
The people who make Oreo cookies should know better than to mess with a good thing. But, perhaps their current “captains of industry” are too young to remember the Coke/ New Coke debacle a few decades ago. Even so, have they not heard the adage, “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it?” Sigh.
I am a victim of advertising and found myself believing the hype over a new Nabisco product, a spin-off from the original Oreo. Take the top cookie off an Oreo leaving the cream center and bottom cookie; dip the cream center and bottom cookie in fudge and market the new creation as the best thing since sliced bread. Suckers will buy it.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good concoction.
Great?
No!
Better than the original?
No!
Mind you, I’ve not tried other variations on the same theme…vanilla fudge crèmes, peanut butter fudge crèmes, but I’ve learned the Oreo Fudge Cremes are nothing to write home about.
Sure, others will buy ‘em and try ‘em and a small fan base will develop for this new cookie, but were I in charge of Nabisco, I’d “hang my hat” on the original Oreo.
I’m no sales and marketing guru, but I’m going on record as stating within two years, one will be hard pressed to find any of the new crème variations of the Oreo still on a grocer’s shelves.
I am a victim of advertising and found myself believing the hype over a new Nabisco product, a spin-off from the original Oreo. Take the top cookie off an Oreo leaving the cream center and bottom cookie; dip the cream center and bottom cookie in fudge and market the new creation as the best thing since sliced bread. Suckers will buy it.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good concoction.
Great?
No!
Better than the original?
No!
Mind you, I’ve not tried other variations on the same theme…vanilla fudge crèmes, peanut butter fudge crèmes, but I’ve learned the Oreo Fudge Cremes are nothing to write home about.
Sure, others will buy ‘em and try ‘em and a small fan base will develop for this new cookie, but were I in charge of Nabisco, I’d “hang my hat” on the original Oreo.
I’m no sales and marketing guru, but I’m going on record as stating within two years, one will be hard pressed to find any of the new crème variations of the Oreo still on a grocer’s shelves.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Twlight Zone At A Sonic Drive In
Traveling back from the Storytelling Festival in Cape Girardeau on Sunday afternoon, the four of us (Joel, Shirley, Barbara and me) felt an ice cream indulgence from Sonic would be the thing to tide us over until supper, as we had eaten a late breakfast and skipped dinner completely.
Pulling into a bay at the Sonic in Sikeston, MO and rolling down my window, I remembered why I don’t like going to a Sonic drive-in by myself, let alone with several more people. It’s a bit of a hassle to get the order(s) right while staring into a stainless microphone with no face attached. I’d be happier if there were a cordless mike, which I could pass around to everyone in the car so they could give their own order. But, so far, that bit of modern technology has escaped the engineering department at Sonic.
After a few moments of decision-making, I was prepared to speak into the featureless “micro-face” and place our order. Nervously, I pressed the red call-button as I extended my arm and hand from the window.
“Welcome to Sonic, may I take your order?”
“Yes…I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“That’s an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake?” she asked.
“No, I don’t want a Reese’s Blast, I want a Butterfinger Blast and an Oreo Blast.”
“Sir, would you repeat your order?”
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake,” I stated, trying to hide my malcontent in a calm voice.
“That’s an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake?” she asked.
“No, no! I don’t want a Reese’s Blast, I want a Butterfinger Blast.” I responded, thinking I had somehow entered the fifth dimension, a Twilight Zone, if you will.
“And what else?”
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“Okay, I have an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake. Would you like anything else?” she replied.
Exasperated, and adhering to the “three strikes and you’re out” rule I stated, “Yes, I’d like a different order taker.”
Almost immediately, a different voice asked for my order.
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“That’s what we have, Sir!”
“Good, that’s what I want.”
I sat there mulling over why, if that’s what was on the display, the first order-taker didn’t read it back correctly. Maybe, she just got Reese’s STUCK in her brain and couldn’t say BUTTERFINGER. Stay cool, I’m okay.
Waiting for the order to arrive, I told Joel, “I guess you know she’s going to spit in your milkshake.”
“She won’t know which one is mine,” he laughed.
“In that case, she’ll spit in everybody’s.” I teased, though slightly repulsed at the thought of an order-taker getting revenge on a customer that got her in trouble.
My stress over the “spit” was for naught, and, as best we could determine, our ice cream treats were unadulterated and delicious.
Pulling into a bay at the Sonic in Sikeston, MO and rolling down my window, I remembered why I don’t like going to a Sonic drive-in by myself, let alone with several more people. It’s a bit of a hassle to get the order(s) right while staring into a stainless microphone with no face attached. I’d be happier if there were a cordless mike, which I could pass around to everyone in the car so they could give their own order. But, so far, that bit of modern technology has escaped the engineering department at Sonic.
After a few moments of decision-making, I was prepared to speak into the featureless “micro-face” and place our order. Nervously, I pressed the red call-button as I extended my arm and hand from the window.
“Welcome to Sonic, may I take your order?”
“Yes…I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“That’s an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake?” she asked.
“No, I don’t want a Reese’s Blast, I want a Butterfinger Blast and an Oreo Blast.”
“Sir, would you repeat your order?”
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake,” I stated, trying to hide my malcontent in a calm voice.
“That’s an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake?” she asked.
“No, no! I don’t want a Reese’s Blast, I want a Butterfinger Blast.” I responded, thinking I had somehow entered the fifth dimension, a Twilight Zone, if you will.
“And what else?”
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“Okay, I have an Oreo Blast, a Reese’s Blast, a regular strawberry shake and a regular vanilla shake. Would you like anything else?” she replied.
Exasperated, and adhering to the “three strikes and you’re out” rule I stated, “Yes, I’d like a different order taker.”
Almost immediately, a different voice asked for my order.
“I’d like an Oreo Blast, a Butterfinger Blast, a medium strawberry milkshake and a vanilla milkshake.”
“That’s what we have, Sir!”
“Good, that’s what I want.”
I sat there mulling over why, if that’s what was on the display, the first order-taker didn’t read it back correctly. Maybe, she just got Reese’s STUCK in her brain and couldn’t say BUTTERFINGER. Stay cool, I’m okay.
Waiting for the order to arrive, I told Joel, “I guess you know she’s going to spit in your milkshake.”
“She won’t know which one is mine,” he laughed.
“In that case, she’ll spit in everybody’s.” I teased, though slightly repulsed at the thought of an order-taker getting revenge on a customer that got her in trouble.
My stress over the “spit” was for naught, and, as best we could determine, our ice cream treats were unadulterated and delicious.
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