Month: September 2023

Getting small with ‘Gen V’: This spinoff’s worth the ride

L.T. HanlonLeave a comment
In the new series "Gen V," Lizze Broadway portrays Emma "Little Cricket" Meyer, whose superpower is throwing up and then shrinking down. Here, she climbs out from under a plate of mixed vegetables.
Lizze Broadway’s scenes bring back fond memories of Irwin Allen’s “Land of the Giants.”

Having recently dived into “Gen V,” a fascinating spinoff of “The Boys,” I’ve been taken by its gripping portrayal of young superhumans in the hallowed halls of Godolkin University.

This isn’t your typical college drama. At Godolkin, where elite superhumans are molded, students must not only grapple with the challenges of young adulthood but also confront the malicious presence lurking right beneath them.

Drawing parallels to the ominous likes of Dolores Umbridge and the formidable Miranda Priestly, the director of the clandestine lab beneath the university grounds masterfully sets the tone for intrigue and suspense. As viewers, we’re drawn into the complex web of power dynamics, ethics, and the often-blurred lines between right and wrong.

Speaking of characters, Emma “Little Cricket” Meyer has undoubtedly caught my attention. Portrayed with depth and nuance by Lizze Broadway, Cricket’s ability to shrink herself by inducing bulimic episodes isn’t merely a party trick. It’s a poignant commentary on young women’s pressure and the lengths they may go to fit into society’s mold.

A stunning effects sequence showcases Cricket’s daring venture into the university’s underground lab to help free a young man being tortured there. This scene makes me yearn for a modern-day reboot of Irwin Allen’s “Land of the Giants.”

However, it’s not all praise for “Gen V.”

As visually captivating and plot-rich as the series is, it sometimes overindulges. I always appreciate the artistry of effects and storytelling, but some moments — like a sex scene with Cricket I won’t describe — could be toned down or eliminated without sacrificing the series’ essence.

While the superhuman college drama offers a mostly fresh perspective, the underlying teen angst is already trying my patience. I like “Gen V” for what it is, but given the looming melodrama, I wonder how long I’ll stay loyal to the series.

“Gen V” brilliantly explores the world of young superhumans and presents a delightful mix of suspense, emotion, dark comedy, social commentary, and visual spectacle. It’s undoubtedly worth watching, especially if you love “The Boys.”

My fantastic voyage to the ER: Correlation or causation?

L.T. Hanlon3 Comments

Chicago isn’t just wind and deep-dish pizza. It’s full of stories. One such story involves yours truly getting jabbed with three vaccines on Monday afternoon: COVID-19, the flu, and RSV.

Come nightfall, my body was cooking. My Apple Watch buzzed like an angry wasp every time my heart rate did a lap around the 120-plus mark. For a guy whose ticker usually beats around 70, this was concerning.

When my condition hadn’t improved by Tuesday morning, I went to immediate care. They collected my vitals, did an EKG, and handed me a one-way ticket to the ER. Ah, the ER. I got another EKG, got plugged into some fluids, and had a lovely moment with a puke receptacle that looked like a giant condom designed by Salvador Dali.

So, was it the vaccines? It might’ve been. But here’s where it gets dicey.

Correlation and causation. Just because two things happen together doesn’t mean one caused the other. The high heart rate? The fever? It could’ve been the vaccines, sure. But it could’ve been my dodgy sandwich, the Chicago air, or maybe my own damn body acting up.

In my case, the vaccines and the symptoms? Possibly related, sure. But it’s not a sealed deal. So, next time something’s got you scratching your head, ask yourself: Is it correlation or causation?

I ended up back home by 4 p.m., tired as hell. On the bright side, no atrial fibrillation. And they gave me Graham crackers. Ain’t nothing like carbs to keep your mind off other … urges.

Canadian crooners and crust: A Thanksgiving medley

L.T. HanlonLeave a comment
Photo of a box of Mrs. Smith's frozen pumpkin pie and a can of Reddi dip whipped cream.

Ah, it’s almost that snug, cozy time of year: Thanksgiving.

No, I’m not early. I’m talking about Canadian Thanksgiving, the second Monday in October. This holiday came to mind today while I tarried in the frozen food section in search of something sweet and satisfying.

And that’s when I found my answer: Mrs. Smith’s frozen pumpkin pie. As I type this, my kitchen is filling up with an aroma like a slice of heaven.

But let me tell you, the best part is what I’m listening to while that pie’s getting golden brown. I’ve got a playlist chock-full of authentic Canadian country artists.

I’ve got a soft spot for the real deal regarding country music, and our North of the Border friends deliver. Artists like Blake Berglund, who’s all heart and soul, and Belle Plaine, whose melodies are as captivating as a prairie sunset. Or Corb Lund, who weaves a tale like no one else. And, of course, there’s Tim Hus, Colter Wall, and a whole slew more — as authentically Canadian as a jug of maple syrup.

So, this coming Canadian Thanksgiving, my gratitude isn’t aimed solely at a delicious pie and my good fortune to have enough to eat.

I’m also tipping my hat to Canada for gifting us some of the realest country music. Thanks to those genuine tunes serenading me in the background, every bite of that pumpkin pie will seem sweeter.

So here’s to a delightful slice of Mrs. Smith’s and hearty cheers to our northern neighbors for keeping country music real.

Elderly neighbor clues me in on kratom

L.T. Hanlon1 Comment
Kratom comes in many forms, including these edibles.

In my highrise condominium building’s elevators, I often chat with Mrs. X, a 90-year-old gal with a sharp mind, a sharp wit, and an unquenchable desire to knock boots with Che Guevara.

Her infatuation with Che isn’t teenybopper puppy love but the burning desire of a limousine-lib lady deeply engrossed in understanding a revolutionary’s psyche. I often see her with a thick tome about Che, lost in tales of revolutions and rebels.

One recent evening, as we rode the elevator up, I winced from the sharp sting of diabetic neuropathy. Mrs. X’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Ever heard of kratom?” she asked.

Now, if you’re imagining kratom as some exotic dance from Guevara’s Cuban revolution days, let me set the record straight. “Kratom” usually refers to the prepared leaves from Mitragyna speciosa, a tree native to Southeast Asia.

The plot thickens when you learn that kratom’s lead actor, mitragynine, holds court with the same receptors in our brain as opium does. Its leaves have compounds with pain-numbing, mind-altering effects.

It’s a bit like a passionate tango between Che and an opponent on the dance floor of your neurons. This dance brings a suite of side effects, many eerily similar to opioids. From the itching that feels like ants dancing a rumba on your skin to thoughts racing faster than a retro jukebox on a caffeine spree and speech that rivals the speediest auctioneer. Plus, pupils that constrict to the size of the period at the end of this sentence.

Yet, amid this chaotic carnival, there emerges a soothing, pleasant buzz. The euphoria you might feel listening to an old, soulful song on a rainy day. And boy, did it tackle my neuropathic foot pain head-on.

However, much like Guevara’s ideologies, kratom comes with its complexities. The enchanting hum it provides is tempting. So tempting that in my journey, I’ve learned to respect its power, using it sparingly and wisely, ensuring I’m not being led astray by its allure.

Life is full of unexpected teachers. Who would’ve thought a 90-year-old Che Guevara-loving neighbor would be my gateway to the enigmatic world of kratom?

If this story teaches you anything, it’s that wisdom can come from the most unpredictable sources. And as always, if you’re contemplating a dance with kratom, ensure you lead and consult a medical professional first.

Cowboy rhythms and unexpected Christmas anthems

L.T. HanlonLeave a comment
Midjourney synthograph of a contemplative young cowboy at home on Christmas Eve.
I’ve created an Apple Music Playlist to play in the background and help me write cowboy stories for Christmas. I’ll be publishing them on Amazon’s Kindle platform. (Midjourney synthograph)

The festive season always stirs a potpourri of emotions. As I craft a series of cowboy romance short stories this year, I’ve found solace in an eclectic Apple Music playlist of holiday songs, each echoing the ambiance of the West.

At the pinnacle of my list is the enchanting “Christmas Cowboy Style” by Michael Martin Murphey, seamlessly marrying the holiday spirit with the rustic allure of cowboy culture. But the playlist boasts more than just cowboy tunes. Tracks like “Santa Looked a Lot Like Daddy” by Buck Owens and “Hard Candy Christmas” by Dolly Parton bring their own charm.

Diving deeper into the playlist, John Denver’s “Please, Daddy (Don’t Get Drunk This Christmas)” strikes a sad and, unfortunately, familiar chord. The song poignantly speaks to the heartbreak of children witnessing the struggles of alcoholic fathers, especially during a season meant to be merry.

Yet, the playlist has its quirks, too. “Weird Al” Yankovic’s “Christmas at Ground Zero” takes us on a wild departure from traditional holiday tunes, presenting a satirical take on the festive season that’s uniquely “Weird Al.”

There’s a story and a song for every emotion in the world of cowboy romance, Christmas songs, and tales of heartache and humor. And as I write, I’m reminded of the joy, pain, love, and laughter the season brings.

It isn’t even Halloween yet, but it’s never too early for me to wish everyone a tapestry of tales, tunes, and delightful holiday memories.

Did Tyson Foods bend me over with Jimmy Dean sausage?

L.T. Hanlon1 Comment
Image of front of box of Jimmy Dean English Muffin Sausage, Egg & Cheese Sandwiches fails to mention the meat is not pure pork.
I like this product. I dislike that the presence of chicken is not stated on the front of the packaging.

Is Tyson Foods less than transparent by failing to state on the front packaging of its Jimmy Dean English Muffin Sausage, Egg & Cheese Sandwiches that the meat is a blend of pork and mechanically separated chicken?

Consumers like me, who grew up seeing commercials in which Jimmy Dean touted the pure pork in his company’s sausage products, will naturally assume that these sandwiches are solely made from pork.

They’re not.

Jimmy Dean English Muffin Sausage, Egg & Cheese Sandwiches contain a mixture of pork and chicken.

I don’t have a problem with that, just with the fact you won’t know it unless you happen to inspect the ingredients list on the side panel. Dozens of other manufacturers’ products spell out the components of their meat right on the front label or panel.

Why isn’t Tyson doing so?

Recently, I voiced my concerns to Tyson Foods, and the only response they sent was that they would pass my concerns on to the quality control team. The company then mailed me a free coupon for the product in question.

I think I got blown off with Form Response No. 7B. What do you think?

Here’s the message I sent. . .

Photo of ingredients list for a Jimmy Dean product. It's only here that one discovers the product is not 100 percent prok but contains mechanically separated chicken.
Mechanically separated chicken is revealed in the ingredients list.

Dear Tyson Consumer Relations Team,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am writing as a long-standing and loyal consumer of your Jimmy Dean product range, specifically the English Muffin Sausage, Egg & Cheese Sandwiches. I have appreciated and enjoyed your products for many decades, and they have been a staple in my household since Jimmy Dean introduced his line in the late 1960s.

However, I recently discovered some information on the packaging of this product that left me feeling disappointed and deceived. Upon scrutinizing the ingredients list, I learned that the sausage, as advertised on the front of the package, is not purely pork, as I had assumed, but also contains mechanically separated chicken. This was a surprise, as the product’s marketing and branding led me to believe I was consuming a higher-quality product.

I understand that Tyson is likely meeting all legal requirements in labeling. Still, the fact that this crucial information about the content of your sausage is not immediately visible or accessible to the consumer seems, frankly, deliberately deceptive. The information is tucked away in tiny print on one of the side panels, which many consumers, including myself, might easily overlook.

I find it disheartening that Tyson, a brand I have trusted for so long, seems to take such measures to hide the presence of what many consumers would consider to be a cheap filler meat in a premium product. Other manufacturers appear to have no issue with upfront disclosure about their product’s ingredients, leading me to wonder why Tyson opts for a different approach.

It feels to me like a betrayal of the quality and transparency that Mr. Jimmy Dean himself advocated when he marketed his products as “pure pork sausage.” I am sure I am not alone in feeling that Tyson has strayed far from this ideal.

I truly enjoy the Jimmy Dean English Muffin Sausage, Egg & Cheese Sandwiches, and I would like to continue purchasing this product. However, my personal principles dictate that I cannot support a product that I believe is deceptively marketed.

In conclusion, I hope you will take my feedback into account and consider making your product ingredients more transparent to consumers. I believe this action would enhance trust, increase consumer satisfaction, and align more closely with Jimmy Dean’s original values of quality and honesty.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Yours sincerely,

Leigh T. Hanlon

Front of a package of Jack's Pizza does the right thing and clearly states that its sausage and pepperoni are a combination of pork, chicken, and beef.
Why can’t Tyson Foods declare meat ingredients on the front of its packaging like Jack’s Pizza does? Attaboy, Jack!

Eton Elite Field radio: Amazon replaces unit and I love it!

L.T. Hanlon1 Comment
The Eton Elite Field radio looks good and sounds good. It’s fun to operate this fine piece of equipment.

(THIS POST HAS BEEN UPDATED)

I picked up the Eton Elite Field radio and, man, I wanted to love this thing. First off, the look? Solid. The feel? Nice in the hand. The options for internal or external antenna connections? Pretty slick.

The EEF had some real performance problems and something inside rattled around, so I returned it for a replacement rather than a refund. The new radio arrived from Amazon the next day and, believe it or not, it was a whole different experience.

Here’s the rundown:

Mystery Noise: Good news! The replacement EEF doesn’t have that odd soft thunk from a presumably loose internal component I noticed in the original radio.

The Eton Elite Field Runs Neck-and-Neck With Its Sibling: So, I did a head-to-head with the Eton Elite Field and the Eton Elite Executive. The Field is only a little less sensitive on shortwave, is the same on medium wave, and slightly better on FM. Note that unlike the EEE, the EEF does not offer SSB or synch. This isn’t really an issue for me, since I consider the EEF to be more of a low-stress listening radio than a high-focus seeker of obscure signals like its sibling.

RDS Logo Shenanigans: Just like the one I returned, the replacement EEF still displays the RDS logo when the radio’s off — even if the last station tuned was medium wave. It’s like that one guy who doesn’t know when the party’s over. Weird.

Tuning Drama: Switching between fast and slow tuning is still something of a speed bump. On some manufacturers’ radios, you’ve got the outer ring for the fast stuff and the inner one for the slow roll. But on this bad boy? Both rings are geared at different ratios but tune at the same darn speed. Want to change that? Quick-press the button marked Timer A. What? Exactly. Doesn’t make a lick of sense. But I can cope with this.

Shipping Oddities: Interestingly, the first radio was shipped in a somewhat-protective plastic bag, while the replacement arrived totally unprotected with a shipping label slapped right onto the box itself. Even the opening tab was unsecured. Conclusion: How Amazon packages your item plays no role in whether it survives its journey without damage. What truly matters is how your purchase is treated during shipping. Was it used as a football en route?

Final conclusion: If you enjoy the feel of a good tool in your hand, you’ll love the Eton Elite Field. Operating this machine is as fun as listening to the signals it snares. I’d recommend buying from Amazon. With his company’s return, refund, and exchange policies, doing business with Jeff’s empire is essentially risk-free. Cheers.

OTHER OPINIONS

Radiojayallen reviews the current model of this radio, as well as its predecessor.

Todderbert assesses the EEF and demonstrates its capabilities on his Radio Waves YouTube channel.

Amazon customers rate the Eton Elite Field. (Note: Several Eton models are listed in the stack of reviews.)

The first radio arrived in a slightly protective bag. This unit had something loose inside that might have caused performance problems.
The replacement radio arrived with no protection whatsoever — yet sustained no damage during its journey into my hot little hands.

Does clinic app want me to join the 500-pound club?

L.T. HanlonLeave a comment
Clinic's scheduling app wants to know if you under or over 500 pounds.

So, there I was, thumbing through my clinic’s app, trying to schedule an echocardiogram stress test.

Boring stuff, right? Until I got to this gem: “Certain locations have weight limitations, please select the range of your weight.”

The options?

“500 lbs and over”

“450 lbs and over, but less than 500 lbs”

“Under 450 lbs”

And get this, the default? “500 lbs and over”

Was the gravitational pull stronger? Did someone toss a black hole in my pocket when I wasn’t looking? I checked my mirror. Still the same old guy. Attractive in a rugged, 2 a.m. beer-googles way, not in a “might-break-the-medical-equipment” way.

Default settings can be a riot, especially when you’re obliged to scroll through a drop-down menu of almost every country on the planet before locating “United States” beneath “Uganda.” I see that one all the time. But having to choose among “Large,” “Extra Large,” and “Omigawd, he’s heading our way!” was new to me.

In the end, I clicked “Under 450 lbs” and chuckled. Whoever programmed that app, cheers to you for the unexpected laugh.

I did not need to watch this video at 2 a.m.

L.T. Hanlon2 Comments

I’ve been to many places, seen many things, and heard a truckload of stories.

By day, I worked at newspapers. By night, I’d lean into conspiracies. It’s not every journalist who’s got a side passion for Fortean phenomena. I’m not saying I believe in all that jazz, but something about UFOs, cryptids, and high strangeness catches me and hooks me in. It’s like a lousy earworm of a song you can’t shake.

Legends? They’ve got a life of their own. Ever heard of the telephone game? Start a rumor on one end of the bar, and by the time it reaches the jukebox, it’s turned into some wild tale. These urban myths — they spread, mutate, and grow legs. Sometimes wings.

Speaking of wings, let’s talk Mothman. A creature seen in Point Pleasant, West Virginia. But it’s not the red-eyed beast that gets me. It’s his alleged buddy, Indrid Cold. Some folks call him the Grinning Man.

The story goes: a chap named Woodrow Derenberger was driving home one night in 1966 when he got flagged down by a vehicle that screamed, “Not from this galaxy.”

Out pops a man with a metal grin dressed to the nines. This smiling suit introduces himself as Indrid Cold. Over time, Woody and Indrid chat telepathically, with Mr. Cold spewing tales of interstellar travels. Bizarre, right?

Then Indrid Cold became intertwined with the Mothman sightings. Some say he’s an alien, others believe he’s a government agent covering up the Mothman hullabaloo, and others still reckon he’s a fragment of overactive imaginations.

Whatever the truth, stories like his keep the legend alive, burning like a neon sign outside a dive bar.

I’ve driven endless late nights under countless starry skies, sometimes thinking about those twinkling dots. Could there be life out there? Probably. But I’m not holding my breath for a close encounter.

I’m as skeptical as they come. But when the clock hits 3 a.m., and I hear a strange noise outside my window, I get a tad jumpy.

UFOs and cryptids might be campfire tales, but they sure as hell make the night a little more interesting.