Setting the record straight

So, on a recent Saturday I had a day with not much to do. It was cold out; I wasn't going anywhere.

Since I am an avid user of Amazon and I'd ordered many things throughout the holidays and for the weddings, I decided to do some helpful product reviews.

I took pictures of things I'd bought for Christmas and birthday presents, of the pretty dresses Melanie and Allissa and Dagny will wear in Erica's wedding, of some bridesmaids' gifts, and of a few household items I'd recently purchased.

The purpose of the photos was to enhance my reviews. I always read reviews before buying something on Amazon. I rely on them. And I love the ones with pictures.

Black on black, talking smack

Remember when I redesigned the photo table, in time for Christmas? That re-do involved buying a new tablecloth. The old one was a black shadow stripe; the new one is a black-on-black plaid.

I wrote the review, explaining that since the tablecloth stays on the table under glass and doesn't get whipped off and washed on a whim, its drape was important to me, and the ability to spot-clean it when necessary.

As the tablecloth was black, I knew that, like its predecessor, it would eventually fade and have to be replaced. So I praised my new tablecloth's design and fabric, declaring it pretty wonderful for my purposes, especially at the price point.

You get an email shortly after clicking submit, thanking you politely for contributing, and providing a link to your live review.

Only, my review was rejected. I was told it did not conform to the rules of the Amazon community.

? ? ? ? ?

I read over my review again. What rule had I broken? In what way had my language wandered beyond the pale?

Was it the word black? Was it black-on-black? Was it the descriptive term shadow stripe? Was it the word drape? Spot-clean? Who knows?

And aren't the rules more or less guidelines anyway?

I changed my review, randomly removing a few of my statements. There was no logic to what I removed and what I allowed to remain in the second version.

The new, shorter review was published.

So all is well, I suppose ... as well is it can be in a world so insanely politically correct, simple words are no longer acceptable because they may offend someone.

And yet, I would be embarrassed to even discuss here some of the products that are available for purchase on Amazon. Suffice to say, you can get just about anything. Anything.

If you read the reviews of a product called Aztec Secret Indian Healing Clay, for example, used for a face mask? You'll find an eight-hundred-word review that is embarrassingly descriptive when it's not being out-and-out boring. With gross pictures too.

It passed through the censors, and was approved. So go figure.

But be careful of your wording when you review a black tablecloth! Beyond here, there be monsters.

Pirates be warned

In a similar vein, recently I was conversing briefly on Instagram with a friend from up north who was visiting Charleston for a few days.

She mentioned having pimento cheese at a Chucktown restaurant, and pronounced it delicious.

I said: How would you like my recipe for Pirate Pimento Cheese that you can make at home?

She said she would love to have that. So I quickly listed the ingredients and clicked to publish my comment.

The post was rejected by Instagram. Once again, I had violated the rules of the community.

? ? ? ? ?

Truly flummoxed, I checked to see if it was the word "pirate" that was being objected to. But no; there are several versions of #pirate hashtags within millions of posts.

Was it the word mayonnaise? Pimentos? Jalapeño? The racially charged lemon pepper?

I don't remember what I changed, but I re-wrote the recipe -- identical ingredients as it is, after all, a recipe -- and was able to post it.

Once again: You don't even want to know what you can find on Instagram if you go looking. Suffice it to say, there are things that decent people don't look at.

But a recipe for pimento cheese? Step off! Out of bounds. Check yourself before you wreck yourself. Be mindful of the tender eyes and ears of the community.

Hogwash. Actual free speech is being stifled in favor of all that is destructive and godless. People need pimento cheese. It is an eternal truth.

Goodness gracious, great balls of grapefruit

Switching to people's obsession with the weather -- and I am included -- it amazes me how the weather gets blamed for lots of stuff that folks cannot otherwise explain.

Beyond their ken, as it were.

I have been more or less addicted to grapefruit -- indeed, all citrus -- since the big pink ones arrived in stores in December.

TG, who does the lion's share of the grocery shopping at our house, has brought home dozens and dozens of grapefruit for me.

If I don't have one for breakfast -- peeled like an orange, divested of some of its white pithy layer, then cut into sections in the bowl so as not to lose a single drop of juice, then dressed with two Splenda packets and a sprinkling of cinnamon -- my whole quotidian experience gets off on the wrong foot.

But in recent days, the grapefruit have become scarce. One supermarket had huge, gorgeous, juicy Texas Ruby Reds for a dollar apiece. I was practically drooling over the mere thought of them. 

On some days, I ate not one but two grapefruit. Like a total hedonist.

Then, with no warning, there were none.

We were at a different supermarket last Wednesday night, after church. They have a senior discount of five percent off your entire order, on Wednesdays. So TG and I often shuffle in there, aged as we are, on our way home.

There were no grapefruit. None at all. There were navel oranges so splendid, they almost made me cry. Hundreds of them stacked like bright gleaming orbs in the overflowing bins.

But no grapefruit.

As I bagged said marvelous orange masterpieces, TG asked a nearby stock boy whether he was sequestering any grapefruit in the back, explaining that I was a citrus addict.

The stock boy came to me. In hushed tones, extremely earnestly, he told me that grapefruit was no longer available but would probably come back into season in the spring and summer.

? ? ? ? ?

I just looked at him. Then I spoke. But see -- I said -- citrus is a winter fruit. We are in the dead of winter. In summer, you get melons and berries. 

He said -- hand to God above, this is what he said -- I work in the deli! With that palms-up, leaning-back gesture that says in body language, Don't ask me! I draw a paycheck here but I have nothing to do with any of this!

I bade him farewell, trying not to smirk as I wheeled my cart away from the bins empty of grapefruit but groaning with oranges.

I went to snag a bag of broccoli florets for my salads -- another obsession.

A different stock boy, having been consulted by the first stock boy, decided to school me on the subject of lack of grapefruit. Again with the hushed tones, the earnest expression, he informed me: You know, the weather has been terrible down in Florida is why there aren't any grapefruit.

? ? ? ? ?

Actually -- I decided to do a bit of schooling of my own, since it was he who'd rattled my cage and not the other way around, and because it was clear that I was not exchanging intelligence with a fruit grower of any stripe -- the grapefruit you had in abundance up until a few days ago were grown in Texas. Wonderful Sweet Scarletts, to be exact. In season throughout the winter and even into the early spring.

Those hundreds of gorgeous oranges over there, though? They're from Florida. Where it is also winter.

He blinked.

Furthermore, I said, the majority of Florida citrus is grown in the southern two-thirds of the state, where the incidence of frost is low. The recent "terrible weather" to which you refer -- (there was a deep-south snow event in early January) -- occurred in the panhandle.

He blinked again. Speechless! Imagine that. I waved my bag of broccoli florets -- which one can find readily available year-round -- as I wheeled my cart away.

He nailed it. Oh wait.

Last week I spied a warning light on the Raven's dashboard: to wit, my right rear tire was low on air.

We outfitted the Raven with four spiffy spanking-new Michelins in November.

I was annoyed at the inconvenience, but the place that services our car is right around the corner, so I wheeled in and asked them to put a bit of air into the tire.

The young man who works behind the desk walked out into the sunshine with me (it was a beautiful day that had started out cold but warmed right up) and chatted while life was breathed back into my tire.

I mused aloud that I wondered why my tire had gone low. Had I perhaps picked up a nail? Should I be worried?

No, he assured me. It's the weather. When it's cold, tires can lose pressure.

But it's so nice out today, I said.

But it was really cold this morning, he reminded me. Like, twenty-two degrees.

But why did that affect only one of my tires, and not all of them? I asked.

The kind young man just shook his head and looked concerned, and then the car was ready and I said Thank you so much! and went on my way.

For the next few days, the Raven perched in the garage.

On Saturday, Erica and I hopped aboard to go wedding-stuff shopping.

Once again, a dashboard light. This time, my tire was all but flat. Erica hopped back out and followed me in her car, back to the tire-fixing place.

I had a nail.

? ? ? ? ?

The nice folks there repaired my tire at no charge, while Erica and I took off on her plump nail-free wheels and made some headway on the reception-table-decorating front.

People! Don't blame the weather for everything. It is after all, only weather. There's nothing anybody can do about it. It is winter, when snow flies and grapefruit appear glistening in your bowl.

But sometimes there are nails. Sometimes there are grocery store buyers who don't know where to find grapefruit in season. Occasionally there is the offensive nature of black shadow-striped tablecloths and pimentos mixed with cheese.

And more often than I'd like to admit, more and more these days it's the utter senseless corruption of political correctness that's stopping us in our tracks.

As for me? I'm going to forge ahead, undaunted. I hope you do too.

And that is all for now.

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Happy Monday