Coughing my way to a new world's record

Just checked out the Guinness Book of World Records and learned that a Swede, Gunter Höötin Töötin Svenson, once held the record for the most mucous hacked up in a week. Gunter, affectionately known as Big Snöt by his, ah, friends and neighbors in the little village of Sjölunden, managed to wheeze up 1.2 metric tons of phlegm after a weekend outing on the frigid fjord of Frierfjorden.

Notice that I report Gunter “once held” this slippery distinction. No longer. While most of you were nesting comfortably at home across the Land of Cotton for the last week, enjoying nature’s icy gift and keeping your tootsies warm by a crackling fire in your dens, I was relentlessly stalking Gunter and his claim to fame.

After the lovely Miss Wendy and I returned from the Big Apple last Sunday – just hours before the region was grasped in the icy claws of Mother Nature – I noticed that I seemed to have a little, um, cold. The only thought that springs to mind as I recall those first tentative sniffles is the memorable aphorism, “Mighty Oaks from Little Acorns Grow”. Now, replace Oaks with flu and acorns with, um, sputum, and you might start to get an idea of how I spent the last six days.

Even though I was fading quickly, the missus and I managed to make our way to Trader Joe’s, where we bumped into friends and neighbors preparing for the apocalypse, even managing to maneuver our way around one of our favorite rabbis, walking away with one of the last half-gallons of milk in the market.

As she said goodbye and offered up a good-natured wish that my little cold vanish quickly, karma was already slipping its mojo about me. By the time we made it home, the sky had turned an ominous slate-gray and a wintry mix began falling across the region. Meanwhile, my sniffles had given way to creeks of viscous liquid.

For those interested, phlegm is in essence a water-based gel consisting of glycoproteins, immunoglobulins, lipids and other substances. I know because I looked it up on Wikipedia. I’ve also spent the last week spewing it from my nose and mouth, coughing up gallons of the stuff.

BTW, for those really interested, the color of phlegm can vary from transparent to pale or dark yellow and green, from light to dark brown, and even to dark grey depending on the constituents. Excuse me just a sec … AHHHHHCHOOOOO! Oh, it can be a light bluish color also. Who knew?

But I digress. The guy from Guinness just left and after a little dumpster diving and working through tons of tissues, he’s figured I’ve hacked up at least 1.3 metric tons of snot, easily knocking Gunter from his sputum perch.

Thank heavens I let the rabbi with the curls walk away with a loaf of bread. There are much worse parts of the body that can expel watery-based gel-like stuff! Meanwhile, I’m happy to report I seem to be well on the road to recovery. So, too, the Land of Cotton, that is daily shedding its glistening coat of ice and frigid temps. Hopefully, we'll all be back to our normal routines come Monday.

This trader knows how to attract a crowd

Miss Wendy and I had finished our Sunday walk – a grueling 6 mile jaunt along the river to celebrate our and the nation’s independence – and were dashing by a local grocery to pick up a few odds and ends. The minute I walked into the store I could see that something was up.

Off to the left in what market aficionados would call, well, aisle 1, there was a huge crowd, cheering and taking photos, everyone in high spirits. Grocery shopping can sometimes be fun, but buying a quart of milk and a loaf of bread brings with it only so much joy.

It took a little jostling and maneuvering to find a slight break in the pack of people, but I managed to peek over and between a gaggle of arms and shoulders and spotted a dozen or so kids around a large table. The youngsters were eyeing huge slices of pie topped with mounds of whipped cream.

The tension in the air was palpable as a guy sporting a flower lei around his neck raised his hand, counted to three, then blew a whistle. Without hesitation or encouragement, the kids dipped their heads and commenced to lap up the gooey mess with gusto.

And, as they say, the crowd went wild. Welcome to Trader Joe’s!

It’s not every supermarket that would take over a corner of one of its busiest aisles for a little fun and games. But that’s what this place is all about. I’m never disappointed when I visit.

The place is filled with the usual sort of stuff – that quart of milk I mentioned earlier and bread. But it’s also got fried rice laced with mushrooms and risotto in its frozen section, exotic brands of coffee and store brand cookies that are delicate and tasty. Trader Joe’s also has a small kosher section, its steaks and brisket – and this certainly is a subjective call, but I’m the one doing the writing here – of better quality than that offered by specialty shops and other nearby chains.

It also features an assortment of ethnic goodies under private labels that are whimsically named – Trader Jose’s (Mexican), Trader Ming’s (Chinese), Arabian Joe’s (Middle Eastern) – bought directly from local and international small-time vendors.

I imagine that if you spend time at the store and work behind the scenes, Trader Joe’s is possibly filled with the same corporate and bureaucratic nonsense that you’d find at other large enterprises. But the employees either manage to hide their angst or actually enjoy working at the place.

They run around the store, casually dressed in jeans and sports shirts, smiling and greeting customers, ringing bells and often giving out special prizes – congratulations, you’re customer 72 today, here’s a bar of chocolate!

On Sunday, the vibe was upbeat and fun. About the only person around who seemed at all irritated by the holiday festivities was me. I wanted to join the youngsters as they licked their plates clean. When it comes to pie, I don’t mind a little public humiliation.