My Last Tortilla?

Last night, we went to Boston to pick up Wendy. She's a friend that we met when we lived in Cincinnati. Megan joined us for the ride because--wait for it--we went to Chipotle on our way down. Megan, Anna, and I all love Chipotle burritos, but we don't have a restaurant close to us in Concord. So, we usually get a burrito whenever we head down towards Boston.

The thing I never understood about Chipotle was why some people would get the burrito bowl (a burrito without the tortilla). The tortilla is delicious. In my mind, I concluded that these people were trying to cut out carbs. But how would eating a big bowl of rice help in the big picture?

Well, I looked at the nutritional infomation and discovered that (as pictured above) the tortilla alone is 290 calories. Check out the amount of sodium too: 670mg. If I'm adopting the Eat This, Not That mindset, the bowl option cuts out some major calories and salt yet delivers the flavors of the burrito innards.

The worst part is that I'm capable of eating two burritos at once. I've done it a few times. I had no idea what I was doing to my body!

I love my Chipotle, so I'm glad that they make the bowl option. Because we don't get Chipotle very often, I don't feel bad about getting the full burrito, but I will probably opt for the bowl option when we move back to the Queen City and can/will have Chipotle more often.

From the Floor: Sorry, Virginia.

Adelaide Macaroni Padgett is a puppy, specializing in sleep and play. She is author of The Perils of White Puppies in New England and Growling at Windmills. Her series for this blog, "From the Floor," strives to provide a commonplace-if not subaltern-view of newsworthy events.

Pembroke, NH--For two months we've allowed Mr. Kringle (also known as Mr. K) to live with us. I went to my grooming session in December, where I met this bearded, red-nosed man. When my ride came, he departed with us.

At first, Mr. K seemed great. He brought me gifts later in the month as a reward for my good behavior. I became suspicious, however, when I heard some squeaking in the house. When I confronted Mr. K about the sounds, he denied that he had-or even knew about-a squeaker. I wanted to believe him, but his obese figure and flamboyant coat would certainly allow him to smuggle a squeaker into Padgett Manor--a flagrant violation against my rules (and sensibilities).
I watched him for several weeks, and I kept hearing about his squeaking from others. Finally, I realized that I would have to interrogate Mr. K, robustly interrogate him. First, I removed his eyes. Nothing; the guy wouldn't budge. Then I plucked every hair from his beard. Still no results. I'm afraid that I went too far when I opened his neck and allowed his fluffy innards to see the light of day (pictured). Still, his death justified such cruel measures because-during the procedure-I found the squeaker that Mr. K denied during his interrogation.

We can all sleep well tonight. Padgett Manor is clear of all squeakers. To make an example out of him, I left pieces of Mr. K all around the home, warning all squeaker-carrying entities that their destruction is near.

Mr. Padgett Goes to Concord

I'm taking a course in lobbying this semester. I'm really enjoying it, and the professor is a practicing lobbyist. He's particularly enthusiastic about teaching us the ins and outs of the legislative system, and enthusiasm is one of the indicia of good teaching in my book.

One of our assignments is to actually observe the state legislature in action. I chose to follow a piece of legislation before the New Hampshire House of Representatives that seeks to abolish the death penalty. It is currently in committee (pictured). State law only allows the use of the death penalty in certain circumstances (e.g., killing a police officer, murder for hire), and a jury exercised that allowance this fall in the trial of Michael Addison. Addison was convicted and sentenced to death for killing a Manchester police officer who was pursuing him. So, the stage was set for a very emotional hearing.

One of the nice things about New Hampshire is that its legislature is highly representative. It's one of the smallest states, but it has the largest House of any state (400 members). The representatives are only paid $100 per year plus their mileage, so their task is truly a labor of love for the state. Be not mistaken; these are not yokels that operate as unripened politicians. From what I've seen, these are exceedingly smart and sophisticated people who know how to operate effectively within a political environment. [Author's Note: Notice in the picture above that the chairman of the committee gets a taller back on his chair. This is because political power and the degree of lumbar support are directly proportional.]

Anyone can attend and testify at a committee hearing, and it appears that some retired citizens make a habit out of coming to these hearings and offering their opinions of the issues. Generally, the committee chairperson recognizes people in the following order:

• the bill's sponsor
• any other representatives that want to testify
• organizations (NH Defense Lawyers, etc.)
• people with an identifiable interest (pastors, former police officers, etc.)
• everyday citizens

I expected that there would be some emotional fireworks at this hearing, but very few people attended. The testimony that I saw was carried out with civility and without excessive passion. While this is a good thing if you're trying to legislate, it is relatively boring to watch.

If you stick around for an entire hearing on an issue like this, you will hear all of the arguments spelled out in their most persuasive form early on in the hearing. From there, it's the same old song with a few exceptions that brighten the session. My favorite testimony came from a man that testified that he had read a book about San Quentin prison. In the end, he offered to loan it to the state should it fund a death penalty study commission--but declined to loan it to the committee itself because of his experience in loaning out books. This book seems to be out of print, so the committee has an exceedingly difficult decision to make now.

Criss-Cross Kitty

It's a little hard to tell in the picture, but there are tracks in the snow in our back yard. They make a crude 'X' in the snow. Our home is close to a state park here in New Hampshire, so we actually see a lot of wildlife even though we live just off of a major highway: ducks, butterflies, skunks, deer. We even had a moose hanging out in our front yard one time--right by the bedroom window. It's something I will definitely miss when we leave.

But there is also a neighborhood cat that really likes to use our property as a short cut to get between his place and his lady friends' places. It just so happens that I watched as the cat walked across the yard both times when he made these tracks. It was funny watching him go across the snow, falling in with each step. I've never been able to read a cat's facial expressions very well, but I know what it looks like when a guy is asking himself whether having a lady friend is worth all of the trouble of treading through the snow. Sorry, Mr. Cat. You should stick to the plowed streets next time.

Night on the Town

On Saturday night we hit the streets for a good time. We grabbed some dinner in Manchester and then did a little shopping. Anna had a gift certificate to L.L. Bean, so we stopped by their store to see what we could find. We aren't in any real need for clothes, so we just looked for random stuff. We ended up getting two pair(s) (whichever plural you prefer) of sunglasses.

Always fashionable, Anna got a sweet pair with flowers on them. They had another version of the same glasses with pink-tinted lenses. She didn't like them; neither did I. Pink lenses are reserved for the charlatans and recreants amongst the "Hollywood" crowd. If you, my reader, own a pair of sunglasses with pink lenses, you are the exception to the rule.

As for me, I wear prescription glasses at all times. I've always struggled with sunglasses--though I want them really bad. However, there are limited options for people like me. I could wear transition lenses, but I don't like the lack of control. I could also buy a pair of prescription sunglasses. The problem with this option is that switching pairs of glasses (normal to sunglasses, sunglasses to normal) causes me to get dizzy. I hate that feeling, and I just can't drive while I'm feeling like that. The option that I've exercised recently is simply wearing a regular pair of sunglasses over my prescription glasses. You'd think that it would look awesome; it does not. However, it works, and it's comfortable.

I was satisfied with it until we got to L.L. Bean. There, Anna found a pair of sunglasses made to fit over prescription glasses. Yes! From the labels, it appeared that these glasses were reserved for elderly men who drive RVs. I didn't want the cashier to deny us service because I didn't fit that description, so I started talking about the RV that we don't own: "I'm thinking of trading in Old Windsail. It just doesn't have the power that it used to--like when we drove over through the Rockies and then over to Seattle. The riggings (?) are poorly designed too; I like staying in the Wal-Mart parking lots if we can, but the adapters don't seem to fit their equipment anymore."

It was at the discussion of the riggings that I realized that the cashier was more likely to sell us the sunglasses if I just shut up. So I did. Ashamed of my lack of RV knowledge, we headed to the local bookshop. I was going to find a book about the recreational vehicle lifestyle, but I got sidetracked and forgot all about it. I'll write about my new book in a later post. All in all, it was a productive evening. I probably won't seek out information about RVs; rather, I'll let it come to me as it does. True serendipity.

Remembering Dr. Corts

Anna and I found out that Dr. Corts passed away. He was the president of Samford University while Anna and I were students there. From our experience and all accounts by others, he was a brilliant leader and did some amazing things while at the school, particularly in fundraising.

Anna tells a great story about Dr. Corts: One of the school clubs had a video scavenger hunt where the largest prize would go to those that went to the Dr. Corts's home and had tea with him. Of course, the entry was likely intended as a joke, but Anna's group took the challenge head-on. When they arrived, Dr. Corts welcomed them in, explained that his wife was away, but that he would be willing to give it a go. He came up with lemonade and cookies as a great treat. Full points were awarded. I should also mention that all the participants had teased their hair out as part of the competition.

When I was a senior, I represented the school in a couple of competitions. One day I was invited to Dr. Corts's office because he wanted to wish me luck. Again, he was a gracious host, taking time out of a particularly busy day to get to know me and tell me that I had his full support. There was a rumor floating around that said Dr. Corts actually had a secret office where he did all sorts of important work. I thought that, since I was there, this meeting was a perfect place to find out the truth. When I started asking the hard questions, Dr. Corts revealed that he, indeed, had two offices. The one that everyone knew was the one with all of the windows, the perfectly placed books, and the clean desk. In all actuality, there was a panel in the room that would push out and lead to his working office. He asked if I wanted to see that office. "Most definitely, sir." It wasn't particularly cluttered, but it was funny to see his "paper garden."

Among all of his incredible accomplishments, I think one of Dr. Corts's best was his demonstration of kindness to some of the goofy students that came through SU.

My Sistah Says She Can See You

We have a favorite restaurant in Concord. It's called the Common Man, and the food there is generally fantastic. In fact, Anna and I have reservations there for Valentine's Day.

They have a table with crackers and an enormous block of cheese for a free appetizer. If we're there for a special occassion, I usually have their prime rib for dinner, and I always enjoy their seasonal vegetable. But one thing about the restaurant makes the C-Man stand out.

The bathroom is pretty typical in most of your sensory categories. It smells like a bathroom. It looks like a bathroom. It feels likes a bathroom. I don't yet know if it tastes like a bathroom. But, the sound of this bathroom is haunting. The restaurant pipes in the voice of a local comedian. She tells these yarns about living in New England, and she does so with a thick accent (she has a sistah, and an idear).



Those old tales are distracting, but there are distractions in the restaurant as well. On the second floor, there are some couches and rocking chairs for the people that prefer heavy padding in lieu of a standard chair. It's part of the ethos of the restaurant. What is interesting is that one of the couches presents a direct line of sight into a window in one of the bathroom stalls (pictured above).


If someone sits down on the toilet, no one can see what is happening. But there are some men who prefer to urinate while standing at a standard toilet instead of a urinal. Perhaps it is privacy; perhaps it is experience. I don't know. What I do know is that there is a direct line of sight between a couch and the stall (see sketch). You could sit there all night and watch the feeling of relief come over men's faces. It's hilarious and gross all at once. The Common Man really should frost that window or put up some curtains. So, if you're a dude and eating at the C-Man, you've been warned.