Why are fast food places slow?

Do you know the thing I find most distressing about “fast food” restaurants?  It’s not the greasiness of the foods that are served and then subsequently consumed.  Although that can be distressing if you think about it, over and over.
No…the thing I find most distressing is the fact that it is called “fast” and therefore should be ordered, made and handed to the paying customer in minutes.  Not 12 minutes in line, 6 minutes explaining your order that should only take 2 minutes (unless you’re a parent ordering for a flock of hungry kids) and then 7 or more minutes waiting for your food to be put together on a tray or in a bag.  That’s not fast.
You would think in New England where the only thing that happens slowly is the end of winter, fast food restaurants would live up to their name.  Apparently that’s too much to ask.
See what happens when I have lack of creative thoughts for my book.  I complain about something so minor as the length of time it should take to order and receive your food in fast food joints.   Help me!

Damn I hate writer’s block!

Writer’s block makes me want to throw a hissy fit.  Not a little one either.  More like one the size of, oh I don’t know, Russia?!  Yeah, sure sounds good.
What’s the big deal about this latest bout of writer’s block…my book is still no where near done!  And guess what…it’s coming up on 4 years since I decided to start the thing.  Good grief.
So maybe the hissy fit I need to throw should be the size of all of Europe and not just Russia?!  Yeah…maybe.  Or maybe bigger.  I don’t know.  Maybe while I wait for the block to break I can heap blog after whiny blog on you poor people.  Sound good to you?  Really?  Okay.  Great!
Considering how long it’s taking me to write this book, I often wonder how long it takes different well known and well read authors to complete their works.  How do they kick their writer’s block in the teeth?  Do they read books, blog, rant and rave?  Take walks and look for something inspirational to smack them in the face?  Meet with others and talk it out?  Talk to themselves?  Maybe talk to a cup of coffee.  Yes I know, I’m being silly now.
Me…well if this damn block doesn’t break soon, I will be reading a book.  Actually, either way, I’ll have a book on what to do to break the block in my head.  Thanks Mom!
If you have any suggestions for me…go for it.  I’m clearly in no position to turn any of them down.   Honestly if you’ve read any of what I have written so far in the book and have a suggestion for where I should go next…share that too!

Where, what, how were you when…

Where were you?  What were you doing?  How old were you?  (Maybe not so much for anyone older than 30, now or then.)  How did you feel?
Just some of the questions undoubtedly asked as this, the ten year anniversary of the terrorist attacks in NYC, DC and PA, is upon us today.
Ten years is a long time not to forget an outfit.  And yet, I don’t forget.  But what that outfit was on that day has no bearing on anything else I might share.
I was a sophomore in high school.  Sitting in the most torturous of classes, Algebra.  Just itching for it to be over.  I don’t remember the specifics of it all, but someone must have known from a class before because other students were starting to beg the teacher to please let us turn on the tv.  (What’s with cranky old ladies teaching math anyway?)  Eventually she relented.
What I saw…well I would have given anything to just “return to normal”, especially if normal meant none of what was happening that day, happened.  Yes even if it meant getting back to Algebra.  But since that was not an option I watched the tv as living history unfolded right in front of us on the screen.
Most of the rest of the school day is a blur.  I think for most of the day that remained, tv’s were on and lessons were put on hold.  All I know for sure is that instead of actually having gym class, we were in the cafeteria.  I guess as a safety precaution.  Not knowing if more things were going to happen.  So I wrote long note after long note to a few different friends.  And I’m pretty sure the tv’s were on still.
One of the most significant things about the effects of the 9/11 attacks I remember was being disappointed that the German exchange students were possibly not going to be able to come.  They were supposed to arrive on September 13, 2001.  Naturally the immediate thought was don’t come.  But they wanted to come, we wanted them to come, so they came six months later.
If you’ve ever at least set foot in the doors of a high school for a brief time, you know they are filled with lots of chatter.  All day from first bell to last.  Discussions of upcoming plans, football games, the ever present high school drama and occasionally talk of things discussed in class spill out into the hallways.  No matter the high school.  But on that day, at West High School, the conversations were stopped.  And I’m pretty sure that even in a school with over 2,000 students at that time, you could have heard a pin drop.  National tragedy can do that though.
I was a 15, almost 16 year old, sophomore that day.  And I was in Algebra wanting to be a dream.  A really bad dream.