While making a smallish grocery run today I snatched up a can of Juanita’s Mexican Style Hominy, which I like to have in the pantry in case I find myself in a mood for a pot of posole, prepared in lazy gabacho fashion.
But it didn’t look quite right. … and it wasn’t.
These suckers used to be 30 ounces. Now they’re 25. Last March 15, a can cost $2.99. Today, it cost $3.79. For 5 ounces less hominy.
Apex Capital, a private equity firm focused on investing in the consumer sector across the Americas, is pleased to announce the acquisition of a majority stake in Juanita’s Foods, a leading producer of authentic Mexican food products in the United States.
Maybe this is why Juanita’s has been tough to find lately. For the last pot of posole I made I used canned white hominy from Goya Foods, whose CEO is a big fan of the pinchependejo Charlie Pierce calls “El Caudillo del Mar-a-Lago.” The boss-fella’s breath may have a whiff of ass to it — ¿quien sabe? — but it was a 29-ounce can and it only cost $3.69.
In any event, while I can’t say for sure exactly when it happened, it sure seems like these capitalistas carroñeros from Apex Capital have done slipped the pork to my posole via shrinkflation.
Gas prices on March 9 along Tramway Boulevard between Lomas and San Bernardino.
Monday’s chores were medium-heavy and I didn’t get a chance to ride until late afternoon.
It was going to have to be a short one, and I was thinking I should just go for a run instead.
But it was a gorgeous day — 77°! — and the forecast for today was looking a little less favorable. So I kitted up, grabbed the Rivendell Sam Hillborne, and set off for a brief inspection tour of gas prices at four stations along Tramway.
As you know, “the roaring economy is roaring like never before,” and though I’ve seen no signs of this at the grocery or anywhere else, The Pestilence says it is so and thus I must be mistaken. Wouldn’t be the first time.
I rarely drive, gassing up the ol’ rice rocket about once every three months or so. And lately I’ve quit collecting receipts because the pumps’ printers are usually on the fritz and damme if I’m stumbling into the kiosk to stand in line with the proles waiting to pay for their Slim Jims, malt-liquor 40s, and coffin nails, whatever they haven’t already shoplifted.
But I’m pretty sure that the last time I filled up — before we decided to bomb Iran into democracy — the price per gallon for regular was $2.83. And yesterday it was as you see above.
Winning? Your mileage may vary, as the fella says.
This may become a regular feature here at Ye Olde Dogge House. Feel free to chime in with the gas prices in your neck of “the roaring economy.” In the meantime, I have a year’s worth of grocery receipts to examine. I suspect that if there is any roaring to be heard as a consequence, it will be coming from me.
Thanks to His Excremency King Piggy the Sticky-fingered, Despoiler of Poorboxes and Underage Girls, it is now possible for a 71-year-old cyclist with zero upper body to grip $150 worth of groceries in the left hand — yes, the one with the two dislocated digits — while opening the hatch of the Forester with the right.
Plenty of room on the Group W bench. Slide over, litterbug.
The dump is closed, all the wrong people are in cuffs, and there ain’t enough SNAP in the EBT for turkey but there’s a big ol’ ham living large in the White House.
Oh, well. We can still sing. Sing loud. You know the words.
Monday is a watering day. But the forecast called for rain, so early this morning I went out to shut off the irrigation system.
“Huh,” I thought. “Doesn’t look like rain to me.” So I left it on.
Monday is also Geezer Ride Day. So, naturally about the time the watering was done, the clouds started creeping in and the wind began ramping up.
“Huh,” I thought. “Better bail on the ride.” Which I did.
Monday is not Grocery Day. That would be Sunday. But I blew off Sunday’s grocery shopping for a two-hour bike ride in the wind plus a meet-and-greet with the mayor and a few dozen of his supporters.
So suddenly Monday was Grocery Day. And off I toddled to the Sprouts at Tramway and Central, en route nearly getting croaked by a street racer who roared up behind me in the right lane, then shot into the left and around me, barely missing both me and the dude slightly ahead of me in the left lane.
He then swerved onto the shoulder to pass everyone else in sight at about 25 mph over the 50-mph limit, which encouraged another jackass to do likewise, scattering dust, gravel, and debris from previous eejit-triggered crashes across the traffic lanes.
It happened so fast, in so much traffic, that I couldn’t grab the iPhone for a shot of either license plate. And it wasn’t the first time I’d wished I had some other sort of shooter with a tad more authority, like a Browning Hi-Power or a Colt 1911. I mean, you can’t AirDrop one or both of the silly sonsabitches.
Anyway, I got to the grocery without being killed to death, and only then did I notice that I’d left my grocery list at home.
“Huh,” I thought. “Maybe I can do it off the old internal hard drive.”
And I did! Didn’t miss a single item, and even picked up a bonus packet of ground turkey for a chili con carne in case the weather turned ugly.
Which of course it did, since I’d decided earlier to water the lawn. Our widget makes it 0.08 inch of precip slashing down sideways out of the north, and I expect that statistic does not include the hail.
“Huh,” I thought. “I suppose a run is out.” Which it was.
So instead of running, since a few of you seemed to enjoy our little Tour of Memory Lane, I decided to spend a couple hours collecting and posting PDFs of a few of my Adventure Cyclist reviews.
Naturally, I couldn’t find the one about the Rivendell Sam Hillborne, the bike I was riding in yesterday’s wind-fest (13 mph with gusts to 23). If I recall correctly, that one didn’t make the print magazine, but was posted to the Adventure Cyclist blog, where it languishes behind the membership paywall.
“Huh,” I thought. “I bet I have my original copy on another Mac.” And I do.
But I’m not gonna post it. Not yet. I got chili to cook.
Mad Blog Media 