Wegmans: A Benevolent Dictatorship?

The time has come to talk about Wegmans. As we made our way to the Jersey shore two weeks ago we needed to stock up on supplies for the week. Conveniently Wegmans, although not yet having opened a store in Philadelphia proper, has taken to surrounding the city with 4 stores in the distant suburbs. Including this one in Cherry Hill, NJ.

Not knowing when I would have the opportunity to visit the many bounties (that anyone who has spent a significant portion of their life in upstate New York is well aware of) contained within a Wegmans again, I had my dad take a picture. My question is how does Danny Wegman do it? In its recent expansion out of upstate New York to the rest of the Mid-Atlantic region Wegmans has basically recreated its famous flagship store in Pittsford, NY at each new location. That means combining the organic and cheese selections you'd expect at a Whole Foods with locally grown produce, low prices, kitchen wares, good bread, a store full of more than adequate Wegmans brand goodies (Dr. W? Triple Fruit jellies? Yes please) all of which come with a little note from Danny himself, along with a larger inventory of conventional goods than you'd find at almost any other grocery store.

Once you get up into Wegmans historic powerbase though, roughly the Rochester, Buffalo, and Syracuse metropolitan areas, Wegmans loses some of it grandiosity in favor of a more omnipresent, and perhaps omnipotent, approach. Here, going to the supermarket is the same as going to Wegmans as anything else would be illogical, if not impossible given the near monopoly of the W here.

So, how can Wegmans manage to be both neighborhood grocery store and gourmet super center, all while consistently holding a spot near the top of Fortune's 100 Best Companies to Work For, being rated one of the World's Most Ethical Companies, and getting all of their customers to love them. More importantly why can't anyone else do this?

The Development

For those who really wanted to see: Poison Ivy , but don't click if you don't want to see some nasty business.

The pics really don't capture the full scale of what was going on with my body actually, but they get the idea across. Perhaps one of the most disturbing aspects of the whole thing is how good scratching can feel. I can usually control myself by preemptively applying balm, but every so often a case of the itchies comes over me and there's nothing to do but scratch it. When this happens I go slightly crazy. Once it starts I can't stop it and the itching gets harder and faster and better. Then I realize that I've started to break the skin and I've been moaning in pleasure while doing it. Weird. You can see the direct result of one of those sexual itch sessions on my lower leg in the pictures above. That one occurred while Martin and I were waiting for a bus last night. I'm pretty sure it was (rightfully) making him uncomfortable.

Where the Yellow Pus Flows

Today was a day of mixed blessings. This morning I came to the realization that I have fat kid arms. This is a result of the gnarly poison ivy I have on my arms right now (and knees and ankles). I've moved past the isolated red bumps and now the arms are a swollen mess of red blotches and pustules. I have been wearing long sleeves this week to keep this delightful sight out of view, and so nobody accuses me of passing them syphilis. For anyone who is interested I would not recommend bushwacking your way through a thicket on the Jersey Shore. Even if your older brother dares you to. If you do you will end up with arm cankles. Like I do. And they are arguably the worst variety of cankles.

Later in the day a FedEx package arrived. This was the good part of my day. Last weekend my cell plotzed, and in a big way. Luckily it wasn't my fault and Verizon sent out a new one. Unluckily it was Labor Day weekend and it didn't get mailed until yesterday. But, now I not only have a cell phone again, I have a new cell phone. I now must pause for a vigorous rubbing of the arms. Mazel Tov.

Hipster Chronicles

I was just reading a post over at to live without regrets that was talking about hipsters and I have to say I think their hipster description is spot on. I once had a conversation with Alex in which I had to explain to him what a hipster was, Alex having claimed that he had never heard the term before. I was slightly incredulous at first, but then I thought about Alex, and how decidedly non-hipster he is, and then I went on to describe a hipster to him. I ended up coming up with something very similar to the aforementioned blog (although mine was fueled by beer at the Terrace, not martinis at Mickey's), but with one important, in my opinion, addition: a fixed-gear bicycle. Said bicycle can be either fully functional and for all intents and purposes a 5th (or 6th) bodily appendage, in the process of being acquired (most likely from some very hip, here-to-unknown to even the pseudo-hip, bike shop in southern Brooklyn), or a "work in progress" consisting of a frame, handle brakes with the brake cables unattached, one wheel, 4 different chains, and no less than 3 crank shafts. Regardless, every hipster has some relationship to a fixed-gear bike. It is part of their ethos.

Also, I once dated a girl who got called a hipster while drinking a PBR Light. This lead to a debate about her hipster status. She eventually got so upset she started to cry. Lame.

Mutant Eye Brow Found

This morning while brushing my teeth I noticed an eyebrow hair jauntily extending an extra half inch from my head than all the others. I think I've seen this guy before and pulled him out, obviously he is not to be dissuaded. This makes me think that my eyebrows are destined to attain the proportions of my dad's and are not actually the hybrid of my paternal and (non-existent) maternal brows that I have always claimed them to be. More importantly, what will my fingers look like in 10 years?

Barnebey Bros. Inc., "We'll build you a barbecue or your money back."

The Barnebey brothers entered the masonry business today. Luckily no one from the Bricklayer's Union happened by, otherwise the parents would have been in hot water for employing non-union labor. And then all of their friends wouldn't like them. This is just the beginnings of the wood-fired barbecue we are constructing in our parents' side yard. The final plans call for a 3 foot high brick base, filled with sand and stone (for heat retention), a 4' x 3' stone barbecue with both rotisserie spit and grill attachments, and, at some later date, a wood-fired oven constructed under the light of a waxing moon.

We had a slightly inauspicious beginning. While Evan and I assembled the bricks, Taylor and our father measured out the area. After about 30 minutes the bricks were ready to be laid, the design team however was still struggling to mark off a rectangular area. For some reason they always ended up with a trapezoid instead. Once this was remedied there was then some debate about the the consistency of our mortar. Evan was briefly allowed to air his opinions on the subject. They were then promptly ignored. With a super-majority vote on the mortar, the bricking began. The rain stopped us at 3:00, at which point we retired to the kitchen for Yuenglings. Tomorrow the work continues.

California: a Photo Essay

A brief overview of my favorite times in the CA:



This is Muir Beach. We drove there in the Taurus. Then we hiked to Pirates Cove along the Pacific Coast Trail. Leslie gave up, but the rest of us made the aaaarrrduous journey. When we got back to the beach we stopped off at The Pelican Inn for a pint and a plate (of cheese).



At our hotel in San Francisco we got upgraded to a suite, with king sized bed. This was either because of the "Mofchenroff" incident or because of how attractive I am. Here we are in bed together.



And here we are napping together.



After a dinner at Bar Crudo, where we proceeded to eat them out of oyster, we headed to Swig. There we met Leslie, Lily, and Matt. This picture is during a short pause of the dancing machines. Later than night Darcy demanded Orangina and David and I shotgunned a beer. Joanna officiated, as she is wont to do.



On Sunday morning, after Dim Sum, David and Darcy attempted to blend in with the San Francisco natives. Then David bought a jacket.



I bought a pair of waffle racers at Nike Town. I really like them.



We played Scrabble. In case there are any questions as to Darcy's play:

quid quids \ n pl. -S a portion of something to be chewed

Darcy, Joanna, and I went to some lighthouses. This is the Point Bonita one. We were told that when small children and/or goats were taken across this bridge in days of yore, they were tied down so that they would not blow away. Darcy refused to be tied down.



In this picture we find that our heights increase on a linear scale.



We rented a red mustang for the week and drove up to Santa Rosa to stay with my grandmother, a.k.a Marnee, the Nana, or L.M. This is us in the mustang. Notice Darcy, she is in the backseat.



Here is Joanna farting outside of the car.



Here I am farting by a beach.



We drove through a redwood tree. We all thought this was very American. It was.




This is us on a log, a long way from anywhere. Except for the pot houses of Southern Humboldt County. Ranger Rod took this picture for us. He was knowledgible on many subjects including otters, abalone, marijuana, seals, and backwoods tree removal.



Here we are after breakfast with Nana. She is short, but hates it. We had to surprise her into taking this picture.



We also played Scrabble by David's pool. I particularly enjoy the whole 'oh/hot/toss/toe/sob/seeds/bear' brouhaha. Very impressive scrabbling. In addition, this was one of the closest Scrabble games I have ever played.



David and Darcy had just finished their bucket of margarita, ahead of Joanna and I. They were the sleeper candidates and it was upsetting.



After the night out in San Jose, Joanna and I held hands. So did Darcy and David, which is funny because Darcy is short and David is not.



This is a seal waving to us in Point Lobos State Park, south of Monterey. How cheeky.



This is us at Point Lobos State Park. I like the candidness of this picture, which is a self-timed shot gone awry. Also, although it was a warm day, my nipples are quite prominent.



Saturday night we had dinner at the Davenport Road House. Our waitress was either an idiot, or an inexplicable hatred for us. If you ever go, ask not to be seated in the dumb blonde's section. This will hopefully help you avoid spending an hour and a half without food. After dinner we lit a fire on the beach and drank wine. Darcy and Joanna danced in the fire light. It was magical.