Herr's Factory Tour!

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I took the Herr's Potato Chip factory tour today, in the little Pennsylvania town of Nottingham. There was no sign of the Sheriff, although I did see what looked to be a forest (I'm not very good at identifying natural things). Neither was there any sign of men in tights. Or women in tights, for that matter.

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There were plenty of free samples though, and I believe a new record was set for sales in the adjacent factory store. I asked several questions of our tour guide (an affable and enthusiastic young man named Fisher), one of which was whether Herr's makes private label chips for any retailers. They do indeed, and one of the retailers is Boston's own Market Basket chain of grocery stores. Fisher assured me that the private label chips are the same ones we saw being produced on the production lines in the factory.

it was a wonderful tour. I'm eating Heinz Ketchup Chips as I write this, and my fingers are getting red, so I had better stop now.

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Penn Station

Waiting in the overheated monstrosity that is New York Pennsylvania Station for my train back to Boston yesterday, I was remembering the beautiful station that used to exist in this space, before it was torn down in the early 1960s in the name of "progress". 

And then I realized that I could be standing in the same space as my mother and father stood, sharing a kiss before he went away to war. And never came back. My mother and his parents were there the day his body came back. To Penn Station.

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It's About Knowing All The Lines

With me, it's The Godfather trilogy and the Firesign Theatre comedy routines. With the rest of the family, it's Monty Python, and the 1980 edition of Flash Gordon. Whenever we watch or listen, we can deliver the lines before the actors do. And everyday events get captioned with quotes from one or another of them. I hope that everyone has something like that in their lives. I know Mark Wahlberg and Ted do.

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