The Angry Jew

The rantings of an Angry Jew in The Pacific Northwest

Move over Subway, Bye Bye Pogys and adios Togo’s, there is a new sandwich chain here in Portland that has got you all beat.  OK, maybe not the Togo’s “9 on the off the menu rye bread with mustard, pickles and onions, but you get the idea.

With Bacon Betty doing her work thing yesterday, I was left to my own devices, which as any regular reader knows, often leads no where good.  Well, this time it did.

It lead me to Jimmy Johns Gourmet Sandwiches

I had seen this place up on Cedar Hills Blvd a few weeks ago and had made a mental note to try this new place I had seen driving by.

When I walked in, any thoughts that Jimmy Johns was some new indie shop flew right out the window.  he place screams chain.  I have an aversion to chain sandwich shops as you usually get too little for your hard earned dollars, but, I was there, my hungry spot was there, so why not.

The place was jumping, but it only took a few seconds to get too the register to place my order.  I have to apologize to the young woman who served me, because I did the worst thing a customer can do.

“I have never been here before, whats good?”

“The #9 is good.  I am not sure what is in it, but a lot of people order it and seen to like it.”

She had the harried, some what shell shocked look of some one who had been thrown into their job with very little training and you had to admire the honesty.

A quick peek at the menu board revealed that it might be a keeper.

It is billed as one of their Giant Club Sandwiches (double meat, double cheese) and had

Real genoa salami, Italian capicola, smoked ham, and provolone cheese all topped with lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, and our homemade Italian vinaigrette. (You hav’ta order hot peppers, just ask!)

How bad can it be for $5.75?

If you have ever tried to get a sandwich at Subway during the lunch rush, you know you will wait at last 10-15 minutes, the three man crew working the prep station tossed me my order in under 5.

I took mine to go and headed home.

Judged solely on its looks, its a pretty impressive sandwich.  Judge it by taste and it only gets better.

The roll had just a hint of crunchiness at the crust that gives way to a soft interior.  The dressings were just right, I can’t stand a soggy sandwich, and the veggies were fresh and crisp.  The meets and cheese were well distributed and there was a little something of everything in each bite.

This my friends was a sandwich of substance.  Even with my appetite, by the time I finished it, I was FULL.  For those of you who eat like normal human beings, you might be better off with on of their 8″ subs, which price out at $4.75

Overall, I give Jimmy Johns high marks for quality and service, I cant comment on the dine in experience, and oh, did I mention they do delivery and accept on line orders too?

Next time you are up in the Cedar Hills neighborhood (they have another location in Portland on Broadway and 11th) and you are hungry for a sandwich, give Jimmy Johns a try, trust me, you will get more for your money then you will with a stripped down $5 Foot Long from the other guys.

The other day I was driving to work and got stuck behind a care with three or four bumper stickers at a long light.

Now, this guy had about four of them , obviously placed there for my education and amusement.

The first was for a Christian Radio Station.  No problem there, I will admit that I have enjoyed an occasional christian Rock tune, and there are some Christian metal bands that flat out Rock!

The next advised me to “Thank Your Mother For Choosing Life.”  Well, OK, for the moment we will ignore the obvious paradox presented and read on.

Next up was one telling me , in no uncertain terms, his stance on abortion.  Bright red, 4 inch letters proclaimed that my road partner was “Pro Mother; Pro Child, Pro Life”.

Then last, smaller then the rest, was a notice explaining “Freedom Isn’t Free…Thank A Serviceman”

While I thank him for the advice, and the props, your very welcome by the way, I really wanted to to follow this guy and ask a few questions.

Like, Isn’t a freedom of choice in reproductive health one of those freedoms that us servicemen paid for.

And, being such a supporter of the Armed Forces, are you really saying that it is OK to kill adults, but keep your hands off the fetus.

Buddy, I respect your right to voice an opinion, but do us all a favor, pick one stance and stick with it, will you.

Bacon Betty and I surprised ourselves Saturday by going out and taking a walk.  I know, shocking, right?

I found this great book while wandering through Powell’s a few weeks back.  It is called “Walk There-50 Treks In and Around Portland and Vancouver”.  It is a guidebook for walking tours of Portland’s neighborhoods.  It is amazing how little of this city I have seen in my ten years here and now that I have a fantastic crime partner like Bacon Betty, it was high time I got out and saw some of what this city has to offer.

We decided to stick close to home for our first outing and explored Betty’s home town…Milwaukie.

Little did I know that besides being home to a geek Mecca, Dark Horse Comics, Milwaukie also offers something that I thought no longer existed in America.

Something that, for years, had shaped and molded our youth and then, like the Hula Hoop, disappeared from the American landscape.

I speak of course, of the Killer Play Structure.

Gaze with wonder upon this child killer we found in a Milwaukie Park.

Can’t you just see some little urchin reaching the top of this cabled peak, only to loose their balance and learn the amazing life lesson that getting to the top can mean a long painful fall to the bottom of the heap.  Where else can our youth find life lessons like this?

On a wimp ass, politically correct, injury free playhouse like this one that we found in the more upscale portion of Milwaukie?

I think not.

Kudos to this fair city for having the strength of character to not cave into the national obsession of bubble wrapping kids and keeping them from harms way.

How else of we supposed to winnow out the weak and potentially useless members of society before they grow old enough to attain political office?

Every now and then, the state of Oregon will pass a law that makes sense.

I know, but hey, accidnts happen.

Our new cell phone law is an example of a much needed piece of legislation.  It bans using hand held devices while driving.  Since most people in this state cant seem to walk and chew gum, I figure it is a good idea that they not talk on the phone and drive.  Almost every time I have had a near miss or witnessed some act of vehicular stupidity, the offender has almost always had a cell phone clutched in their sweaty fist.

So the other morning, while driving home from a long nights work, I could not help but being annoyed when a driver swerved half way into my lane, and then back into her own.

It was a little early in the morning for a drunk and IU suspected a cell phone must be involved.

Sure enough, a block later I was sitting right next to the offending driver waiting to make a left turn.  There she was, cell phone pressed to her ear, oblivious to the world around her.  Now the light in question is one of those “long” lights that take about a week and a half to change, so, being me, I decided to have a little fun.

I tooted my horn to get her attention.

When she looked over, I made a “shame, shame” finger gesture at her, then held my hand to my ear to simulate talking on an imaginary phone.

She smiled and gave a a shy little wave as if to say, “Yes, I know I’m a bad girl” and went right on jabbering away.

I tooted my horn again and when she looked over, I held up my bluetooth headset.  She mouthed, “I know” and then shrugged as if to say “I know I shouldn’t be doing this.”

I tooted my horn again and this time motioned for her to roll down her window.

When she did, I gave her a friendly little wave and shouted

“You damn near ran me off the road so HANG UP THE FUCKING PHONE!”

I only had a few seconds to savor the shocked look on her face before the light turned green and off I drove, content in the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, I had saved a life that day.

Once a Navy man, Always a Navy man.

While my stint in the navy was but a small part of my life, it had a very large impact on me.  I can honestly say that my experiences of those years made a larger impact on who I am today then just about any other life experience.

Any chance I have to relive even a small part of that experience is always welcome.  It was that desire that lead me to be active in hosting sailors during our pre-9/11 Rose Festival fleet week here in Portland, and I will never pass on the opportunity to share a “Sea Story” or two with friends and fellow vets.

it was this desire to relive a bit of the past that led Bacon Betty and Myself to our latest adventure.

It was a beautiful spring day in Portland last Friday afternoon and we had to get out of her apartment and enjoy the day.  It is required to be outdoors when the sun is shining here as you never know when you might see it again.

Now we had talked about visiting the USS Blueback in the past and the timing was perfect.

Now for those of you not in the know, The USS Blueback is Portland’s own fast attack submarine.  After being decommissioned she was moved to The Oregon Museum Of Science And Industry in 1994 where she became a permanent display with tours offered daily.

We were able to secure a slot for the last tour group of the day.

We killed some time before the tour going through the museums latest exhibit, a display of memorabilia on loan from NASA and we were all fired up to get on with the tour.

Finally it was time to go.

Before we could board, our group was required to prove that we were physically able to participate in the tour.  This meant that we were each required to pass through a small opening meant to simulate the smallest hatch we were going to have to pass through on board the sub.  One “Skinny Minny” earned a laugh when she asked if extra points were awarded for diving through head first.  Bacon Betty and I were able to perform this feat with out too much trouble, grin, and off we went to the dock.

I have done the Blueback tour a few times since moving to Portland, so Bacon Betty and I hung to the back of our group as Richard, our guide for the excursion, pointed out some of the exterior features of the “boat”.

From the start, I knew that Richard was not only new to the job, but that he wasn’t that up on sub lore and design either.

Listen, I never served a day on a sub and I freely admit that most of what I know I learned from Tom Clancy and The Discovery Channel, but I pretty much knew off the bat that I knew more about The Blueback then he did.

After giving his spiel, it was time to go aboard through a hatch that had been cut through the hull to accommodate visitors to the ship.

They say the strongest memory trigger is the sense of smell and over the years I have learned that all Navy ships smell the same.  A hundred memories rushed back to me as we descended to the main deck of the sub.  The best way I can describe it is sweat mixed with stale cigarette smoke, diesel oil and a hint of, I’ll say it, fear.

I paused at the bottom of the stairs, closed my eyes and breathed deep of the memories.

When I opened them again, there was a sailor standing next to me, dressed in submariners overalls and the rank insignia of a Petty Officer 2nd Class.

“You a Navy Man?” he asked.

Takes one to know one.

He introduced himself as Steve and proceeded to try to recruit me to volunteer aboard as a crew member.  Something to think about.  We chatted a bit and then Bacon Betty and I joined our fellow tourists in The Officers Wardroom for the first part of our tour.

Richard filled us in on the ships history and and on submarine operations.  He made a few mistakes, but I bit my tongue.

Next

we moved to the control room.  Again Richard made a few errors and again, I kept silent.  Betty and I hung back as the group moved onto the crew berthing area to take some pictures, and to give me a chance to show off my knowledge of naval ships as I pointed out some of the features that Richard had missed.

We rejoined the tour in the crews berthing area and I must have reached my limit, because I finally started to speak up and correct some of Richards errors.  I was nice about it, very nice in fact, and some of our fellow tourists edged a little closer as I began to point out some of the details of the compartment and added a short personal story or two.

Our next stop was the torpedo room.

I think Richard had hoped to get even when he deferred a question about torpedo’s to “Our Navy Man”.  I quickly rattled off what I knew about the MK48ADCAP torpedo (thank you Tom Clancy) and the sub launched Harpoon anti-ship missile.  I tried to fade back into the background, but several members of our group hung back as I pointed out some Emergency Escape Breathing Devices and Oxygen Breathing Apparatus units that were in the compartment to my faire lady.

The tour wound to an end in the engine room.  My lady and I hung back as the tour group departed to talk with our guide.  We talked about military service, he wished he had had the opportunity to serve, and some good resources to use to further his knowledge of subs.

We must have chatted for 15 or 20 minutes before we too headed for the exit.

The hatch had been dogged, thats closed to you non-navy types, we can’t have you civilians knowing what we are saying, and Richard stepped past it to open it.

It opened maybe an inch and then stopped.

Richard pushed and prodded at it a bit, but it would not budge.  He turned and looked at me as if to say “UH, your the expert here, a little help?”

I stepped up to the hatch, pulled it all the way closed and rechecked the dogs or latches, all were open, so I gave it a good firm push expecting it nto open.

And it did.

For about an inch.

WTF?

I was able to peek out through the crack and immediately saw the problem.

Some one had placed a padlock on the door.  We were locked in.  It became apparent that crewman Steve, thinking the tour group had left, promptly closed up shop and locked up for the night.

Whenn I anounced this fact, Richard turned a little white and Bacon Betty turned a little green, she had told me earlier that she is a bit claustrophobic.

“Well Richard, what now” I chortled.  The whole thing struck me as rather funny, which earned me a pained look from both of them.

Richard looked just a little panicked, so I asked if there was a phone aboard, I gently suggested he call someone in the museum to let us out.

No answer, it was after 5, the museum was closed.

Great.

Is there anyone else we can call?

Richard started a mad search for the number to the museum security desk.  I suggested to Bacon Betty that we head down to the crews berthing area for “closer inspection” and got a dirty look for my trouble.  She was not moving from her spot in front of the exit hatch.

What can I say, I am a randy old goat.

I decided to poke around a bit and found a small compartment that was used as a office for the “crew” and right there on the wall was a list of names and phone numbers.

“Hey Richard” I called out “Why not just call Steve and have him come back and let us out?”

His voice cracked a bit as he told me he didn’t have his number.

“His cell phone number is right here on the wall.”

It was at that moment that their was a rattle at the hatch and it swung open.

Silhouetted in the opening was a lady security officer performing her rounds.  OUR HERO!!

We left Richard to stutter out an explanation of what we were doing aboard and headed back to our car, laughing all the way.