I have always been seduced by the word "gourmet." Who wouldn’t want to eat in a restaurant serving that type of food? Browsing through the supermarket, I find myself buying labels proclaiming to be "gourmet." The word isn’t really meant to describe the quality of food, but rather the fine taste of the customer. When you purchase it, you are congratulating yourself on having good taste. That’s how I spotted Fructodent, "the gourmet protection for teeth and gums."
To the common person, Fructodent is just another fluoride toothpaste, but to a person of fine taste, it is so much more. It is a first — gourmet toothpaste — for goodness sake. Fructodent comes in an upright dispenser instead of an ordinary tube, but it is the flavors that grab you: strawberry-mint, lemon-sage and an intriguing chocolate-mint. Where else would such a product be made but Italy, the land of good wine, food, pretty women and now fine-tasting toothpaste. Luckily for me, Fructodent was on sale. One gets the feeling in this mainstream supermarket, customers don’t appreciate this toothpaste, so Fructodent is being moved off the shelves, probably to make room for another mundane variety of Colgate.
Fructodent comes with a warning label: Children under 6 years old should not use unless supervised by a parent. You are cautioned to instruct your child in good brushing and rinsing habits to minimize swallowing. Silly kids might think since it’s gourmet toothpaste, you’re supposed to eat it.
I must confess I have a problem these days sorting out my expectations for toothpaste. Do I want my toothpaste to protect my gums from gingivitis, protect my teeth from cavities, remove tartar or whiten my teeth? Toothpastes rarely do all of these things. You must pick from a dizzying assortment of combinations. I stand frozen in front of the shelves, weighing each option. I finally devised a 10-point system to help make the choice. I assign five points for cavity protection because I hate getting my teeth filled, two for gum protection (what’s that joke about having good teeth, but my gums are bad?), two for tartar removal (I’m not sure exactly what "tartar" is, but I get the feeling I’ll never get french-kissed if I have a lot of it) and one point for whitening (when a person has extremely white teeth, I get distracted easily).
After assigning points to each type, I find the supermarket is getting ready to close its doors. In the end, I forget about the points and go for flavor. I choose that gourmet’s delight, Fructodent …
I really don’t know what to make of the outrage of Muslims over the pope’s remark. I’m not saying I absolve him from making an offensive statement, but it doesn’t seem to take much to get some of the Muslims around the world upset. Let’s see: There was this book by Salman Rushdie nobody ever read (it wasn’t even on George Bush’s reading list). Muslims were so ticked, a fatwa was put on the novelist’s head, which means they were so offended they felt there wasn’t any choice but to kill him. There was that Dutch filmmaker who was slain because he made a bad movie. Then there was the Danish cartoon. What else could an outraged Muslim do but take to the streets, burn stuff and wish it could be blamed on the Jews? Now the pope is under siege for saying something about the violence supposedly inherent in the religion dating back to the 14th century. Predictably the same people are back on the streets with clenched fists, proving how nonviolent they are.
I suggest outraged Muslims take a page out of America’s playbook. A lot feel victimized all the time. We hire a good Jewish lawyer and sue the pants off any offender with deep pockets …
Our own Alexandra Chalat expressed regret in this newspaper’s Eagles Tab ("Playing like a girl," Aug. 31) that, as a new resident to the area, she is having trouble getting with Eagles mania. Please Alexandra, the fault is not with you but with ourselves, as Shakespeare might have put it.
We need someone living in South Philadelphia who is not willing to tailgate in a parking lot, which involves drinking bad beer, wearing a jersey of some player who doesn’t know you exist, tossing a football to your overweight neighbor and urinating on the side of their SUV. We need someone not willing to lose their rent money every week betting on the overs and unders. We need someone who goes to the art museum (not to see the Rocky statue) or takes a walk in the park on a Sunday afternoon instead of crowding into a sports bar to watch 32 games on a 1,000-foot TV screen, drinking more bad beer and eating fried food. We need someone who doesn’t care on Mondays what Andy Reid mumbled at his press conference or if Brian Westbrook got hurt again while tripping over a blade of grass. We need someone who refuses to pay $50 for a standing-room-only ticket or who realizes a team that has made it to the championship game just two times in the last 45 years isn’t something you depend on to ensure your personal happiness.
To sum up, Alexandra, we need you just the way you are.
