Confession is Good for the Soul
12:49pm , 6 Aug 2010   Article: 2493

After a week of making remarkable progress on my new pre-op eating program I had a lapse in sanity. I was so proud of myself and now I feel like a guilty little boy who stole the contents of the cookie jar.

I was on my way home when I passed a local fried chicken joint and the smell of their crispy fried chicken attacked and overwhelmed me, which was easy, as the belt around my waste is really just a fence around a chicken grave yard. I spun the car around and grabbed a box to take home. I told myself, "I'll just have one small piece..."

Apparently opening the box revealed the chink in my armor because I TORE IT UP! I attacked that chicken with the ferocity of a starving hyena. Oh my goodness, it was delicious! When the box was 1/2 empty my sanity returned, I wiped the chicken grease from my hands and face and sat down with a bottle of water to calm down. My wife looked at me strangely...

I'm sane again today. The rest of the chicken went in the trash and I'm back on my protein shakes again. I usually have so much self-control - I had no idea that could happen to me. I've resolved to learn from the experience and reroute my drive to avoid the chicken joint near dinner time - however that sends me past a Krispee Kreme! Dear God, please don't let the "Hot Now!" light be on!

Language of Cookies
05:53pm , 27 Jul 2010   Article: 2492

If cookies, like flowers, can be a gift of love, why shouldn't cookies be able to communicate as specifically? There are certainly enough kinds of cookies around that assigning a meaning to each type would provide a very large range of messages.

Date Cookies, for example, mean "Will you go out with me?" Date-Honey Cookies are a somewhat bolder statement: "Will you go out with me, *honey*?" Poppy Seed Cookies are for when you want to say "Your father is becoming disheveled." Cherry Bars mean "You stay out drinking so much that your nose is turning red." If you send somebody a Sand Tart or two, that means "If you wear such a skimpy bathing suit to the beach, people will get the wrong idea about you." Want your roommate to fork over for half of the groceries? Make some Toll House Cookies. Sugar Nut Cookies mean "I'm nuts about you, sugar," while any of the wide variety of Refrigerator Cookies signifies an intention to give the recipient the cold shoulder....

A language of cookies might be a good idea

Lawsuit Party Animal
05:04pm , 24 Jul 2010   Article: 2491

I’m a party in a lawsuit. A person involved in a lawsuit is called a “party” with the same ironic misuse of language that a person who has been sitting in a doctor’s waiting room for 2.5 hours is called a “patient.” There’s no party that I can see, though I suppose it is true that everyone there has received a written invitation. The fun starts with the deposition, a process by which the attorneys for the other side ask a series of mind-numbing questions in an effort to prove that your lawsuit is completely boring. Here’s some of the actual transcript from my deposition:

Sing Along with Mice
07:20pm , 18 Jun 2010   Article: 2490

There are many creatures on this planet that cannot sing; if you doubt me, just watch an episode of American Idol. Indeed, scientists argue that while animals such as dogs, cows, and goats can vocalize, they aren’t actually singing, because the noises they’re making are as tuneless and unmelodic as, say, a song by Michael Bolton. According to recent AP story, researchers at the Washington University School of Medicine have added a new species to the list of animals who can sing: mice. Apparently, when a male mouse spots a female mouse, he’ll start singing romantic mouse songs to her like There Are No Cats in America. The female mouse signals her appreciation by leaning on the piano and putting a dollar in the tip jar.

Things to Avoid If You Are Over 40
11:22pm , 15 Jun 2010   Article: 2489

When I was 12 years old, my uncle sat me down to warn me of the dangers of alcohol. "David," he said gravely, "never make a martini with too much vermouth."

Later in life, schools often provided me with lists of illegal substances and their negative side effects, though I noticed educators usually skipped the most obvious one, which is that drugs make people really boring to listen to.

They acted as if making it through childhood without taking on bad habits and addictions meant you were home free, when exactly the opposite is true: If anything, it gets worse the older you are, because one of the consequences of being an adult is that your actions result in adult consequences. You need a new list, so here it is: A List of Things to Avoid If You Are Over 40.

We Do It All For You
08:51am , 11 May 2010   Article: 2488

I swung through the McDonald's take-out window for a quick bite. My total was $4.25, so I gave the clerk a $5 bill and also handed her a quarter.

She said, "You gave me too much money."

I said, "Yes, I know, but this way you can just give me a dollar bill back."

She sighed and went to get the manager who asked me to repeat my request. I did so, and he handed me back the quarter, and said they were sorry but they could not do that kind of thing.

The clerk then proceeded to give me back $1.75 in change.

Do not confuse the clerks at McD's.

Rushing Around in College
01:05pm , 10 May 2010   Article: 2487

Anyone observing my behavior when I was 20 years old would probably conclude that I was attending college in order to learn how to be stupid. At least, my behavior was stupid—I lived my life as if I expected that upon graduation I would get a career as an actor in beer commercials.

One of the first things I did upon arriving on campus was join a fraternity, which was immediately beneficial in preventing me from having any kind of adult perspective on my actions. It’s difficult to see any immaturity in your own behavior when the senior class is at the living-room window mooning passing traffic.

The country was at that time experimenting with a bizarre law that legalized alcohol for 18-year-olds, under the theory that if they are old enough to be tried as adults for breaking into liquor stores, they should at least be able to drink the evidence. Many of the great thinkers of our time thought this law was a great idea, philosophers with names like Coors and Anheuser, and the country exuberantly embraced the concept until it turned out that giving an irresponsible person a drug that makes him even more irresponsible was about as sensible as having a National Riot Day. I explain all this lest you think we were indulging in illegal activity, which we weren’t, unless it was illegal to fire bottle rockets at the Phi Delt house, and then I suppose we were.

On the Event of My Demise
08:42pm , 3 Apr 2010   Article: 2486

My dear children, you are now all old enough to realize that life is a precious but finite quantity, and that I, your father, will not live forever. This has caused you great concern, and you have shown compassionate interest in the topic of whether or not you will be inheriting anything from me. You also spend a lot of time debating which of you should get my car, which suggests the disquieting notion that you are convinced I won't outlast the vehicle.

Nobody likes to contemplate his own mortality, especially if he thinks it might somehow be related to how often he changes his oil. But having done so, I'm prepared to give you instructions as to the final disposition of my remains.

My funeral should not be held immediately after my passing, as I would want the news to reach the far corners of the world so that the citizens of this planet can respond appropriately, probably by stitching together a giant quilt to be permanently draped over some otherwise unused land, like Wisconsin. Elton John will write a song about me which will become an instant hit, even though it will sound suspiciously like another one of his tunes. Children will spontaneously build cute memorials out of flowers and stuffed animals--children who don't participate in this outpouring of love should be punished.

The funeral itself should be held in some place large enough to hold all the mourners, but let's not have one of those messy bidding wars like what happens for political conventions and the Olympics. Each city can prepare its case as to why it is the ideal location, but the losing cities can simulcast the event in theaters (and, of course, it will be televised live). There will naturally be a lot of competition for front-row seats. I would like to see these reserved for family members and weeping supermodels. When the President of the United States arrives to escort in the other heads of state, everyone should stand in respect, but let's not forget that this whole thing is all about me.

Toyota Chief Overshoots Congressional Hearings by 150 Miles
01:07pm , 1 Mar 2010   Article: 2485

The reputation of the Toyota Motors Corp. received another black eye today as the president of the embattled company missed his scheduled appearance at congressional hearings after he overshot Washington, D.C., by 150 miles.

Toyota President Akio Toyoda said he was having difficulties with the brakes on his 2010 Toyota Prius, which finally came to rest after crashing into a blacksmith's shop in Colonial Williamsburg.

In a brief statement to reporters, Toyoda said, "I knew I should've driven my Chevy today."

In yet another embarrassment, Toyoda, the grandson of the carmaker's founder, realized for the first time that his family's name is spelled differently from the company's. Toyoda said that all members of the Toyoda family would be immediately recalled to fix the spelling error.

Chris' Cosmic Kitchen - A Review
12:59pm , 15 Feb 2010   Article: 2484

Take a quick run through your vocabulary and mark all the superlatives, because after eating at Chris' Cosmic Kitchen you will want to have them handy to use when you tell your friends about it. You can start with, "It was quite possibly the best [your choice of menu item] that I ever ate!", and proceed from there. After several months working my way through the extensive and luscious (one of those superlatives I told you about!) menu, I can honestly make the claim above about every item.

Chris's Cosmic Kitchen is one of those rare jewels you find in the strangest locations, this one is dead center in a small strip center beside a busy artery leading to/from Wrightsville Beach. I never would have stopped if I hadn't run into them (@CosmicKitchen) on Twitter.

Every customer is greeted like a regular, which you soon will become. Above all, you cannot leave without sampling the cheesecake. If you must, take it with you for later, but at only $3.95 it is NOT to be missed.

I could ramble on, using more superlatives, but let me end with this: Go there, order something, eat it slowly - and if you are only visiting Wilmington, do it early in your stay, because you will want the opportunity to come back again.

Chris' Cosmic Kitchen
420 Eastwood Rd.
Wilmington, NC 28403
(910) 792-6720
www.cosmickitchenonline.com

The Perfect Candy
11:57am , 27 Jan 2010   Article: 2483

The Fireball requires little introduction, or praise, to cast into the pantheon of great sweets. It begins with a gentle ruse:

"Yes, I am a candy, I taste good, don't worry about the whole 'fireball' moniker, no fire here."

No matter how many you've had in the past, for the first thirty seconds you think, Not bad, I can handle this. Then slowly the spice kicks in, and whether you are watching a movie or driving or swimming in a cold Maine saltwater pool, there is nothing that can save you. The spice has laid itself into your gums, into your tongue, into your sinuses, and you're a goner.

But what makes the fireball a perfect candy, instead of simply a mean, nasty, artful candy, is that in the end it says,

"Hey, just kidding. I'm really a candy."

Final Proof
09:50am , 22 Jan 2010   Article: 2482

Insurgent Suicide Terrorist Squirrels are Bent on World Domination!

 
Know your enemy

I reported how a Rogue Japanese Squirrel Insurgent Forced Down a Plane, but not until it started affecting you directly when Suicide Squirrels Wreak Havoc On US Power Grid did I get any attention at all. Insurgent Terrorist Squirrels started personal attacks and began occupying college buildings, then finally Iran arrested 14 squirrels for spying.

Not long after that, scientists proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that squirrels are sneaky. I even presented photographic evidence that they've taken on the Jedi religion and started building their own lightsabres.

But now.. now I have the final documented evidence that should shake you to your very bones...

I Love Food
11:42am , 4 Jan 2010   Article: 2481

I have a love affair with food. When I say "food," I mean food. I mean the French bread I tear off in hunks and stuff in my mouth as I run out the door. I mean the brownies a friend bakes for me and which I parcel out in slivers for weeks. I mean the soup, freighted with its nuggets of onion and squash and potatoes, which I spend all afternoon making and whose aroma rises, steaming, toward my face at dinnertime. And when I say "food," I mean too that stuff that foams like endless verbal meringue across the pages of cookbooks and novels and menus. I mean the liberally sprinkled adjectives: "freshly ground," "extra spicy," "braised to perfection." The lingering step-by-steps: "saute until golden," "whisk until light and fluffy," "season to taste." I mean the groaning, page-long tables of Thomas Wolfe, the banquets spread before Odysseus and that wine-blue sea, Levin and Oblonsky's dining, William Carlos William's plums, the catalogs of the young Gargantua's meals, Proust's madeleine, the ghost of Christmas Present's puddings and chestnuts and stuffing and cakes, and the fact that Babette spends all her fortune on one supernal meal.

I love food - and giving it up, or limiting it in any way, is VERY difficult. So I'm having some trepidation as I say goodbye to all my nutritionally unsound friends and move towards my date this summer with a bariatric surgeon.

Thank You for Flying
01:06pm , 10 Dec 2009   Article: 2479

Today, you can fly on one of two types of airlines, depending on whether you'd rather go Chapter 7 or 11.

Before deregulation, air carriers didn't go broke very often, and there were commercial routes to every airport in the world, including a direct flight from New York to a cow field outside of Duluth. Tickets were expensive, though, so the only people who were up in planes were the type of people who tended to look down upon others anyway.

That all changed in 1978, when Congress decided it was time to let air travel be enjoyed by a different class of people: crying babies. Suddenly, airlines found themselves competing in price and service, which they classified as "no fair." Carriers like Braniff (Slogan: "We Figure It's Good Enough If We Get You There By Wednesday") went out of business. The remaining airlines adopted a "Spoke and Wheel" system, which meant that if you were flying from Los Angeles to San Diego, you had to change planes in Reykjavik.

No Martha This Thankgiving
10:47pm , 24 Nov 2004   Article: 747

Martha Stewart will not be dining with us this Thanksgiving. Since Ms. Stewart won't be coming, I've made a few small changes:

• Our sidewalk will not be lined with homemade, paper bag luminaries. After a trial run, it was decided that no matter how cleverly done, rows of flaming lunch sacks do not have the desired welcoming effect.
• Once inside, our guests will note that the entry hall is not decorated with the swags of Indian corn and fall foliage I had planned to make. Instead, I've gotten the kids involved in the decorating by having them track in colorful autumn leaves from the front yard. The mud was their idea.
• The dining table will not be covered with expensive linens, fancy china, or crystal goblets. If possible, we will use dishes that match and everyone will get a fork. Since this IS Thanksgiving, we will refrain from using the plastic Peter Rabbit plate and the Santa napkins from last Christmas.
• Our centerpiece will not be the tower of fresh fruit and flowers that I promised. Instead we will be displaying a hedgehog like decoration hand-crafted from the finest construction paper. The artist assures me it is a turkey.
• We will be dining fashionably late. The children will entertain you while you wait. I'm sure they will be happy to share every choice comment I have made regarding Thanksgiving, pilgrims and the turkey hotline. Please remember that most of these comments were made at 5:00 a.m. upon discovering that the turkey was still hard enough to cut diamonds.
• As accompaniment to the children's recital, I will play a recording of tribal drumming. If the children should mention that I don't own a recording of tribal drumming, or that tribal drumming sounds suspiciously like a frozen turkey in a clothes dryer, ignore them. They are lying.
• We toyed with the idea of ringing a dainty silver bell to announce the start of our feast. In the end, we chose to keep our traditional method. We've also decided against a formal seating arrangement. When the smoke alarm sounds, please gather around the table and sit where you like. In the spirit of harmony, we will ask the children to sit at a separate table. In a separate room. Next door.
• Now, I know you have all seen pictures of one person carving a turkey in front of a crowd of appreciative onlookers. This will not be happening at our dinner. For safety reasons, the turkey will be carved in a private ceremony. I stress "private", meaning: Do not, under any circumstances, enter the kitchen to laugh at me. Do not send small, unsuspecting children to check on my progress. I have an electric knife. The turkey is unarmed. It stands to reason that I will eventually win. When I do, we will eat.
• I would like to take this opportunity to remind my young diners that "passing the rolls" is not a football play. Nor is it a request to bean your sister in the head with warm tasty bread.
• Oh, and one reminder for the adults: For the duration of the meal, and especially while in the presence of young diners, we will refer to the giblet gravy by its lesser known name: Cheese Sauce. If a young diner questions you regarding the origins or type of Cheese Sauce, plead ignorance.
• Before I forget, there is one last change. Instead of offering a choice between 12 different scrumptious desserts, we will be serving the traditional pumpkin pie, garnished with whipped cream and fingerprints. You will still have a choice; take it or leave it.

I am thankful.

Wait a Minute...
08:19am , 20 Oct 2009   Article: 2478

Sometimes, actually more often than I'd like to admit, I think about all the waiting I do. For the water to boil. (Put a glass lid on the pot. Watch.) For the coffee to perk. (Do nothing. Get anxious. Try to enjoy the rich aroma.) For the book order to arrive. (Count days. Check calendar.) For the phone call. The doorbell. The letter. The kids. Selective amnesia. Sanity. Peace of mind. (Stop thinking. Right now. Be grateful for what you have. For where you are. Eat a piece of chocolate. Have that glass of wine.) In the grocery checkout line. (Look at other people's items moving down the conveyor belt. Read magazines you wouldn't be caught dead buying. Wonder how many cats the person in front of you has.) At Starbuck's. (I got a free coupon last weekend because they missed my Venta Half-Caf No Foam Latte and served the lady behind me first.) For the sauce on the stove to reduce. (Reduce? How long DOES that take? Should I mow the lawn in the meantime? Watch an episode of "The Sopranos"?) For the pasta to be done al dente. (No problem; taste pasta from the boiling water every 20 seconds. Is it softer yet? Are you taking the edge off your appetite? You burned your tongue; don't let that deter you.)

Waiting coaxes me into another dimension. I realize the freedom of my mind. There's one key. Patience. I can do it.

House Sitting for a Baron
06:19pm , 8 Oct 2009   Article: 2477

I went over to my neighbor's place for a visit, so he left town.

I guess that's not precisely what happened: I was asked to "house sit," as if his home needed supervision to keep it from jumping on the furniture and staying up past its bedtime. It sounds pretty benign, until you consider that inside the house are two cats and two dogs — one of which is a puppy named Baron.

To be more precise, Baron is a 9-month-old Great Dane, so when I say "puppy," I mean "mastodon." This is an animal that with a little training could easily dunk a basketball. He weighs five pounds less than I do, unless he's just had a bowl of food and then he weighs five pounds more than I do.

The other dog is a small Labrador named Duchess. Baron likes to pick her up and carry her around like a tennis ball. Duchess's face, when he does this, communicates the message, "You're the human. Would you please do something?"

"Baron!" I thunder. "Put the dog down!"

It's Coming!!
01:54pm , 11 Sep 2009   Article: 2476

On This Day
11:28am , 11 Sep 2009   Article: 2475

September 11

1185: Isaac II Angelus kills Stephanus Hagiochristophorites and then appeals to the people... to stop messing with those unpronounceable names.

1609: Henry Hudson discovers Manhattan Island... but finds no parking.

1789: Alexander Hamilton is appointed as the first United States Secretary of the Treasury and immediately bails out six banks, a stock brokerage, and a hedge fund.

1891: The Jewish Colonization Association is established by Baron Maurice de Hirsch. The group begins by considering going into New Jersey.

1972: Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) in San Francisco, California begins regular service. Passengers are still waiting for the first train to show up.

Haggis and the Scots
01:27pm , 3 Sep 2009   Article: 2474

Take the very worst of Scottish cooking, and what do you have?

English cooking.

That is the conclusion of a food historian named Cathryn Brown, whose research indicates that the Scottish dish haggis isn't Scottish at all, but was invented by the English, who apparently hate people.

To define terms: "Haggis" refers to what happens when you take inedible animal parts, mix them with horse feed and cook it in a sheep's stomach. Nobody likes it, especially the sheep. "Scotland" is a country where it rains a lot. "England," same thing. A "food historian" is a person who talks about meals of the past.

Why a person who studies food would be interested in haggis is anyone's guess.