Looks worse than it is
I have never been known for my culinary normality. For example, the Scarlet Harlot has frequently been appalled at my consumption of wads of meat. (For reference, I think that would be a cool nickname: wad).
Well, I have been trying to lean up for my 30th birthday coming up in about 3 weeks (teenage girl references not necessary - I know what drives me.) So that has meant a lot of spartan salads. So my typical work lunch is a sack of salad, wad(s) of meat and something crunchy in it as a treat. I bought one of those variety packs of chippy-snacks (Doritos, Freetos, Lays, chips, etc.) because it gives me a little treat and it forces me to eat only one portion (which is shockingly small once you have seen it poured out of the bag). I usually dump the contents of the salty snack on my salad in lieu of croutons.
Today was the first day I ate one of Munchies Kids Mix sacks. Popcorn, doritos, cheetos and pretzels. Yum! I dumped it on my salad (iceberg lettuce, one can of drained tuna fish, and a splattering of ginger carrot dressing) and was chomping through it when I tasted something sweet. I looked a little closer at the package: It also has M&M like chocolate pieces and -- get this -- Cap'n Crunch Cereal.
At first, my mind couldn't get over the cereal-tuna-lettuce combo, but then, I remembered my sister's advice: It all ends up in the same place anyway. *shrug* It's actually not that bad.
(Click on the thumbnail for the full bowl shot)
1 Comments:
Re: Nicknames
We never get the nicknames we really want. On the other hand, we often get better nicknames than we deserve.
I never wanted the nickname of Patitos. Indeed, all of the people who insist on calling me Patitos were almost certainly present when I said, "Please, call me anything but Patitos!" Being home in Brooklyn for the last week has reminded me that I indeed have a nickname worse than Patitos, but I shall not reveal it here on ToughLove.com, or whatever this place is.
When I taught high school, I harbored the hope that my students would call me "Mr. O." As in "Hey Mr. O, whassup?" I had a favorite teacher in high school who was called Mr. G --which turned out to be the name of a Hyde Park supermarket, sold by Mr. G. the year I arrived in that neighborhood. But the students would not call me Mr. O, because an older teacher with more stature named O'Rourke taught there. So I was occasionally called "Mr. O'C."
I found this to be ungainly and inelegant then. But who'd have thought it? Now "The O.C." is the Beverly Hills 90210 of this generation. Of course, all the students who used to call me that are now fledgling novelists and one-woman NGO's and unhappy corporate lawyers and happy lesbian ER doctors, and it is not to be expected that they remember me at all.
So no, we shall not call Roughgroove "Wad." Given that he is in phenomenal shape, compared to the very sad sacks who frequent his blog (at least the ones no longer in Chicago with him: some of Roughgroove's Chicago friends are pretty buff, or certainly buff enuff), I hereby suggest that we occasionally call him "Bod."
This will distinguish him from his Brazilian friends, who, I gather (although I could not see the relevant web site, since it was blocked from the computer at the internet cafe I writes this at), should be called "Rod."
Come to think of it, perhaps he would prefer the nickname "Buff Enuff." It has the advantage of further elaboration, as in "Buff Enuff to Know Better," or "Buff Enuff the Vampire Slayer," or "Buffenuffagus." ("Oh, Big Bod, now that I'm thirty no one even looks at me." "Oh, even if no one else can see you, I'm still your best friend, Buffenuffagus." "Oh, thank you, Big Bod.") And of course Buff Enuffgroove.
But no, never Wad. That wad be a very bod idea--
5:23 PM
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