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Pork rinds = PORK (& Speedy McSpeeddemon)
My Wednesday afternoons have been completely fucked up by a 2-3:30 p.m. meeting that I have to attend from now on. EVERY SINGLE Wednesday! 2-3:30 is prime journaling time for me, so you can see why I'd be upset about this. PLUS - Wednesday's have traditionally been a day that I've looked forward to because it's such a good TV night (Dawson's Creek and some version of The Bachelor/Bachelorette). Now I have to greet Wednesday's with a sort of love/hate mixture. Criminy. Before I get too far into this - I need to warn everyone in the world that PORK RINDS are NOT an acceptable substitute for actual bread. Take it from someone who knows. I've been doing a lot of research lately and have stumbled upon the fact that low carb diets are good for people who suffer from my condition (which I haven't gotten into at ALL yet because, mostly, it's boring.) Anyhow, so I'm hopping on the low carb train, BUT - I cannot bring myself to do any of the actual low carb DIETS - mostly because I don't like meat THAT much and I like bready things way TOO much. So I started looking up recipes and found all these sweet things that could be made with pork rinds. Cinnamon pork rinds. Pork rind bread pudding. Pork rind french toast. And, in the spirit of adventurous experimentation (yeah! I'll try anything once!), I decided to give 'em a try. I made pork rind bread pudding last night and it became painfully clear to me that pork rinds do not = bread. Pork rinds actually = meat, so really I had on my hands a wonderfully cinnamon-y smelling fluffy pork dessert. Oliver loved it. Me? Not so much. I wound up with a big ol' bowl of ice cream anyway. Anyway, I was reading around the internet today and I stumbled upon something that has bugged me for ages now. I remember it bugging me back in '95 (wow - y'know? You can say "back in '95" now and pull it off in the "back in 'Nam" voice. Or maybe that's just in my head...) when I first started playing around on the internet, and it bugs me still today. People who "lol" at themselves. What is that? Is that the guy who tells you a joke but starts laughing at himself halfway through the joke because he thinks he's really funny but really, the joke isn't even remotely funny because the humor is found in the deadpan nature of the teller of the joke? Or is this the guy who just laughs at himself all the time anyway - whether he said something funny or not. I imagine that the "lol" is provided to the reader by the author so that the reader can tell that whatever the author just said is supposed to be funny. But really? If the reader can't tell it's funny just by reading it? It's probably not that funny. Or maybe it IS that funny but your reader doesn't have a sense of humor, and in that case, why bother helping them? I don't know why this bothers me so much, but I cringe every time I see it. I picture "Brian the Chotchkie's Waiter" from Office Space. And, man...who wants to be that guy? On a different and completely not connected to anything else I've said so far note, I was walking to work today and I almost got run over by some dude. I hate being a pedestrian man! EVERYONE is out to kill pedestrians. I ran into this when I was still in NC and was within 2 miles from work and refused to pay the $300/year they were trying to charge me for parking. I decided I'd just start walking and it was all very good and heart healthy except for the intersection of death. The intersection had stoplights going every which way in about 14 different directions. On one side was a small hill over which oncoming traffic couldn't be seen until they were barreling down on you. Traffic, in this particular intersection, tended to flow at about 85 miles an hour. The teensy flashing "walk" light gave you approximately 8 seconds to cross all 10 lanes of traffic before turning to the orange flashing beacon of doom. It was horrible! I would kneel and kiss the ground every day that I made it across that intersection! I figured that moving back to ROCHESTER, MINNESOTA which is, by everybody's standards, NOT a big city - my chances of being smooshed to death by a car while traveling on foot would be significantly decreased. Alas, no. At a 4-way stop this morning, I stopped (in the 5 degrees below zero weather) and patiently allowed some cars to go through, and then it was my turn. So I start walking and I'm halfway across this (not very big) street when the guy starts pulling forward. I'm thinking that this is the kind of REALLY not funny joke my uncle would play on me, so I look up all wide eyed and meet the eyes of some middle aged schmuck who's doing the "whoops!" gesture and waving me through. I'm sorry. "WHOOPS?" I know that I'm not fragile or tiny by any means, but I'm still pretty sure that you're huge honking 1980's pure metal beast of a car would squish my guts out with ease. I was mad for about 3 minutes, and then I remembered the time a couple weeks ago when I was trying to come out of an intersection and couldn't see the oncoming traffic because of cars parked on either side of the street I was turning on to. I accidentally pulled out just a TEENY TINY BIT when I saw that a car was zooming towards me and I slammed on the brakes. That didn't stop the guy from driving past me at 1.5 miles an hour while giving me the "what the fuck?" gesture, as though it had been personal. Yeah, that's right Speedy McSpeeddemon, it's about you. I wasn't just trying to turn onto that street, I was really just fucking with you there. I knew you were travelling at warp speeds down this here residential street, and I thought it would be fun to kind of...jump in the way of that! Didja like that? Didja? So--I guess the idiots are everywhere...and I'm probably the idiot sometimes. Um. Well. I'm probably the idiot a lot of the time. And with that...I gotta go eat... |
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