Dear fellow gluttons,
I want to make a Dagwood. Yes, a sandwich piled so high you can't see the top slice of bread. Roast beef, pastrami, and freshly cooked honey ham. Bacon, eggs, and hash-browns. Two types of peanut butter four types of jam. Three types of lettuce, and twelve types of cheese. I want tomatoes, pickles, onions, carrots, olives, and peppers. Green peppers, yellow peppers, red peppers, and orange, banana peppers, jalapeno peppers, chili peppers, and more. That's right if its a sandwich ingredient, please slap it on. I want a steak section, vegetarian section, vegan section, and glutton free section. My sandwich will be a sandwich to top all others, and I want it to be named after its height and weight. Four feet six inches twenty two pounds. Using three freshly baked loaves of bread, end pieces and all. And most of all I want to eat it without worry. No more weight gain, or money loss fears. No my sandwich will supersede that.
But... until I can make my Dagwood the way I want, success is yet to come.
As of late my sandwiches average out at 1.5 inches and 2.2 ounces. They are usually mistaken for two slices of bread smashed together. A slim sandwich.
Nobody likes a slim sandwich, but its the price you pay for being poor. Or rather, the price you don't pay for being poor. Scrounging around to set something, anything on that stale bread sucks. I'm lucky if I find chicken or turkey, but usually its just peanut butter and jelly. The worst part is the rationing. Trying to figure out how many toppings I have until my next pay check, makes me terribly depressed. Remember, I lust after that four foot six inch twenty two pounder. In reality, I end up with one slice of turkey some mustard and maybe a tomato if its not molded yet. Assembled, its barely a sandwich.
So what do I do. I dream.
Yes I too have a dream. I have a dream, that one day, this nation will rise up, and live out the true meaning of its creed. We hold these truths self evident that all sandwich toppings should be created with grade A quality and affordable price. I have a dream that the presence of the sadwich, the slimwich, the cheaply made wich will be eradicated. As ludicrous as this may sound , Im standing up for sandwich rights. I want to bring forth a day of the manwich, the megawich, the überwich, the dagwood. I envision the world having a quality sandwich pandemic. Too many sandwiches.
But how is this done? With global food prices and shortages only rising, will we ever see a day of the überwich? There are skeptics that say no. There are people that say we must limit our intake. But I disagree. Once again lets just beat science. Lets put our brains together not to deflect the inevitable but rather bypass it. Science has saved us in the past, and in the name of sandwiches Im calling on science to save us again. Yes I'm almost positive, if we can design a Dagwood that is ecologically, and environmentally friendly, with an exemplary price, healthful outlook, and wonderful taste, I can promise you we will be well on our way to solving the worlds problems. Stop sending your money to save the rain forrest and the ice caps and please start sending it to save the sandwiches. Together we can make one hell of a good sandwich.
Signed yours truly,
The most gluttonous glutton.
P.S. For some good sandwich resources please refer to a blog i wrote previously on the definition of a sandwich. And here is a great resource for scouting out sandwiches in New York.
And please let me know if you have suggestions on how to create an überwich.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Doppler Gangers and Halloween
Dear Brad Pitt,
Getting compared to you is starting to get a little annoying. In an elevator, buying clothes, or just walking down the street I am bound to be told of our similarities. It always happens in the same way, the person will step in front of me and make it impossible for me to continue through my daily activities. The phrase," Do you know who you remind me of..." is bound to follow their impediment of my life. And woe is me, the hard ships of looking like a heartthrob. It gets old after a while. Imagine the countless dates and modeling jobs I have rejected, and the people that leach off me based solely on appearance. It makes one fearful of ever stepping outside.
For the intelligent reader, you maybe have already caught my fib. In reality it’s not a comparison to Brad Pitt that I receive but rather Jim Carrey. And this is detestable. Yes, some of his films have been decent, but you never think of shear godliness when you think of Mr. Carrey. This lack of godliness is where the problem lies, because godliness is my ultimate aim. On the plus side its better than being compared to Chris Farley or Christopher Walken but common is Jim Carrey really that much better. As a civilized and thoughtful human, I don't walk up to strangers and tell them they look like a spitting image of Rossane Barr, Rosie Odonald, or George from Seinfeld. Sometimes, I have to resist because these people actually look like ugly celebrities, but I garnish myself with a quality I like to call, tact. Maybe others should think about the human condition before they open their mouths. However, I personally don't put this much faith in people. It only gets worse when they immediately follow up their comparison by saying, "but thats not a bad thing!" Like this softens the blow. It would be Ok, if I got comparisons to John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, or even Johnny Depp, but common, Jim Carrey! Please refrain!
I have to laugh, because for the last couple of years I have modeled myself after celebrities even though I hate quick comparisons. I chose from a whole range of celebrities, picking out different characteristics that I like from each. First it was Andy Warhol, then Woody Allen and John Wayne, now it might be Abraham Lincoln, or David Sedaris. But always it has been Brad Pitt. I try to figure out different aspects of my life that can be paralleled to the celebrity world, but then I feel a need to go into hiding and mask myself as Ryan Ingebritson. Thankfully I have a reprieve. Halloween. Yes, its the greatest time of the year because for one night I can actually be myself! Other people say the same thing, but then I see them dressed as little red ride me hard, or hoe white. OOh, I hope this isn't who you aspire to be. We as humans should strive to be great; mediocrity is not even a possibility. So, what does this all come to: a synthesis of greatness. When you see me wearing cowboy boots, pleated slacks, and a turtleneck, sporting a chin beard and looking devilishly handsome. You will know immediately, that I am, as a friend once called me "Woody Wayne". I believe this friend was speaking not of a mere synthesis between John Wayne and Woody Allen but rather the amalgamation, of Wayne, Allen, Sedaris, Lincoln, Pitt, Warhol, Einstein, and maybe a touch of Monroe. Marilyn Monroe. Shortened, it becomes just Woody Wayne. For the people that call me Jim Carrey, the stupidity lies with you. In reality you are only transmitting your fear of being a washed up celebrity. Look a little deeper; you will see Brad Pitt emerge before your eyes. So, I must sign this letter in the only way that I can.
Sincerely,
BW2 (Brad Woody Wayne)
P.S.
Since now you know my 'costume' for Halloween, please tell me who you really are. This means, I don't want to hear a bunch of Supermans, or Football players unless you actually believe yourself to be just that.
Getting compared to you is starting to get a little annoying. In an elevator, buying clothes, or just walking down the street I am bound to be told of our similarities. It always happens in the same way, the person will step in front of me and make it impossible for me to continue through my daily activities. The phrase," Do you know who you remind me of..." is bound to follow their impediment of my life. And woe is me, the hard ships of looking like a heartthrob. It gets old after a while. Imagine the countless dates and modeling jobs I have rejected, and the people that leach off me based solely on appearance. It makes one fearful of ever stepping outside.
For the intelligent reader, you maybe have already caught my fib. In reality it’s not a comparison to Brad Pitt that I receive but rather Jim Carrey. And this is detestable. Yes, some of his films have been decent, but you never think of shear godliness when you think of Mr. Carrey. This lack of godliness is where the problem lies, because godliness is my ultimate aim. On the plus side its better than being compared to Chris Farley or Christopher Walken but common is Jim Carrey really that much better. As a civilized and thoughtful human, I don't walk up to strangers and tell them they look like a spitting image of Rossane Barr, Rosie Odonald, or George from Seinfeld. Sometimes, I have to resist because these people actually look like ugly celebrities, but I garnish myself with a quality I like to call, tact. Maybe others should think about the human condition before they open their mouths. However, I personally don't put this much faith in people. It only gets worse when they immediately follow up their comparison by saying, "but thats not a bad thing!" Like this softens the blow. It would be Ok, if I got comparisons to John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, or even Johnny Depp, but common, Jim Carrey! Please refrain!
I have to laugh, because for the last couple of years I have modeled myself after celebrities even though I hate quick comparisons. I chose from a whole range of celebrities, picking out different characteristics that I like from each. First it was Andy Warhol, then Woody Allen and John Wayne, now it might be Abraham Lincoln, or David Sedaris. But always it has been Brad Pitt. I try to figure out different aspects of my life that can be paralleled to the celebrity world, but then I feel a need to go into hiding and mask myself as Ryan Ingebritson. Thankfully I have a reprieve. Halloween. Yes, its the greatest time of the year because for one night I can actually be myself! Other people say the same thing, but then I see them dressed as little red ride me hard, or hoe white. OOh, I hope this isn't who you aspire to be. We as humans should strive to be great; mediocrity is not even a possibility. So, what does this all come to: a synthesis of greatness. When you see me wearing cowboy boots, pleated slacks, and a turtleneck, sporting a chin beard and looking devilishly handsome. You will know immediately, that I am, as a friend once called me "Woody Wayne". I believe this friend was speaking not of a mere synthesis between John Wayne and Woody Allen but rather the amalgamation, of Wayne, Allen, Sedaris, Lincoln, Pitt, Warhol, Einstein, and maybe a touch of Monroe. Marilyn Monroe. Shortened, it becomes just Woody Wayne. For the people that call me Jim Carrey, the stupidity lies with you. In reality you are only transmitting your fear of being a washed up celebrity. Look a little deeper; you will see Brad Pitt emerge before your eyes. So, I must sign this letter in the only way that I can.
Sincerely,
BW2 (Brad Woody Wayne)
P.S.
Since now you know my 'costume' for Halloween, please tell me who you really are. This means, I don't want to hear a bunch of Supermans, or Football players unless you actually believe yourself to be just that.
Friday, October 2, 2009
My Big City Paradise
Dear Chaos,
Stay away from me!
As a child, my mother claims I was relatively particular about the way my space was put together. But around the age of eight the spaces I encountered started to be treated as social experiments to test the limits of mankind. In other words, I was extremely messy. I brought chaos with me everywhere I went and gave meaning to the expression, "Bull in a china cabinet." I can only imagine the social embarrassment my parents encountered when people showed up to their house for unannounced visits. Like a tornado, I left a path of destruction everywhere I went, and containment was impossible. Traces of paint and charcoal, mud and grass left permanent stains all throughout the house. And believe it or not, this general state of being continued all the way through high school up into college, and for a while, even got worse. But at some point, I started to grow up and realized that I was nothing in comparison to most college kids.
I distinctly remember my very first roommate and the atrocities of uncleanliness he used to perform. Some of my favorites were him leaving a pot of rice in the rice cooker for over two months, and spots of visible mold growing across the entire kitchen. I thought this was bad until I visited the University of Michigan and saw a toilet with a one inch thick layer of piss and pubic hair caked to the toilet seat. I've heard even worse stories of a friend finding a soggy plate of french fries underneath the toilet , ketchup and all. I know I've committed crimes of cleanliness multiple times before, but I would like to believe Im getting better. Living situations that breed diseases, or having roommates that think I recently fought wars is no longer appealing to me. In a sense I'm growing up. And I wish you could all see me now; living alone, being poor, and paying rent has turned me into a beast of cleanliness.
My apartment which is located in downtown Pilsen, is the perfect place to come back to after a long day of work and class. I have labeled it my Big City Paradise. Four bedroom, two bath, hardwood floors, granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances, and a large stained glass window make this place perfect in every sense of the word. And for the last month I have lived alone. My landlord has been to lazy to find other people to move in, and the guy that does live with me has been traveling for his job. He has not spent more than ten nights in the place. So I sit at home in the evenings at my desk and study in front of the big picture window, reflecting on how great it is to have this place I can call home...
But this last Friday the beauty and peace that had recently come into my life started to fade. I had just brought Charles home, the newest member of my two part family (a Sansevieria Trifasciata). I received a phone call as I was standing admiring Charles in his red terracotta pot, proudly displaying his three small leaves. It was a prospective roommate, and he was in the neighborhood. Five minutes later the trouble started.
Now instead of trying to retell the incredibly awkward story that ensued while he was sitting there. I will make a top 10 list of things you don't want to do when introducing your self to your new roommate.
1. Do not start off a conversation asking me if I smoke weed. This is not impressive. "I don't want to know if you smoke the best or the worst chronic."
2. Do not have predetermined ideas of how you're going to use my spotless living room and desk as your studio. And refrain from making statements such as, "Man, you know, I'm like a glass blower. So what I'm thinking is I'm going to come in here and set up my torch and my fan in the picture window and a kiln all on this table. Its going to be sweet. Man I can show you how to blow glass and shit, dude you're going to totally dig it. I can tell already were going to get along great.
3. Dont proclaim eternal friendship after three minutes of knowing someone.
4. Dont tell me your twenty four, have no job, dont go to school, and your parents pay for your rent.
5. Stop mentioning how rich your parents are.
6. When I ask if you have a lot of dishes and utensils, dont tell me you're just going to just buy paper plates because all you eat is frozen pizza, you're 24, grow up.
7. When we agree on both liking house music, do not get up and start dancing in front of me for three awkward minutes, and then follow it up by saying, "You know, I only rock that pure flow shit."
8. When I ask about your state of cleanliness dont say, "you know, whatever man", giving me a definitive answer.
9. Stop saying "you know" when I ask you questions, I don't know, that's why I asked you.
10. And when I tell you I'm an artist, do not form predetermined ideas that your glass blowing is similar to what I do. I do not want to have "Art Stations", and I do not want to teach you how to paint with watercolors.
and the kicker,
11. When you have a scraggly soul patch and pants that are awkwardly big, please, please, please, don't tell me you have to beat girls off with a stick and then claim that if I 'roll with you', we will be living the "high life". I don't want to live the high life you're associated with.
I know I sound a little angry but I have been so happy in my place and don't want to go back to living like I'm in a frat house. I have already had one mouse and don't want to attract more. The mere thought of someone bringing a torch into my house scares the shit out of me. For a rich boy whose parents have a "mega mansion in the forest" burning down an apartment building is not that big of a deal. But my entire life sits within that place, and I've read that Charles does not do well with flames.
And the worst part of it all is I have no say in the matter. My landlord does the selecting, and apparently my landlord approved this guy to move in. He moves in Thursday, and so my Big City Paradise will be no longer, more of a Big City Inferno. But on the plus side the anxiety that this guy brings will supply you, the reader, with a plethora of blogs. So stayed tuned.
And readers, please let me know if you have met potential roommates that threaten the entire infrastructure of your lives, and how you dealt with it.
And just because I love him so much, here is a picture of Charles.
Stay away from me!
As a child, my mother claims I was relatively particular about the way my space was put together. But around the age of eight the spaces I encountered started to be treated as social experiments to test the limits of mankind. In other words, I was extremely messy. I brought chaos with me everywhere I went and gave meaning to the expression, "Bull in a china cabinet." I can only imagine the social embarrassment my parents encountered when people showed up to their house for unannounced visits. Like a tornado, I left a path of destruction everywhere I went, and containment was impossible. Traces of paint and charcoal, mud and grass left permanent stains all throughout the house. And believe it or not, this general state of being continued all the way through high school up into college, and for a while, even got worse. But at some point, I started to grow up and realized that I was nothing in comparison to most college kids.
I distinctly remember my very first roommate and the atrocities of uncleanliness he used to perform. Some of my favorites were him leaving a pot of rice in the rice cooker for over two months, and spots of visible mold growing across the entire kitchen. I thought this was bad until I visited the University of Michigan and saw a toilet with a one inch thick layer of piss and pubic hair caked to the toilet seat. I've heard even worse stories of a friend finding a soggy plate of french fries underneath the toilet , ketchup and all. I know I've committed crimes of cleanliness multiple times before, but I would like to believe Im getting better. Living situations that breed diseases, or having roommates that think I recently fought wars is no longer appealing to me. In a sense I'm growing up. And I wish you could all see me now; living alone, being poor, and paying rent has turned me into a beast of cleanliness.
My apartment which is located in downtown Pilsen, is the perfect place to come back to after a long day of work and class. I have labeled it my Big City Paradise. Four bedroom, two bath, hardwood floors, granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances, and a large stained glass window make this place perfect in every sense of the word. And for the last month I have lived alone. My landlord has been to lazy to find other people to move in, and the guy that does live with me has been traveling for his job. He has not spent more than ten nights in the place. So I sit at home in the evenings at my desk and study in front of the big picture window, reflecting on how great it is to have this place I can call home...
But this last Friday the beauty and peace that had recently come into my life started to fade. I had just brought Charles home, the newest member of my two part family (a Sansevieria Trifasciata). I received a phone call as I was standing admiring Charles in his red terracotta pot, proudly displaying his three small leaves. It was a prospective roommate, and he was in the neighborhood. Five minutes later the trouble started.
Now instead of trying to retell the incredibly awkward story that ensued while he was sitting there. I will make a top 10 list of things you don't want to do when introducing your self to your new roommate.
1. Do not start off a conversation asking me if I smoke weed. This is not impressive. "I don't want to know if you smoke the best or the worst chronic."
2. Do not have predetermined ideas of how you're going to use my spotless living room and desk as your studio. And refrain from making statements such as, "Man, you know, I'm like a glass blower. So what I'm thinking is I'm going to come in here and set up my torch and my fan in the picture window and a kiln all on this table. Its going to be sweet. Man I can show you how to blow glass and shit, dude you're going to totally dig it. I can tell already were going to get along great.
3. Dont proclaim eternal friendship after three minutes of knowing someone.
4. Dont tell me your twenty four, have no job, dont go to school, and your parents pay for your rent.
5. Stop mentioning how rich your parents are.
6. When I ask if you have a lot of dishes and utensils, dont tell me you're just going to just buy paper plates because all you eat is frozen pizza, you're 24, grow up.
7. When we agree on both liking house music, do not get up and start dancing in front of me for three awkward minutes, and then follow it up by saying, "You know, I only rock that pure flow shit."
8. When I ask about your state of cleanliness dont say, "you know, whatever man", giving me a definitive answer.
9. Stop saying "you know" when I ask you questions, I don't know, that's why I asked you.
10. And when I tell you I'm an artist, do not form predetermined ideas that your glass blowing is similar to what I do. I do not want to have "Art Stations", and I do not want to teach you how to paint with watercolors.
and the kicker,
11. When you have a scraggly soul patch and pants that are awkwardly big, please, please, please, don't tell me you have to beat girls off with a stick and then claim that if I 'roll with you', we will be living the "high life". I don't want to live the high life you're associated with.
I know I sound a little angry but I have been so happy in my place and don't want to go back to living like I'm in a frat house. I have already had one mouse and don't want to attract more. The mere thought of someone bringing a torch into my house scares the shit out of me. For a rich boy whose parents have a "mega mansion in the forest" burning down an apartment building is not that big of a deal. But my entire life sits within that place, and I've read that Charles does not do well with flames.
And the worst part of it all is I have no say in the matter. My landlord does the selecting, and apparently my landlord approved this guy to move in. He moves in Thursday, and so my Big City Paradise will be no longer, more of a Big City Inferno. But on the plus side the anxiety that this guy brings will supply you, the reader, with a plethora of blogs. So stayed tuned.
And readers, please let me know if you have met potential roommates that threaten the entire infrastructure of your lives, and how you dealt with it.
And just because I love him so much, here is a picture of Charles.
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