Christmas Music

I have posted a song that will aid in reading my posting.

Dear Carolers,

Stop singing on my front porch, in my house, on my radio, and in my car. I hate Christmas music. I don't mildly dislike it, but rather despise it with a passion. It's not that I hate Christmas or even Christmas cheer but I cringe when I hear those twenty five songs that are played over a million times each year. I come home to my mother who believes our family must have Christmas music in order to feel Christmas cheer. I don't know what Christmas cheer means but if it involves Christmas music I want no part of it.

If you're one of the strange beings that actually like Christmas music, you're probably asking yourself, "why such strong words for such a harmless thing." This is why.

I would be fine with Christmas music if I had a choice. Or; if I listened to Christmas music only once or twice during the holiday season. But I don't, I can't escape the thing. My mother believes that when I come home rest is not what I need, rather non-stopped Christmas music. Every day from about the 25th of November to the 24th of December I listen to Christmas songs.

When I’m back home, it starts at about 8:30 in the morning. It's not good enough that the music is just played to her self; she feels the need to spread the cheer. Absolutely anywhere you stand within the house or really anywhere on the property the cheer will be spread. Since I'm home for the holidays she feels the need to spend every waking moment with me. Which is fine. But... we go to the store or to the mall or out for lunch, and the car has to have Christmas music. Once again it's not quiet, rather so loud the cheer is spread to the entire state of Michigan. But... it doesn't stop there. She not only listens to the music but she also feels the need to sing along. Now, I love my mother, but she can't sing. Well she can, but she can't sing well. Thus inevitably we will be stuck in holiday traffic listening to those ear-piercing songs while my mother half sings half hums due to the fact she has forgotten the lyrics. Just when I think things can’t possibly get worse, they do. We finally leave the car to accomplish our shopping and immediately step into a store which also thinks Christmas music is a good option. Not only do I have to deal with it at home and in the car but also everywhere I go in public. Christmas music in small town America seems almost unavoidable.

To be honest, I technically would be fine with that, except for the fact that Christmas music is limited to a total of twenty-five songs. That’s right twenty-five. I know it seems like a lot but twelve to fourteen hours a day listening to only twenty five three minute songs can get old fast. I know your saying, "it has to be more than twenty five." And it is, but the rest are renditions of those twenty-five. Every year some musician thinks to himself or herself it might be a good idea to put out a Christmas album. So they do. But they don't actually want to spend the time writing Christmas songs, so they stick to the twenty-five predetermined song lyrics. If it not Celine Deon or Clay Aiken or even the Backstreet Boys, its Kenny G, the Rat Pack, or the East Harlem Boys Choir. They all put out Christmas albums, not because they feel like they can offer something new. Christmas albums mean cash because, people like my mother buy their rendition as a way to “spice up the holiday season”. So, every year I’m stuck listening to another mediocre musician put they're heart and soul into the Twelve Days of Christmas or Silent Night. It however doesn't stop there. Not only do crappy pop musicians come out with Christmas songs they also find people who will do renditions in different accents. Yes, this is the worst. Just tonight I listened to a Caribbean calypso choir sing White Christmas, as if they actually have seen snow.

I know I sound bitter. But I like my headspace. Frankly Christmas music doesn't give me that. I have been subjected to this torture for twenty-one years and now know all twenty-five songs by heart. For a period of about two to three weeks not a thought can pass through my head due to all the Christmas music. All I can think of is how I am having a Holly Jolly Christmas, whether I want to or not.

Merry Christmas,
Scrooge


Readers please let me know what you’re up to this holiday season, and what if anything bugs you about the holidays and or holiday cheer.

Corn Fed Freedom, and half a Christmas cookie

Dear Americans,

I grew up across from a cornfield and rode in plows at early ages. Corn and I have been attached at the hip for pretty much forever. It surprised me that this however is true for the rural farmer and city slicker alike.
I recently found myself engaged in watching the documentary King of Corn. The documentary notified me that the chemicals in hair will show how much of a particular food one eats. The tests the filmmakers took showed they consume large amounts of corn in their diets; due to processed foods and meats. It was concluded that more than 50% of their diets were corn. (King Corn) After seeing these astonishing results, I inquired about my own state of corniness. Instead of dealing with expensive tests that informed me of the given; I decided to monitor my diet for a week. It turned out as I speculated that I too am a corn fed boy. I was aware I ate corn products but still was taken back by just how much of my diet was corn. In the documentary they present a challenge to go corn free for a month. I decided to see how difficult it was for a week and then judge from there.
Before I go into my personal story it’s important to talk about the corn industry, and why it’s in all our foods. American corn is a subsidized crop, which makes the farmers money whether or not there is a demand. The result is an over surplus of corn in our system. Michael Pollan an ecological food writer, explains this leads to, “more and more highly processed food,’ ‘adding value to that commodity (corn).” (Pollan Michael, The Way We Live) It creates a perpetual growth of the corn industry, making corn a product in all our food. It’s in our bread, yogurt, chips, cakes, and sodas and it’s fed to most of our livestock. It makes us corn fed boys and girls.
But the fact that we eat so much corn is not a reason to go on a diet such as this. It would be like stating, I’m going to go on a rice free diet if I lived in china. There are underlying reasons why a corn free diet may be beneficial.
Corn production needs fertilizer to help promote growth. However the fertilizer contains nitrogen that is hurting the environment. One source explains that a, “significant portion of such fertilizer is still making its way through the soil and water to the sea. As a result, algae and other microorganisms take up the nitrogen, bloom and, after they die, suck the oxygen out of coastal waters.”( Biello, David) The oxygen sucked from the coastal waters creates dead zones that span up to 7,700 square miles. I.E. a large area where nothing can live! “Scientists warn that a boom in crops such as corn for biofuel will only make matters worse.” (Biello, David)
On top of that an article put out by the GMO Compass estimates that, “about 80 percent of the maize produced in the US is genetically modified.” (Maize) That equals out to about 72 million acres of genetically modified corn produced in 2007 alone. (Biello, David) The result is large portions of corn in our food and livestock. This is scary because GMO corn has only been in mass production since 1997 and the possible side effects are unclear.
With so much corn in our system we have found a way to give it to everything. Most livestock including farmed fish are on corn diets and as Michael Pollan explains the logic is sound, “Calories are calories, and corn is the cheapest, most convenient source of calories.” (Pollan, Michael, Power Steer) Even though it’s the cheapest, this corn is found to be harmful to the animals. Corn fattens cattle much quicker than grass but cows are still meant to eat grass; when they’re fed corn, problems arise. In cattle it can lead to cow acidosis and bloating. If a cow is kept on a corn diet for too long it will die. If a corn diet for a cow is unhealthy, what happens when the unhealthy cows are fed to us? As Pollan explains, “A growing body of research suggests that many of the health problems associated with eating beef are really problems with corn-fed beef.” (Pollan, Michael, Power Steer)
If that’s not enough to keep you from eating corn consider that most processed foods in the grocery store contain high fructose corn syrup. There are differing results on whether high fructose corn syrup is worse than other sweeteners. But tests were done in which mice were fed diets similar to the average American. The results showed, “It took only four weeks for liver enzymes to increase and for glucose intolerance - the beginning of type II diabetes - to begin." (Dixon Rachel) These tests showed there is, “evidence that suggests fructose actually suppresses your fullness, unlike fiber-rich foods, which make you feel full quickly.” (Dixon Rachel) This makes sense when you look at the ballooning rates of obesity and health problems associated within America. Mayo clinic posted a warning on sweeteners such as high fructose corn syrup stating that, “Regularly including these products in your diet has the potential to promote obesity which, in turn, promotes conditions such as type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure and coronary artery disease.” (Zeratsky Katherine)
With the votes in on corn industry, I want to turn back to my own situation. First, it’s important to present the kind of person I am. By writing this I can inform others similar to me that it’s possible to limit corn intake. My demographic is the poor college student, excited about their health with no time to cook. In my life I try to stay healthy and keep away from sodas, chips, and high fat foods. If I want a soda I buy a soda and if I want a hamburger I buy a hamburger. I don’t drink a soda everyday or even every week, and the same goes for hamburgers. I rarely eat chips and try to stick to items that are more nutritionally sound. Being on the go, I find myself eating food items such as sandwiches, and pasta. I don’t have the time to cook, nor do I have an oven that works, so I stick to the quicker meals. Navigating a world that supports the unhealthy approach is difficult but still possible.
After the first weeks monitoring I came to find out that more than half my diet had corn in it. The cereal, bread, cheese, meat, milk, and beer all had corn products in them. I did notice that even though my diet was packed full of corn it contained very little high fructose corn syrup. I highlighted the corn items in yellow and the high fructose corn syrup items in red. (See figure 1) Seeing that high fructose corn syrup is thought to be a large part of obesity, I was proud of myself. But in order to effect environmental change, support food diversity, and animal welfare I would have to cut back on the rest of the corn, even my corny jokes (drums).
After some research I realized eating out, drinking beer, and consuming animal products would be out of the question. Except for wild caught fish I was going to practically become vegan. I knew of milks, cheeses and meats labeled as 100% grass fed, but I also knew these options are more expensive. Being a college student I need to keep costs down and expensive grass fed options become non-options. A $6 dollar gallon of milk compared to a $3 gallon of milk just isn’t an option. And the room for error in grass fed labeling is too high to risk.
The day before my diet started I went to the grocery store. Trader Joes is my grocery store of choice for their healthier food and cheaper prices. I grabbed my basket and got shopping. I started with bread; I found in the past that all my bread had corn in it, so I was hoping they would have a solution for me. I label read for a good fifteen minutes before I found a corn free option. My solution was Trader Joes “Organic Bread with Flax and Fiber”. Next stop was sandwich toppings. I was determined that I was not just going to eat peanut butter and jelly all week (Natural peanut butter, Smuckers simply fruit). Besides a large array of vegetables I bought two packages of wild caught smoked Coho salmon. Even farmed fish are corn fed! I then stocked up on a healthy amount of pasta, pasta sauce, and copious amounts of dark chocolate. I was set…
Except for my bill. Fifteen dollars more than usual, and… I was still without all of my vegetables. For this week it was ok, but I was not going to be buying salmon in the future. The first few days were excellent and going well, but about half way though a week of no corn I realized failure. I was looking over my food diary and saw the problem occurred my first night. Saturday. I was at a gallery opening and somebody came up to a friend and said, “the Christmas cookies are amazing.” We immediately went to the kitchen and saw the kind my mother made. Sugar cookies with frosting… my favorite! We analyzed the situation loosely and rationalized it probably had corn in it. My friend however claimed, “no, its ok they’re homemade”. At the time it seemed like pretty good logic, so with out questioning anymore we split one. A half a week later I realized those cookies had three ingredients that are most likely side effects from corn: milk, butter, and eggs. I had failed and my failure was hinged upon half a Christmas cookie. Oh the misery.(see figure 2)
The rest of the week, I was smooth sailing. I must say however, it was pretty hard keeping away from certain ingredients. Half way through the week I started to crave $1.60 cheese pizza made right across the street from my bedroom window. As my stomach rumbled all I could think was, “I can just not put it in my diary.” They’ll never know it will be my little secret. I can sit in my closet gorging myself on all the pizza, ice cream, and corn tortilla chips I want. My closet stayed pizza free. But I can promise you the longer the week went on, the more I thought about it. The constant thought, you’ve already failed what’s the point, was a nagging sore spot. (see figure 2)
But these thoughts bring me to my conclusion. Even though I failed, corn was brought into a new light. I like corn or at least corn byproducts. I sure do like Christmas cookies, cheese pizzas, omelets, ice cream, and pork sandwiches. For the week that I ate no corn, I switched to fish, which I thought was a good alternative. I quickly found out its only an alternative every now and again. But it’s definitely not an alternative for ham and turkey sandwiches. My conclusion was to go back to corn. But, I will try to reduce my corn intake from now on. Being so strict in a diet, especially for a person who likes food, is agony. However, there are still ways I can be proactive. Switching to the bread I bought for my no corn diet and eating more vegetables is one way. I found that when I knew I would be eating no corn I bought more vegetables, which was much appreciated in my pasta and sandwiches. I also ate at restaurants less, which saved me a bunch of money. The extra fifteen dollars spent at the grocery store was still less than the few sandwiches and beers I buy weekly. But I will still go for pork sandwiches and pizza across the way. And there is no point turning down friends who want to grab a beer and fries. If I find a cheap grass fed solution, Ill buy it. But more than just avoiding the problem while everyone eats away at their corn, Ill join in. I’m a natural born follower, a conformist.
We can however push to have subsidies for corn eliminated so we can create food diversity, and lower nitrogen pollution. We can also push food companies into keeping high fructose corn syrup out of our foods. Or as the eloquent words of Michael Pollan say, “The political challenge now is to rewrite those rules, to develop a new set of agricultural policies that don't subsidize overproduction and overeating.” (Pollan Michael, The Way We Live) Corn isn’t evil and in moderation a little corn is ok for the environment and us. But getting to that moderation will be the challenge. I ask you as a reader, to record your eating habits for a week. Examine as I did what parts of your diet have corn in them, and what you can take out. If you drink soda a lot, maybe reduce your soda intake to once a week. If you eat lots of breads and grains with corn products, switch to a brand with no corn. Try drinking beers with no corn syrup in it. Even though Bells brown ale is officially connected with corn, its only prepared with corn flour. That’s much better than a PBR or a Miller High Life that contain corn syrup. In my own diet I noticed half of the corn products were cereal and bread. Cheaply and easily I can avoid this by buying a no corn alternative. By doing this alone I will reduce my corn consumption by close to half and that’s a step in the right direction.
Ill leave you with a quote from the makers of King Corn, its similar to how I felt at the end of my week. “The honest truth is that it’s hard to change the way you eat. Visiting a 100,000-cow feedlot and home-brewing corn syrup did make fast food a lot less appetizing. I can’t eat a hamburger now without hearing the nutritionist from the film, Loren Cordain: “Hamburger meat is really not meat. It’s fat disguised as meat.” But still, it’s hard to avoid the stuff. Industrial food tastes good — it’s salty and fatty and sweet — and it’s almost irresistibly convenient and cheap.” (Ellis Curt)

Yours,
Slightly less corn fed.

Winter

Dear Chicagoans,

This is a call to action. Lets stand and fight. Fight for global warming. Lets break out the aerosol cans and raise the temperatures back to livable conditions. It’s a crying shame that we should have to deal with this and so lets fight back.

Every year I put up with it and frankly I’m sick of it. Winters, ugh. Chicago winters, ugggghhhhhh. We arrive at it every year the exact same way. September will come and people start asking whether or not you’re prepared. In most places September is one of those months in which you can enjoy the end of summer. But no, for Chicagoans we live in fear. September signals the coming of six to seven of the worst months. Once October hits, the sun never shines. And what sucks is October isn’t the worst. It’s mild in comparison to the coming months.

Yes, November starts it off with day light savings time. The time of the year in which you realize the sun sets at four. I go to school in the dark, and get out of the class in the dark. If I get a chance to step out over lunch, I shouldn’t need to worry about seeing the sun, because the clouds take care of that; November through April. It’s one big gray mess. November is also the month in which the cold is the main focus of any conversation. Veterans hail their survival stories to Newcomers. Newcomers make jokes about how it can’t be that bad. But what they don’t know is that it can. November comes and goes and everyone complains how bad the weather is, but it’s nothing like December.

The only thing that makes December enjoyable is Christmas. The month of December is supposed to be cold, it’s Santa’s month. So you deal with it. But you still curse under your breath. You walk huddled up face down arms crossed from destination to destination. December is the month in which your breath becomes solid, and even your parka needs layers. Often in December I find myself dressed with four to five layers, two tee shirts, a flannel, a cardigan or sweater, a fleece jacket, and a heavy-duty winter coat. Assembled I can barely put my arms down. But at least in December you’re warm from holiday cheer.

January doesn’t have holidays, at least not important ones. There is nothing to look forward to in January. The temperatures in January are always fifteen to twenty degrees colder than December. People die in January, and I tend to feel physical pain when stepping outside. It’s one of those months in which you start to contemplate suicide because of how cold it gets. Those layers that helped in December no longer help. Nothing feels good. It’s just plain miserable. Chicago makes it all the worse because there’s nothing to do in here. It’s not like this cold is accompanied by snow or winter sports. Just cold and wind. Ah, yes the windy city. Whenever the temperature says -8 it forgets to take into account the loop is a man made wind tunnel. Chicago wind chills have been known to get as low as -82 degrees. And even though this sounds bad were forgetting one major part.

February. February is the exact same as January just colder. Last February it was -18 F without the wind chill (-27 Celcius for my European friends). No sun, ever. Nothing. In February I truly believe God hates this place. It’s the only reasonable explanation. Science hasn’t been able to prove why Chicago gets so cold. There is nothing good about February except for the slight idea that there is a light at the end of the tunnel.

March, the false light at the end of the tunnel. It gets warmer but 6 is not a suitable temperature in my book. You still cant put your arms down because of all the layers, and you still feel physical pain, a slightly less amount of physical pain. By the end of March the sun actually starts to come back and you remember that hope is on its way. Soon enough your gas bill will no longer be a six digit number. March is ok not because its warm, but because its not so bad. This however, is a terrible way to think about life, I thus hate March.

So friends. Take to polluting. It’s the only solution. I hear all this about global warming and then I experience October to March. I understand how I feel generally is not a scientifically sound argument, but I dare you to live in Chicago for a winter. As far as the icecaps go, its ok, we can grow more; it sure as hell is cold enough here. If you don’t want to pollute then possibly hibernation is the answer. I would be down for not leaving my warm little abode for six months out of the year. It would be better than standing outside thinking about survival as I wait for the train.

Continually,
Sick and tired.

Readers please let me know where you live and what winter offers for you.

Tale of two cities

Dear Holiday Travelers,

If you’re like me then this holiday season you will be returning to your childhood home. You may be traveling across the world, or down road, but either way the realization of change will be drastic. I can only speak for myself but I personally enjoy the contrast both places provide.

Just before Thanksgiving I spent my time in Chicago enjoying "the smaller things". I would go on late night walks down Lasalle Avenue marveling at the tall buildings and amber glow. I would smile upon my morning commutes in which private space became public. I took the time to see the last minutes of the golden 4:30 sunlight hit some random high-rise window. It was enjoyable even to watch small commanding children lock eyes with sleepy eyed riders on the EL. It's the times in which big city life is put into small prospective that makes life so enjoyable.

But in the country it’s never the small things that make life worth it. Everything is small. Banal stories of leaf raking and dog haircuts fill the conversation. Long thoughts regarding the weather, and snowstorms fill the voids. It’s a little slower and a lot smaller out here. What makes it worth it is exactly the opposite; small town life being placed into big perspective. Hope is the name of the game. It's what gets us through when the jobs dry up or when the schools have leaky roofs. Its what I try to keep in mind when I’m home. I’m not out looking for the "smaller things", rather the best moments are when life seem so big. Its those shimmering frosty stars that are missed in the amber glow of Chicago that make it worth it.

For me I latch on to the contrast both places provide. The conversations about leaf raking, are just as good as that 4:30 Chicago sunlight. Both make life a little greater.

Yours,
Thoroughly pleased

And readers please let me know about what holiday travel presents for you.

On constructing a dream house.

Dear Architects,

The dream home seems to be stuck in a place of shimmering contradictions: I like the wilderness. I like the city. I like solitude. I like companionship. I like blue. I like red. I like brick walls. I like white walls. I like new. I like old.

It is a near impossibility to imagine a space that is complete in its relation to the creator and inhabitant. Extrapolating definitions by speaking about what the space isn’t seems just as bad as holding onto ideals of what it is or might be. At times one is struck by the shear catchiness of the act to define a capsule that would encapsulate all our hopes, dreams, wants, and desires.

But for my self, the multiple drafts of an ideal space only seem to be riddled with nonsensical marks that finalize themselves in utter failure. I am no architect, and bothering myself with dreams that seem trivial is not a game I want to play.

However, using my own framework (my current apartment) seems completely different. It latches onto the concrete, and from the concrete I can speak of the abstract without contradictions. To spare the reader I will refrain from trudging long-winded descriptions of my dwelling and instead mull over what can stay and what can go.

First and foremost the 24-year-old pot smoking, party-mongering hack of a roommate can go. He can take his clutter, his second hand highs, his glass blowing torch, and his dirty white gym socks with him. Yes, his books on Identifying the Dream, and Buddhism for Dummies can go as well. And just to make sure he can take those ugly-ass women, and that repetitive 90’s techno music. Life would be so much better with out him. No more razors left on the sinks and in the showers. No more constant smell of ego waffles, fake maple syrup and weed wafting through the house. No more cupboards packed full of Chef Boyardee, Pasta Roni, and Instant Mac & Cheese. And no more counters filled with candy corn, empty fruity pebble boxes, and plastic sporks.

I never want to see another black light poster or electric strawberry vanilla candle again. I never want to have to pick pubes from my sink, or change my socks due to maple syrup. I don’t want to be the bad guy and tell people to get the fuck out of my house at four in the morning. I don’t want to have that discussion about shared space. I don’t want to come home and find the windows open and the heat at seventy-eight. I envision the day when my space will be free of clutter and no longer considered a war zone. I envision coming home and being able to see hard wood floors and granite counter tops. I envision being happy after a long stressful day. But most of all I envision no longer dealing with the daily occurrences.

Like the other day, I came home to find glass blowing bead separator dried on the hardwood floors, the subwoofer, the desk, the laptop cord, the granite kitchen counter tops, the sink, and all the utensils. The couch was full of coats, pillows, and wet towels, the bathroom was littered with socks, my toothpaste cap, and old razor handles. And the motherfucker was missing in action.

After his return the Napoleon-esque stance he took armed only with a fork was almost laughable. Seated behind the kitchen table, he chomped on a soupy mess of fake maple syrup, globes of jam, and cold ego waffles. He then in the most eloquent way he could tried to tell me that the reason the house was such a mess was based solely on the morning after pill. I listened to him describe his condom situation in graphic detail and then tell me how this girl he got pregnant had spilt the bead separator. Seeing I wasn’t impressed the show continued. With the most extreme agony I witnessed him change directions and tell me that he’s madly in love with a girl that won’t love him. Mind you, a different girl. I was going to remind him that getting other women pregnant might be a reason someone would cease their love, but I refrained. The show somehow got better. I watched as a steady stream of tears fell into the half-inch pond of Mrs Butterworths that sat below him. I almost felt sad until I remembered that my Subwoofer was still caked in bead separator. The only thing I could muster out of my mouth was, “Well, I imagine you will get this shit cleaned up.”

It’s funny to me that someone who doesn’t go to school and is jobless can have a bad day. If I smoked $200 worth of weed a week, I would be smooth sailing.

Not even a week after the bead separator incident, I came home to witness the picture window shattered. I’ve dealt with sleepless nights where drug dealers are coming to the house at four in the morning. I’ve listened to him pass diseases on to new women and manipulate stories about free love and the hippy dream every night. I even put up with him calling me pimp-a-licous, but the picture window hit my breaking point.

All I want to do is sit and enjoy silence when silence is due. I should be able to marvel at floors that are so shiny I can see my own reflection. I should be able to study and prepare for the next day of class without hearing a constant techno beat. I should be able to sleep during normal sleeping hours, and have a night in which only the people that pay rent are in the house. I think I’m being reasonable; I’m a simple guy really. I have had many living situations and have enjoyed most of them. I like white walls. I like brick walls. I like solitude. I like companionship. But what I don’t like is motherfuckers who test my sanity every chance they get.

So, when I imagine my dream home, all I want is a clutter free existence. The more clutter brought into my life the closer I get to my breaking point. On the plus side the 24-year-old pot smoking, party-mongering hack of a roommate might be leaving, and just the mere thought of this makes me happy.

Please, let me know what the framework for your dream home looks like, and if yours is anything like mine then let me know what can go immediately.

Sincerely yours,
Almost Insane.

Slim Sandwiches

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.

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.