by Richard Timothy | Aug 20, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
I think the suggestion behind this Smirk originated from the up can coming Eat, Pray, Love film starring Lyle Lovett’s ex-wife, which is a bestselling novel of the same title that does not star Julia… which I never did read. So the suggestion was to take a look at a few of those everyday things that most of us do every day. The idea was to take a look at things that all of us experience on a regular basis, and since the Pray and Love concepts are no concepts that everyone seems to adhere to, the alteration of them to Work and Sleep seemed a logical fit. It’s clear that this topic is a touch to vase to make into just one Smirk, so let’s take a look at each one of these topics, one at a time.
There is always going to be occasional breaker of these every day functions and since today is about the eating aspect of our day, let’s begin with a few breakers of this functionality. This list includes but is not limited to:
- Kids on the wrestling team try to make weight
- Supermodels
- Jockeys
- Cheerleaders
- Actors trying to downsize for a role
- People trying to fit into their wedding dress for the big day
- Or those people in South Korea who died playing Starcraft because they were and forgot to eat for a few days
And the list goes on… well it would if I would to continue to keep writing them (feel free to add to this list in the comments)
I do concede that there are some situations, such as authentic homeless people or people starving in Third World countries that could go on the list, but I feel this is a different classification. These are people who want to eat, but have no food, where as the other is people have food, but choose not to eat it.
Traditionally eating is something that people schedule time from three times a day… unless you are a Hobbit (in which case we get that you eat a lot, so please shut the hell up about for the next three hours). Each meal time has its own name as well. First is breakfast… our egg, bacon, and pancake themed meal of the day. Then there is lunch, which for most of us is our get-up-and-out-of-the-office meal or, for management types is the meal-to-skip-so-we-can-go-home-early meal. Finally we have dinner/supper, which is our end of day reflection meal… or the drive-thru sack filled with food-like substances that claim is happy, but in the end is only going to make you sad. Not to mention is a fuel source for assisting people in becoming factories of hideously repugnant odor production. Still, dinner seems to be the one meal of the day that has a bit more of a togetherness feel around to it.
I always smile when I hear people say they are having breakfast for dinner. Oddly though, breakfast is not just a meal time, it also constitutes a very specific collection of food. It seems to be the only one too. You never hear people say, “Let’s have dinner for breakfast,” or “Let’s have lunch for dinner.” Or some other variation, but breakfast is a meal that has the label “breakfast” associated to the food as well, no matter when you eat it.
This does make me wonder about people with different sleep schedules. Let’s say you work the graveyard shift. You get up around 6 PM to have dinner with the family and get ready for work. Now, since that dinner with the family is technically your breakfast, does it become breakfast or is it still your dinner? Which means lunch in your breakfast, and breakfast is your dinner. Do these names change because the meals and meal times change, or do you keep the meal time associated to the traditional time frame they are for? (If you have an answer, please feel free to share it.)
I will state that for the record, I am a big fan of eating… it’s one of those things I enjoy a lot, and as a plus it’s one of those things a do a regular basis that helps keep me alive. Likewise, I accept that if I ever decide to quit eating, then my life expectancy will decrease dramatically. Funny thing about eating, it can also be one of those things that can kill you as well… for example, peanuts are not everyone’s friend.
The thing I am discovering while writing this is that this is a topic that will continue to give me something to Smirk about. Just today I had a potluck at work… and believe me, there is a Smirk already forming in my head about that one.
Eating, we all do it. It’s one of those things that make us all the same… and all different, depending on what it is you eat. As Wikipedia says about the topic, “Eating is the ingestion of food to provide for all humans and animals nutritional needs, particularly for energy and growth.” It not so much funny as it is true, but what makes it funny is our interaction with it. Things like pie eating contests, without the use of your hands. That one always strikes me disturbingly amusing to watch. There is the never ending fascination that Americans have with trying to deep-fry everything… and I mean EVERYTHING. There is also the practice of feeding babies new flavors just so you can laugh at their facial reactions.
So here’s to eating, for making us happy when it tastes sooo good. For making us sad, when we eat something that our body did not appreciate. For bringing people together and constantly allowing us to evolve out senses as we explore with trying new things to eat. And finally, for enabling us to make those uncontrollable “Mmmmmm” sounds that expel from our mouths when we taste something so good that only that sound, followed by our eyes rolling into the back of our head can truly convey its grandeur. It is the goal of every great chef to be able to create a dish and demands that reaction from the eater. And when it happens, it is always worth it.
So, what are some of your feeling about this whole eating habit?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: eating, breakfast, may contain nuts, deep fried pickle, and savoring food.
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by Richard Timothy | Aug 17, 2010 | Any Suggestions, I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
If there is one thing about the world wide series of tubes that we call the web, it’s that it makes it much easier to find your doppelganger. In my case, he was the one to invite me to be his friend on Facebook. Well, maybe he’s not exactly a doppelganger, but when I first saw his name on my invite list, I did have to wonder. His name is Timothy Richard, and… well, I think that’s about all the doppelness involved. I mean we look nothing alike and since he’s really a nice guy, and not evil in any way, it pretty much blows the whole evil twin element out of the doppelganger connection.
In fact, he doesn’t even have a goatee. I mean come on, if there is only one universal truth that we should all have learned from the Mirror, Mirror episode of the original Star Trek series it’s that your evil twin has a goatee. And, since I’m the one with the facial hair I know that this Timothy chap is in no way a doppelganger… ahhh, damn it! I guess based on Star Trekian logic that makes me the evil one.
I suppose that’s the problem with facial hair. You’ll always be mistaken as the evil twin… if you happen to have a twin. Although I’m not sure how that works with the opposite sex. I don’t remember any evil goatee toting female twins on that episode. Maybe their hair is the exact opposite color instead?
So this Timothy guy (with the doppelgangish name) sent me a message the other day. No, he has no intentions on taking over the world… but, since he’s the good one I guess it would be more accurate to say he has no plans on establishing world peace and blaming it all on me. Does the evil twin thing work like that? In the whole cross dimensional playground of life, does your evil twin, if you are the evil one, do acts of kindness in your name? Thus doing things you would never have done and blaming you for them?
Makes you wonder… I mean in a cross dimension realm of evil twins is there a vegetarian Jeffrey Dahmer who has opened a soup kitchen to feed the homeless? Or a Saddam Hussein who has been received the Humanitarian or the Year award. Or how about an Ingrid Newkirk (PETA Founder) that owns a chain of Steakhouses. Oh, or a Stephenie Meyers that no one has ever heard of, but writes really good novels.
The point is (I knew we’d get there eventually) Timothy’s message. It was a Smirk request, which I liked on two accounts. I like that idea and I like that he asked me to Smirk about it. I would have started on today if it had not been for that whole doppelganger tangent. Thanks for making the request Timothy. I’ll get Smirking on the suggestion soon.
Timothy’s suggestion did get me thinking. I’ve had people in the past send me a news article, or comment on something, or ask me to tell the story about a random reference I made to them at some point, and a number of these have turned into their very own Smirk. I don’t recall anyone actually making the request to make it one though. I think the request to write a Smirk about a specified topic is a little different experience for me, but I appreciate the interaction involved with sending me the suggestion.
So, I want to open it up and invite any of you motivated to do so to send me a Smirk request, suggestion, idea, tangent, etc. E-mail it to me at: [email protected] or send a message to me via Facebook. I look forward to hearing from you and seeing what happens as a result.
Image Sources:
Google Image, key words: doppelganger, evil twin, and suggestion box.
by Richard Timothy | Aug 12, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, I Do Suggest, I Think There's a Point, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
So I recently accessed the hard drive of my old computer that died about 9 months ago. There were two brilliant things that happened as a result of this. First, I was able to retrieve about 30GB of music that I had ripped to MP3s and then sold the CDs to a used CD shop. The second thing I found was a download of a commercial that I absolutely love.
My brother found it years ago and sent me a copy because he too thought it was well worth the viewing. I remember I use to watch the thing about once a week. As time passed, and eventually when the computer died, this commercial got stored into the spring loaded closet in my mind. This is a closet that we all store memories in, memories that are only lightly or barely forgotten. When something finally triggers one of these memories it is not a subtle “Oh yeah, I think I remember that” experience, but instead it is a sudden jolt or remembrance, which shoots the memory with such an intense remember fondness that you are surprised you had ever forgotten it in the first place.
It’s a foreign commercial, so I have no idea what is being said, but it is made well enough that you will definitely get the message. Enjoy (click here if video does not play).
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EzmzL0hALQs]
It’s subtle and absolutely brilliant, and it makes me want to be better and help others. I remember when I first saw this, years ago, I tried to find out what the site was, but all my Internet searches kept coming up as ‘not found.’ Today however… let’s just say it’s amazing what five plus years of internet evolution can do for situations like this. This time, with Google as my search buddy, I discovered a link to the company Friends. They even have a section in English explaining what it is they do.
Turns out Friends is a ‘stop bullying in schools’ organization that was founded in Sweden in 1997. It was set up to help schools create a system for addressing the issue of bullying. To sum them up, I’m just going to give you the following excerpt from their site, “We work with helping pupils to speak up against meanness and injustice, to make them believe in themselves and to respect and care for each other.”
I remember my own being bullied experiences, granted, usually it they were from my older brothers. Winter time was always the worst because I always found myself being attacked by a barrage of snow balls by my oldest brother and his ruffian friends. All of which were at least five years older than I was. Sure I always lost, but every once in a while I hit one of them in the head with a tightly packed ball of snow, which always made for a sweet defeat. There were a few instances though that I remember from grade school that terrified me for a few weeks until the bully found some new victim that couldn’t run as fast as I could.
I have to admit though, that having found out what the organization does helps me enjoy the commercial that much more. I think I appreciate it so much because it’s the subtle, simple acts of kindness that can transform a situation from horrible to passable, dreadful to encouraging, or simply bad to good, or even good to the best day ever. Random acts of kindness, they make the world a better place. Making friends instead of controlling minions seems to be a growing part of our evolutionary approach to others; at least I hope it is. Maybe there will always be bullies, but helping the next generations create a dialogue and experience that reduces that number every year, that’s just pretty damn cool.
So, what did you think of the commercial?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: commercial, anti-bullying, and free hugs.
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by Richard Timothy | Aug 11, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, My Cutie Baby Sweetie Pie, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking
Have you ever been hanging out with a good friend, family member, loved one, significant other, or some other combination signifying that you know the other person very well, and have known them for quite some time? Then one day, as you are in the middle of a conversation with them, they come up with something so incredibly random and out of character that the only logical reaction is to say, “Do I know you?” Another variant of this is, “Ok, who are you and what have you done with the real (insert name of the person you are talking to)?”
I managed to have this happen twice last week with none other than my sweetie-baby-cutie-pie. The first incident occurred while we were in her car going out to dinner. As we were going over how each others day had gone up to that point, which is a pretty standard practice for when we both get home at the end of the day. Well, in the middle of her telling me about her meetings that day, and going over her schedule for getting ready to leave town for two weeks, she suddenly shifts topic and says, “I ate a hot dog for lunch. I know I’m trying to steer clear of meat, but my justification for it was hot dogs really aren’t made of meat. So it’s technically ok.”
And yes the first thing out of my dumbfounded self was, “Do I know you?”
“I know!” was really all she could come up for in her defense.
I did find it a little comforting that she was just as shocked by her actions as I was. It was clear that there was no rhyme or reason for it. She is so consistently opposed to the American version of the hot dog (bratwurst, usually chick filled is acceptable to her) that the consumption of one is kind of like going to dinner with a vegan and having them order a rare steak wrapped in bacon with a side of squid salad, and Spam flavored ice cream topped with caviar for dessert. She blames the odd craving on her childhood, and it rarely happens, but when it does it always catches us both off guard. We finished the conversation by laughing at the stranger in the car named Angela. And that was the end of our “Do I know you?” moment.
The other one that readily comes to mind also took place in her car. We were on our way to a friend’s birthday party (woo hoo Frank!) and as we were flipping through the radio stations Angela stopped at a song she knew and loved, and starting singing along. I’ve ‘Smirked’ about the topic of Angela’s singing ability before, and her cunning and consistent ability to sing along with the sounds instead of singing along with the actually lyrics of the song.
There were two things that left me a touch concerned that the woman in the car was a possible Angela impostor. First was the song… Sweet Child o’ Mine by 1980’s defining hard rock band ‘Rifles and Carnations’… I mean ‘Gun N’ Roses’. The second thing is that she knew all the words, and belted them out with the same fervor as someone who is singing in the shower, or alone in their car. I just drove, baffled as she sang though the whole song. Then as the next song started, within the first three seconds of the song, she comments, “Ooo, Barracuda,” then after noticing my look added, “… by Heart.”
“Who are you really?” I asked.
She just laughed and changed the station.
Neither was major in any way, the exact opposite really. It’s just those random 180 moments that catch you a bit off guard, and make you rub your eyes to make sure that you are talking to the person you thought you were. Followed by a possible little pinch you give yourself to make sure you are not dreaming. Regardless though, they always seem to be quite entertaining, and well worth the unexpected laugh or two you get from them.
What are some of your “Do I know you?” moments?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: confused look, singing in car, and couple laughing.
by Richard Timothy | Aug 5, 2010 | Gratefully Grateful, I Think There's a Point, Lightbulbs and Soapboxes, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
I’ve heard this saying for years, and at times I myself have said it to others. As a philosophy, it makes absolutely no sense. I think that if people feel that way about their life it is a result of their own poor choices, which is solely their fault and then need to own that and move past it. If they try to compare their grass to someone else, then that is clearly one of the key problems they suffer from and need to work on.
Today though, I am referring to this saying in a very literal… archaic translation, but literal all the same. Instead of literal, let’s go with a loose translation. I’ll get to that literal portion in a minute. The thing is, I hate yard work, and by hate I mean hate hate. Much in the same way Attila the Hun hated people telling him to use a napkin and utensils when he would eat. Yard work has always been that daunting task that loomed overhead when the weekend rolled around. This included things like weeding, trimming trees, planting flowers, edging, and the always tedious mowing of the lawn.
I don’t mind the outdoors, and I’m always fascinated by the raw beauty of nature. It’s just as a participant there in I usually try my best to stay clear of direct sunlight when I’m experiencing nature due to a skin condition. I believe the Latin’s call it sunburnus alloverus easilus. The invention of SPF enriched goo’s and creams have helped legions of people with the same skin condition exist and interact more in naturesque shade-free areas. I mean what did we have before that? Coconut oil, and all that did was make you smell really good when you would get sun cooked while wearing it, causing those less evolved and nostril motivated to want to eat you.
I know that for some, yard work is the cat’s meow, the marshmallow in your rice crispy treat, or the Bailey’s in your White Russian. It’s like seeing a bear in its natural habitat… a Studebaker. (I watched the Muppet Show recently and have been wanted to use that line ever since.) I for one am very grateful for people like that. Mainly because it allows me to hire someone to do something they love, so that I can avoid doing something I hate. It’s a rather brilliant exchange, one of which I have just started to partake in after all these years of begrudgingly working in the yard. It’s clear my yard knows how I feel about caring for it. It’s clear to everyone on my block, because it’s burned, withered, and tarnished. So believe me when I tell you that in my neighborhood the grass really is quite literally greener on the other side of the fence.
Now some people might consider yard work one of those must dos when they become a home owner. It might even be one of those relationship expectations, commonly expected to be completed bi-weekly by the more masculine in the relationship. Well if that’s the case, I say put a bow in my hair and call me Ethel. Fortunately my cutie-baby-sweetie-pie and I share the intense abrasion toward working on, in, or around our yard. So with our new yard guy it’s amazing how joyous we have become by simply giving that task to someone else who is happy to do it.
It removes any grumbling about mowing the lawn, or “I did it last week, it’s your turn this week” or any pointless petty conversations that can arise because we both feel the same way about yard work. Some might grumble about the cost, but seriously $60 a month for not only peace of mind, but the joy that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to do it is more than worth it. Besides, the 2+ hours it would take me to work on the lawn is now 2+ hours I can spend working on my book(s), or even writing a weekend Smirk for others to read and get a giggle or two from.
If you hate yard work as much as I do, hire it out, trust me on this. You will be amazed at the joy it can bring into your life, and you’ll thank you, the person you hire will thank you, your partner will thank you, and your lawn will thank you, which is a lot of thanks for a relatively simple and effective solution.
What are you feelings about yard work?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: grass is greener, tan lines, Fozzy in Studebaker, and jumping for joy.
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by Richard Timothy | Jul 27, 2010 | I Think There's a Point, Life Characters, My List of Things that Don't Suck, Non-Fiction, Observationally Speaking, Public Service Announcement
When working as an Assistant Pastry Chef as a resort in Jackson Wyoming, I worked with a curious man named Doug. We only worked together a few months, but Doug turned out to be one of those characters in life that I will always remember. He was the Pastry Chef that I worked under and was a little, well, let me put it like this, Doug was the closest thing to a reincarnation of Gene Wilder’s performance of Willy Wonka than anyone I have ever, or imagine will ever meet.
Doug was an average height, with naturally ratty-frizzy hair, or it just came across that way because he never did his hair. He also had round wire-rim glasses that framed his thin-blue eyes. Because we worked in the kitchen, we were required to wear a uniform that the resort was kind enough to supply. It consisted of a floppy top chef’s hat, with a white chef’s smock, and black and white checkered pants. Doug took full advantage of this and had not purchased a new pair of pants in over three years. He always wore his chef pants, when working or just going out with friends. Any time they began to wear too thin, he’d just pick up a new pair or two and take them home. The only exception I can think of is when we would go to disco night and he would get dressed up in his favorite secondhand 70s disco garb to go out dancing.
One of the main things I remember about Doug is that he was always offering up little lessons about life. Lesson’s that you would think were common sense, but turned out to be the type of things that apparently he needed to learn firsthand. He was usually so profoundly surprised by these lessons that he would always approach the telling of these lessons with much heartfelt earnest. Feeling that if he could save just one person from making the same mistake he had then life would have been worth living.
Some lessons were very career oriented. For instance things like how to rummage for pots and pans as loudly as possible while cursing profusely. The trick about using baker’s profanity is that it couldn’t sound much like profanity. He introduced me to the use of glottal stops mixed with open larynx yells that could carry vowels and consonants blended together in what sounded a bit like a sick badger getting poked with a spoon. But as long as you started the profanity out with the correct letter sound and clearly pronounced the ending letter, it was considered properly executed baker’s cursing. Apparently, according to Doug, baking is 70% cursing, 20% following the recipe, and 10% remembering to set the timer. In a kitchen, bakers are considered the crazy ones and Doug was very determined not to let me fail that stereotype.
The one lesson that I inevitability share with everyone is his warning about dating psychology majors… but more than that, it was mostly a lesson her learned while dating one. We were working on some fruit tortes, getting them ready for an upcoming Sunday brunch and out of nowhere Doug started with, “Rich, don’t ever… I mean ever, talk about your girlfriend’s mom when you’re making out… with her not her mom I mean.” He didn’t even pause what he was doing.
The statement, however, stopped me in my tracks. The torte was going to have to wait a little while. “I imagine it’s a little difficult to say anything like that when making out,” I replied, “regardless who you are making out with.”
“Well, let’s say in the between moments of making out.”
“What do you mean exactly?”
So Doug started telling me about when he was in college, and a psychology major he had been dating for about two months. Things had taken a few steps towards being a bit more serious than just the occasional booty call. It had even gone so far that he was invited to dinner with her parents when they had been visiting. They were definitely tipping the scales of entering into a relationship.
“One night when I was over at her place we started getting into it a little while on her couch, which was always the foreplay area of her apartment. Well, I had managed to get out of my shirt and all of a sudden, in mid kiss, she stops, pulls back and with a sultry smile asks me if she could ask a question. I told her she already had, but she stopped me and said she was serious.”
He told me that she then explained that she had been learning about the differences between the male and female psyche and learned in one of her books that it was common for men to fantasize about other women during sex.
“Ohhh, this is going to a bad place.” I said to Doug.
“I know! It caught me completely off guard, but there was the prospect that we’d be having sex at the end to I let her keep talking.”
“How could you think that things would end that way?”
“Every night that we spent kissing on her couch had always ended with sex. I didn’t have any reason to believe that that night would end any differently.” He sighed, and continued explaining that she had asked him who he had thought about while they were having sex.
“Is that even true? I mean… she WHAT?”
“Yeah all matter-of-factly, saying the book said it was common for men, like puberty, or breathing, or only cooking cheese stuffed croissants for 30 minutes in a convection oven at 375 or you’ll burn them. Still I went with my initial gut instinct and told her that I only thought about her.”
“And?”
“It didn’t work, no matter how many times I told her. I said over and over again, ‘No baby, I only think about you.’ but she kept telling me she knew differently. Her book had a whole chapter about the very topic. After about twenty minutes of going back and forth she started to get a little annoyed that I wouldn’t tell her. All the while adding that she knew it was what men did and she just wanted to know who I had thought about. She told me it was fine and she was not going to get mad. She ended every sentence with that. Always reminding me that she was not going to get mad.”
“Did she get mad?”
“I began to lose my determination for telling her over and over again, ‘Only you. I only think about you.’ I started to think that maybe if I gave her an answer everything would relax and we could get back down to business. So I started thinking about who I might, or even could, think about while having sex with her. A name did eventually come to me, but I wasn’t sure.”
“You didn’t.”
“Well, ok so I asked her if she’d promise not to get mad. And she reminded me that the whole thing was her idea, reminding yet again that she would not get mad. I asked again just to make sure, ‘Now honey you really promise you won’t get made if I tell you.’ and in the most annoyed her voice had sounded all night told me that she had already said that and to just tell her. So I said, ‘Well, not that it ever happens, but maybe if I had to pick someone that I possibly might, but it never would, but if it did… and remember you promised not to get mad, but well, I maybe, sort of, could have, if I had to, maybe… but I’d never, but maybe I could… well sort of, um, well, you know, maybe your mom.”
My mouth dropped open, but nothing would come out.
“I’ve never had an evening end so abruptly in my entire life,” he added in a tone of pure flabbergasted surprise. “She was really mad!”
I just started laughing. Doug began smiling, but it was the little kid smile where they tell you something in complete seriousness, but it strikes everyone listening as so funny that everyone begins to laugh and the little kid begins smiling in an effort to fit in, but are a little confused about what was so funny. Then I told Doug, “I promise I will never tell any woman, ever, anywhere, ever, that I fanaticize about their… you realize that this is another one of those things you need to put on your list of things to talk to a shrink about should you ever get one.”
“Yeah maybe, but I figure it’s an important enough lesson that I should share it with others first.”
“Thanks Doug,” I chuckled. “Lesson learned.” And soon we were back to work.
Even though I’ve completely lost contact with Doug, he is one of those characters in my life that I’ll never forget. It’s been over fifteen years now since he shared that story with me, and that’s how long I’ve been sharing it with others. It’s worth the telling and has a moral that I feel will never grow old, because as long as there is someone out there that it willing to ask that kind of question, there is going to be someone like Doug that is going to be willing to answer it. So please, feel free to share this story with others, so we can help protect the Doug’s of the world.
Do any of you have any “Doug-ish” stories of your own?
Image Sources:
Google Images, key words: willy wonka, Swedish chef, make out on a couch, and couple arguing on couch.
Traditionally eating is something that people schedule time from three times a day… unless you are a Hobbit (in which case we get that you eat a lot, so please shut the hell up about for the next three hours). Each meal time has its own name as well. First is breakfast… our egg, bacon, and pancake themed meal of the day. Then there is lunch, which for most of us is our get-up-and-out-of-the-office meal or, for management types is the meal-to-skip-so-we-can-go-home-early meal. Finally we have dinner/supper, which is our end of day reflection meal… or the drive-thru sack filled with food-like substances that claim is happy, but in the end is only going to make you sad. Not to mention is a fuel source for assisting people in becoming factories of hideously repugnant odor production. Still, dinner seems to be the one meal of the day that has a bit more of a togetherness feel around to it.
I will state that for the record, I am a big fan of eating… it’s one of those things I enjoy a lot, and as a plus it’s one of those things a do a regular basis that helps keep me alive. Likewise, I accept that if I ever decide to quit eating, then my life expectancy will decrease dramatically. Funny thing about eating, it can also be one of those things that can kill you as well… for example, peanuts are not everyone’s friend.
Eating, we all do it. It’s one of those things that make us all the same… and all different, depending on what it is you eat. As Wikipedia says about the topic, “Eating is the ingestion of food to provide for all humans and animals nutritional needs, particularly for energy and growth.” It not so much funny as it is true, but what makes it funny is our interaction with it. Things like pie eating contests, without the use of your hands. That one always strikes me disturbingly amusing to watch. There is the never ending fascination that Americans have with trying to deep-fry everything… and I mean EVERYTHING. There is also the practice of feeding babies new flavors just so you can laugh at their facial reactions.
So here’s to eating, for making us happy when it tastes sooo good. For making us sad, when we eat something that our body did not appreciate. For bringing people together and constantly allowing us to evolve out senses as we explore with trying new things to eat. And finally, for enabling us to make those uncontrollable “Mmmmmm” sounds that expel from our mouths when we taste something so good that only that sound, followed by our eyes rolling into the back of our head can truly convey its grandeur. It is the goal of every great chef to be able to create a dish and demands that reaction from the eater. And when it happens, it is always worth it.
