What Is It About Food That Makes Me Want To Eat It?

032Austin, Texas: named for Stephen F. Austin, considered to be the ‘Father of Texas’ and the first bionic man.  I was lucky enough to have a day to putz around in Austin recently and so I did a little googling to find out what exactly makes Austin tick other than its mild case of Turrets.  I did know that Austin is known largely for being the Blue bastion within a perpetually blushing Red state, but I didn’t want to go down that road.  One road I did want to go down was 6th Street, known largely for mayhem, collegiate debauchery, and launching up-and-coming artists into the satiatingly saturated and highly self-congratulatory music industry.

But nah.

Being a transplanted Minnesotan, I decided instead to go on safari and hunt amongst the Texan (George) bushes for that wild, elusive and somewhat dangerously delicious game found predominantly in The South of the United States known simply as Continue reading

Blame It On Rio

So I’ve been watching the Olympics this past couple of weeks.  Or trying to.  What with all the commercials and commentary and human interest pieces designed to get chicks to sit down and watch sports I think I might have seen a long jump.  And dressage.  Dressage.  Don’t get me started on stupid Olympic sports <coughcough rhythmicgymnastics coughcough>.  What kind of person is it that devotes years of their waking spare time to dance around with a little rubber ball?  And why isn’t Prancercising an Olympic sport?

Not to get on a rant here, but I’m about done with the Olympics—and it’s not just because I don’t know whether or not to capitalize the ‘the’ in front of it.  I alluded to the main reason for my apathy in the above preceding and foregoing paragraph, but more and more I am finding the Olympics downright unwatchable.  Thank you, various networks of NBC.  I’ll bet you didn’t know the Olympic theme had words.  Cue the tympani… Continue reading

I Saw Dead People

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A couple of weeks ago I found myself in Paris with some time to kill and instead of purchasing Nintendo stock like I should have been doing, I decided to fritter away my time at a sidewalk cafe eating batter-fried foods.  I found finding French fritters a frustrating fiasco however, and so I elected instead to head to the local cemeteries, as I have been dying to get into them for some time and take selfish selfies with the post-mortem celebrities interned therein.

The first cemetery I went to was the more renowned Père Lachaise (pictured above), which is a French term for ‘two matching Lachaise’.  Père Lachaise is chocked full of superstar corpses, many of which are tied to French history and culture.  Thanks to my public school upbringing, I was familiar with exactly none of them as they were named neither Napoleon nor Gérard Depardieu.  There were some names I recognized however, and I put together a quick Wander Around and Stumble Upon strategy to miss almost all of them and take up as much time as possible making U-turns and backtracking.

Like most Ugly Americans, the first grave site I visited was that of Continue reading

Hillary Dillary Dock

FBI director James Comey made an announcement last week that actually had nothing to do with the fact that his last name would be a great slang term for Donald Trump’s hairstyle.

“What is that?”
“It’s a Comey.”
“I wish I had a Comey.”

Instead he made the shocking and yet entirely expected recommendation that there be no prosecution of Hillary. You recognize the name, I’m sure. Hillary has become a single name icon not unlike Madonna or Cher, partly because nobody is sure whether to say ‘Rodham’ anymore or not. When someone mentions ‘Hillary’ you no longer think Duff or Swank. There is truly only one Hillary.

Anyway… Continue reading

Shocking News, Friends: I’m Coming Out

I suppose it’s time.  After many years of living with my secret, I am coming out with it.  I know my friends and family will be shocked, and I’m sure my parents will be disappointed but I cannot hide it any longer.  I just hope that those who truly love me will continue to accept me for who I am and not be too quick to judge, though I know that will not be the case for everyone.  So here it is:  I am Identity Fluid.

I wasn’t always sure growing up what was ‘wrong’ with me.  It wasn’t until I saw in the news the likes of Elizabeth Warren, the potential vice presidential candidate who identifies herself as Native American when she isn’t really, or the likes of Rachel Dolezal, the Spokane NAACP chapter director who identifies herself as Black when she isn’t really, that it hit me.  It doesn’t matter who I am; all that matters is how I identify myself.  President Obama has decreed that this is reason enough to let me use any bathroom I choose.  And it turns out that for me, my self-identity changes depending on my mood or circumstances.  Thus, I am Identity Fluid.  It’s a thing.

Take the example of Continue reading