Another Embarrassing Story About Food

Posted by D.J. on Jan 31, 2012 | 14 comments

Yesterday, I revealed that until last November, I had no idea that the red thing inside of a green olive was a pepper.  I thought it came with the olive.  I am 35.

Today’s story, believe it or not, is even more embarrassing.

And lest you think I exaggerate, I can even ask the person who witnessed this almost twenty years ago to verify.  His name is Justin, and has been a great friend for twenty-five years.  In fact, when I got married, he got a marryer (that’s probably not a word) license and became our officiant.  I also blame him for the subsequent divorce.

Anyway, back in high school when I was sixteen a bunch of us were in Justin’s folks’ kitchen.  I’m sure we were waxing something mature like which girls were in our “five hottest” list.  I almost certainly was not on anyone’s list.  I think I must have become better looking over time because since I’ve left school, a number of female classmates have told me that I’m handsome.  Think about it – for people you’ve known for years, you would only say, “You look so thin!” if the person was huge before.

Somehow the conversation moved over to pasta – who knows why.  And I said something like this…

I think it’s just amazing how they find pasta and harvest it – so much work!

Justin looked at me and saw an opening.  He jumped in.

“What do you mean ‘find pasta’?  Where do you think it comes from?”

Wait – doesn’t pasta come from the sea?

“There’s no way you just said that sentence.  Say it again.”

Uh oh.

I’m not sure why, but I had no idea that pasta was a wheat product.  I mean, I saw when my mom would make spaghetti using one of those circular measuring things.  I knew it came dry.  I had just assumed that when it was pulled out of the sea (note – I didn’t know if “sea” meant ocean or freshwater), it was dried and then packaged.

This shit so totally comes from the sea.

Please realize, that I was not a total moron.  In school I was in all accelerated classes (except math – NERDS!), and was generally believed to be intelligent by my peers.

I think I somehow linked it up with rice, which grows on paddies in water.  Which, you have to admit, is sort of in the ballpark of pasta.

No?

Before I wrote that last piece about rice, I absolutely Google’d “where does rice grow” and read the Wikipedia article on rice, just to confirm.  Bear in mind that I have been to four foreign countries where I have actually seen rice growing on water in paddies.

One Embarrassing Story About Food

Posted by D.J. on Jan 30, 2012 | 16 comments

Over Thanksgiving, reader-turned-girlfriend Jessica was telling a story about how one of her friends didn’t know that a pimento in a green olive was placed there by man.  Then my entire family started laughing at this friend that nobody except Jessica had met.  I’m pretty sure my sister yelled out, “Fool!”

No, that’s not true.  Nobody yells out, “Fool!”

I wasn’t particularly paying attention to this story, as is often the case.  I enjoy talking to myself.  But I did hear this olive story in the periphery and I became instantly confused.

I said aloud:

You know what?  I didn’t know that either.  I just thought olives grew that way!

C'mon - it totally looks natural.

The whole room turned at once to face me and fell silent.  You know that expression “my jaw fell open” in literature where something dumb or shocking is said and nobody knows how to react?  We all know that doesn’t really happen in real life, but imagine that’s what everybody did.

Then, Jessica said, “Um… you think it’s just part of the olive?  The red thing?”

Yeah, well, that’s what is so weird – I mean, why would they take the red part out, and then put it back in?  Do they pickle the pimento or something?  I don’t understand.

“D.J., the pimento is not part of the olive.  It’s red pepper.”

You’re shitting me.  No – wait.  Is it?  Like red pepper, the vegetable?

“Holy Christ.”

Mind you that not two years before I had been to an olive orchard in Tuscany and watched how they made olive oil.  I had never in my life thought that the olive and pimento were not united from birth.  I just thought that was the middle of the olive.

Please understand I can’t eat green olives.  I mean, olive oil is great, but green olives are just too goddamn strong.  I have never voluntarily eaten one on my own volition.  I can handle shaved pieces of black ones on a sandwich or salad, but even those are a little intense.

So, no martinis, no olive bar at the grocer, no drinking olive juice when I get desperate.  I stay away from olives.  I just don’t like them, and they make me queasy.  Even those little ones, capers, are kind of too much.

10x smaller, 10x more intense, 10x nastier.

I swear to God, at 35 I had never heard somebody mention that pimento means “red pepper” or whatever.

There, I exposed my food idiocy.  Please reveal yours.

Where Do You Waste Time? Vlog

Posted by D.J. on Jan 29, 2012 | 6 comments

I’m a time waster, and last night it reared it’s ugly head in the form of a video game.  Watch below and then cleanse yourself by telling my readers where YOU screw around.

Sitting with Hard Feelings is Exhausting

Posted by D.J. on Jan 28, 2012 | 10 comments

It’s been awhile since I put the fart humor aside (pains me to even write such a sentence), and talked about something more real, but I think it’s time.

One of my good friends, Bill Flynn, is known for saying that doing emotional work is much more exhausting than physical work.  I have found this to be true as well.

Today, I woke up at nine am, which gave me a solid nine hours of sleep.  For some reason I’m a nine hour guy.  It’s virtually impossible to do, of course, with a full-time job, this blog, the band, and a girlfriend.  I can really only crank it out on Friday and Saturday nights.

That last sentence doesn’t read too well, now that I’m thinking about it.  Screw it – not going to change.  Accidental double entendres are kind of cool in my opinion.

So, I woke up and had two bratwursts for breakfast.  I got excited last night at the grocery and had realized that I had all but forgotten bratwurst were a food.  I cooked up two last night, and two this morning.  That’s a lot of low quality meat within a twelve hour window.

When you look at it uncooked, it's kind of gross.

Then, not surprisingly, I became tired again.  And why shouldn’t I?  I was up for a good three hours.  I laid back in bed and started checking emails, and then trying to impress comedians I follow on Twitter.

I burned Matt Ruby! Burned Matt Ruby good!

I received an email that really angered me.  I immediately wanted to lash out and punish this person (don’t worry friends and family, it wasn’t you), and then I realized, “Holy shit!  I’m angry!”

Usually anger to me equals action.  Since I’m so uncomfortable with my anger, I must act upon it, which usually means doing something hurtful to the person that I believe is making me angry.  Obviously this is not always a good idea, and I most times I have enough sense not to pick up the phone and start screaming the c-word.

Obviously, I would have dialed someone first, as screaming the c-word into a dial tone is not very satisfying.

Instead of action, however, I decided to go within.  I turned off my brain and went to the feeling.  Tried to sit with it, which is difficult for me.  Eventually I was transported back to other times I was angry, and eventually it turned into sadness.  Actually deep sadness, which nearly brought me to tears.  Thoughts of my ex-wife flooded me and a little kid voice screaming, “Why did you leave me?” as she walked away.  Which I totally thought I was over by now.  Awesome to realize I’m not.  Ha.

I then promptly passed out.

I awoke three hours later with my dog and cat curled up on top of me.  I started to feel shame about wasting the day, but you know what?  I’m hoping my body knew what to do.

Can you imagine me as a father?

Excuse me, children.  Daddy needs to go process anger and then fall asleep.  Here’s a DVD.  Stay away from the outlets.

I feel good now, because I did what I had never, until recently, taught myself to do – stay with the tough feelings, let my body do the work, and then go eat a bratwurst.

Who Do You Read? (Other Than Me)

Posted by D.J. on Jan 27, 2012 | 13 comments

The other day, my pal Laura Roeder published an article I wrote about building reader loyalty.

Copper, you're my best friend! Now, if only you could protect me from daddy's abuse...

If you want to read the article, click here!

I had written this piece last year and totally forgot about it.  As I was reading it back I was pleased to see that I follow most of the rules that I recommended.

However…

I’ve never asked you guys who else YOU are reading!

There are other funny and touching bloggers out there and I’d like to know who they are!  I’m making a list, see, of… Well, it’s a list.  It’s not exactly a I’m-sending-over-a-large-Mexican-that-I-paid-fifty-bucks-to-shiv-because-they-aren’t-going-to-be-a-more-successful-blogger-than-me type of list.  Well, actually, it sort of is.

No, seriously, please comment below and let me know who I should be reading to poach their best material and rewrite as my own.

Note : This is probably the ONE time that I’ll allow some self-promotion should you have a blog.  I have advertisers that pay good money to be here, and will not be happy I’m doing this.  For you, I’m giving an extra two days of ad exposure past your agreement.  So, if you decide to list your own blog, do them a favor and click on the advertisers on the right.  They want your love!