We didn’t grow up hunting and no-one in the family owns a firearm. I’ve shot a gun exactly once, and that was in the Scottsdale, Arizona desert. I hit 3/5 targets and the instructor said that I had a pretty good shot.

Guns have always scared me. I don’t feel the need to possess or carry one, and I don’t get off going to the range and firing at human-outlined paper targets. I’ve have no desire to hunt deer or rabbits or birds. I enjoy other stuff.

Like turkey sandwiches.

Back in 2007 I started bringing my lunch to work. I was more often than not heading to Subway. I bought the same sandwich every time – turkey on honey oat loaded up with the same toppings and a light vinegar splash.

After discovering that making a turkey sandwich was not beyond my capabilities I began to appropriate the ingredients on my own. Each morning I’d fashion two sandwiches and head to work.

What I learned quickly is that tomatoes don’t sit well on wheat bread over time. Their juice gets into the bread and it becomes soggy. You have to pack them separate. Also, I found that I didn’t like to eat sandwiches whole – it’s better tasting for some reason if I cut them in half. I know – I’m weird.

Problem – the tomato slices were bigger (I bought huge tomatoes) than the bread halves. I understand this is boring stuff here but I’m trying to set the context for why I brought a steak knife to work every day. First I’d unpack the sandwich, then put the tomato in, and then cut the whole thing in half.

I had a briefcase containing the sandwich items and knife. I had no other reason to bring in the case. We weren’t allowed to take client documents home and it wasn’t like I was transporting a filofax. I just dated myself with the filofax comment. No, the briefcase was used exclusively to move the sandwich from home to work.

Months later I boarded a plane to Washington D.C. for a wedding.

At my seat I reached for my briefcase to an open compartment along the back. I had thrown my wallet into that space earlier and wanted to move it. Something bit me. I recoiled my hand and found a few drops of blood on my index finger. Reaching carefully back into the pouch I discovered what had cut me.

A large, serrated steak-knife.

Yes, I had made it through the crack security team of O’Hare airport with the six-inch blade I used everyday at lunch. I felt proud like this was a huge accomplishment and that I had “stuck it” to the man (sorry for the pun – unintentional). I shook my head up and down smugly as I had just pulled off a theft of a Hope-diamond caliber.

When we arrived at the hotel the girlfriend suggested I leave the knife in the room and not to press my luck on the return trip. I agreed and took the knife out and set it atop the armoire.

Well, even though I have a clear memory of removing the knife, apparently I didn’t remove the knife. At the time I must have been sidetracked (probably by something shiny) and forgot to pull the blade out of the bag. Or maybe I did remove the knife and a maid found it, realized it wasn’t the property of the hotel, and put it back in my briefcase. My memory sucks, so this is unlikely.

You can see where this is headed. Yes, on the return trip I, once again, made it onto the airplane with a knife. It was discovered much the same way before – I reached my hand in and found the blade tip. This time I celebrated even more than before. I had twice outwitted security detail. In two consecutive airports, no less!

Had I been caught, I would have explained that I brought that steak knife to work every day to cut a sandwich and left it in there by mistake. It had dried crumbs stuck to the handle and was stained red from tomato juice. Well, maybe the stained-red thing would be an issue. A great moment, however, having the TSA pull out a knife out in front of the rest of the people waiting in line. Maybe an old lady would have fainted.

I don’t carry a knife anymore as I now pre-cut my lunch at home. Which makes more sense. Took me a few more years to figure that one out. Sadly.

I hired a guy about six months ago for a position. He was in his early sixties and one of the nicest people I had ever met. His past career had been in education and he was a dean at a university prior to working with us. He would come in every day and sit at his desk  working  to  build a business in real estate.

Then, suddenly, he died.

His daughter called me on a Monday morning to tell me her dad had collapsed during dinner over the weekend. They were at a restaurant on Navy Pier. He was rushed to a hospital and passed away.

This was a few months ago and he’s sort of faded from my memory.

Today I was in my office and a Jimmy John’s delivery guy was ringing the doorbell. This is not unusual as people in the office often order subs from Jimmy John’s. Too boring for my taste.

I just realized how ludicrous it is for me to say Jimmy John’s is boring when I bring the exact same lunch to work every single day. Two turkey sandwiches with a slice of American cheese, spinach, and tomato on whole grain. I’m not exaggerating when I say every day. I probably brought something different maybe a dozen times this year. The rest were turkey sandwiches.

Anyway, somebody yelled throughout the office looking for whoever had ordered the lunch. Nobody answered.

I was on the phone at the time and didn’t really see what was happening. The next thing I knew I saw a huge platter of Jimmy John’s sandwiches being set down on a table. I assumed it was a freebie as from time to time they do this as a thank you for all the business we give them.

Well, it turns out the employee that died had put his card in a fishbowl months ago to win lunch for ten people. Apparently he had won. When the delivery guy arrived nobody knew what to do. I guess the thought was, “Well, we have ten people… They already made the sandwiches… Uh…”

So, we ate them.

I’d love to say that we sat around a break table silently reflecting, but we all eat at our desks and business was still going on. I, myself, grabbed a few turkey sandwiches (shocker) in between a video I was editing.

I felt sad and confused about eating subs which were really meant for a dead man. He might have planned on taking those home to his family – might never have been intended for us. The Jimmy John’s deliverer was not told that the man had passed on. I don’t know about the rest of the guys, but it sort of felt like we got away with something. There was never any malicious intention to steal food. I guess they didn’t know what else to do.

Thus far I haven’t had anyone close to me pass away. I’ve lost grandparents I hardly knew and a dog that was eighteen and a half, but it wasn’t devastating. When I got divorced, that was devastating, and it is loss. But I can still call my ex-wife if I need something, and I actually spoke to her this weekend about pet medicine. To lose a best friend, though, that’s coming my way eventually. Whether it will be my future wife or my buddies from gradeschool or my dad. It’s all in the plan.

I was reminded that intimacy is the only thing that matters when we’re alive. Or, at least that the best “meaning of life” I’ve deduced. Or induced. Whatever the right one is. I think it’s deduced.

Oh, and Jimmy John’s needs to have a wheat sub bread. This white bread crap is over. It’s almost 2013 for chrissakes. I got a near-hallucinogenic  sugar high from three half-subs. And I eat candy all the time. I need to show them my lunch sandwich. They’d be so impressed.

photo credit: cobalt123 via photopin cc

It started at work. I have an office with a little garbage can. Since I’m the only one that is ever in my office I have full control of what goes in the trash. I only toss paper in there. Even though I eat in my office my two turkey sandwiches for lunch are packaged in  tupperware  containers. I have a napkin that gets tossed each meal but most of the time it goes unused. I don’t even put any condiments on the sandwich. Just spinach, turkey, cheese and tomato. So, none of my foodstuffs end up on the napkin or in the garbage.

I only drink water at work. In the morning I make a protein shake but that gets washed out in the bathroom sink when finished. The rest of the day it’s water from a cooler. My dog comes with me to work and site under a chair in my office. Each morning I swap out the water in her dish. This is where I first dump water into my garbage. Old dog water.

Now, the dog is only six pounds and doesn’t drink her water all sloppy like some inconsiderate Saint Bernard. She’s a lady and doesn’t make a mess. But still, it’s old dog water. In the trash it goes. All three ounces.

At the end of the day I probably have half a glass of water which also is chucked into the garbage. I estimate each day about ten ounces of water is dumped in my office garbage can. Which sounds like a lot, right?

Nah, son! (such an urban phrase, D.J.!)

When I was in high school I developed a philosophy which was simply titled “Something Will Eat It.” I would chuck mostly anything out of car windows that I believed bore no danger of polluting the earth. This idea came to me one day as I was eating fried chicken in my car, while driving. At the time I had a stickshift and I was getting annoyed at all the gear changing and red lights. Halfway through a thigh I became so frustrated I threw the piece of chicken out my driver’s side window without thinking about it.

I was shocked at what I had done. The more I thought about it, though, I realized all was well. Half eaten chicken won’t sit on asphalt for long. Something will come along and eat it. But, D.J., what about the b0nes? First, I would tell you that something will come along and eat the bones, like a raccoon or worm or something. And even if it didn’t the bones would eventually roll off to the grass where the earth would reabsorb their nutrients.

See? This is clearly not littering.

I have a similar philosophy for water in my office garbage. First, since nothing else is in there except paper, I see no crime. So a few pieces of paper get wet. They’ll dry soon enough, and all the moisture will turn back to gas and reenter the atmosphere. I’m not entirely sure how water turns back into gas when it’s not boiling but it must happen. That glass of water I haven’t touched for a week on my bedside table is losing a half-inch a day.

I’ve found myself dumping water in garbages outside, too. The insanity is that water can basically be dumped on any outside surface without ever causing any issue environmentally. But I have found myself pouring out a water bottle out into our condo’s trash bin or public garbage can. I realize this is poor form. I’m just so used to it.

I’m going to ask the guy that cleans the office once a week and replaces the trash liner if my garbage is heavy with liquid. In my fantasy he will say, “What? How could a garbage can full of nothing but paper have liquid?” If this plays out in reality, I’m going to fist pump the air and declare victory on the elements.

However, if he mentions that some dick keeps pouring water into my garbage can making the liner all heavy, I’m going to have to blame it on someone. Someone will need to take the hit. I’ll choose whoever’s not in the office that day.

photo credit: Sebastiano Pitruzzello (aka gorillaradio) via photopin cc

Thirty-four of the city’s top chefs along and twelve mixologists were on hand. Each dish and drink was constructed with, you guessed it, tomatoes. This is Atlanta’s top foodie festival and thankfully next door to her condo building.

As we approached the event, which had 1400 tickets sold at $70 a piece, I crafted a game plan.

Okay, what we’re going to do is take photos of the dishes and then maybe make a note if there was anything unusual about it – this will make great blog fodder. Also, we’ll take photos of us with tomatoes because that will be funny.

None of this happened.

First it was ninety degrees and humid. Being an outdoor festival the difference between direct sunlight and shade was remarkable. You’d stand in line (in the sun) for about a minute, waiting for the chef to put the final touches on whatever dish you were about to sample. I won’t go through the whole list, but everything between breakfast and dessert were represented. Since I don’t drink I skipped the alcohol tomato concoctions. Once you got your dish, you were back in the sunlight.

And then, two steps away was a new chef and a new dish. For the first twenty dishes I was in heaven. We’d try the food, remark how amazing it was, and then off to the next sample, seconds later. It’s was basically an assembly line of food.

After we were halfway done we started slowing down. The problem was that there weren’t a lot of places to just sit and relax. Plus I felt like if we didn’t hustle to the next chef, we’d be missing out on an even better dish. There was only a four hour window to hit it all, and last year people who came even an hour into the event missed about half of the dishes as the restaurants ran out of food.

We ended up hitting 32 out of the 34 stops. In about 75 minutes. I’m guessing it was over 2000 calories, maybe more. The last 15 or so I started to feel sick. Too many tomatoes, too much bread, too much olive oil. I ate seven different meats and at least eleven unique cheeses. I knew I was in trouble when a chef was explaining to me how he developed a special tomato foam and I started mildly hallucinating. I got halfway through the foam and had to throw it out. Normally I would have shit my pants with excitement eating foamy food.

At the 80 minute mark I looked at Jessica and she at me. I could hardly speak. I just mumbled, “Home?” and she nodded. Like two barflies we stumbled out of the event holding on to each other for support. Even the walk to the condo was tortuous.

I realized I hadn’t taken any photos. I then thought I would have Jessica take a photo of me frowning, ill with too many calories and tomatoes in my system. We made it up to her condo, and then we both collapsed on the bed. Asleep within seconds. This was 2:30pm.

We had managed to pass ourselves out with 32 dishes of food in just over an hour. Seven hours later, the thought of an heirloom tomato gives me a tinge of discomfort. I’ll be okay by tomorrow.

Thanks again for voting – since I don’t have a photo, here’s one from the weekend.

You have to really hunt to find either.

There are a billion crappy Mexican restaurants, a McDonald’s down the street, and 37 Subways within city proper.  Yet, to find a shop that will make you a deli sandwich with pretzel bread is impossible.  Here’s how difficult it is to get pretzel bread.  Even Auntie Anne’s doesn’t sell them and they’re the only pretzel game in down.

Go around the office (or, for those of you who just stay at home, talk to the pets) and ask if others like pretzel bread.  You won’t hear a “no”.  If you do that person is clearly a zero and probably thinks those shortbread Girl Scouts cookies are the best of the bunch.  (Samoas are the right answer, by the way).

How is chicken shawarma not in every Denny’s and TGIF restaurant?  They both serve crappy steak and tons of fried food that all tastes the same.  Why not just add a new menu item and call it…

The Most Delicious Chicken You’ll Ever Have – Trust Us, It’s So Good This Long Name Should Be Even Longer To Discuss How It’s Perfectly Seasoned, Served on a Bed of  Delicious  Yellow Rice That Nobody Quite Knows The Name of and Also Some Hummus With Red Dusty Shit On Top and a Cucumber Salad of Sorts.  This Is The Official Name Until Our Marketing Team Comes Up With Something Better.  Don’t Worry – They Coined The Awesome Blossom.

By the way, you know how you’ve been eating the same crap at Subway for 15 years?  On the taste scale is a 5.5.  But it’s reliable.  Except those rare times where they accidentally get a sliver of red onion that hijacks its way in with a tomato.  You can throw that onion into a coworkers hair and still taste it on 60% of  the sub.  If they really want to re-energize the brand, come out with a pretzel role.  It won’t be in the “6 Grams of Fat or Less” club, but those subs suck anyway.

You would buy a pretzel sub from Subway.  You would order chicken shawarma at The Olive Garden.  Write to the Pretzel Growers Association and tell them to bump up the marketing budget.  We have all those terrible pistachio ads – which is stupid because everyone already knows pistachios are the best nut in town.  It’s shawarma and pretzel bread’s year.

Shame your deli counter manager when he says he doesn’t have pretzel bread as an option.  At Chipotle, laugh loudly at the guy working the pinto beans and say, “What do you mean that you don’t have a pretzel tortilla?  Lame!”

You now know what must be done.  Accept the mission.

photo credit: yummyporky via photo pin cc  |  photo credit: migrashgrutot via photo pincc