Friday, October 26, 2012

Two Pieces of Freedom Toast Please: My Struggle to Overhaul the “Food” Industry


Every once in a while, a cause comes a long that piques my interest.  I don’t actually act on any of these causes, but I find them fascinating.  Take the Occupy movement.  I thought it was great that these people were out there fighting the good fight, sticking it to the man, being dirty hippies, but I’m not going to lie, unless the Orccupy movement evolves and becomes based out of some swankier venues, I’m not going to get involved.  I spent 8 summers of my life fighting fires, sleeping in the dirt, and I can’t justify doing it anymore unless it’s absolutely necessary, ie, I’m homeless. . . . . or. . . . . i'm really tired.

What I’m trying to get across to my readers (aka my mom) is that i’m willing to justify a little to get out of a lot.  (aka I’m selfish).  I’ll admit it.  I’m a single white male, looking out for nobody but myself.  Sue me. Please don’t

. . . . . . Anyway, after that bizarre introduction that just happened, you must be wondering what incident could have sparked my newfound desire to make a change in the world?  Well let me regale you with a story that happened to me the other day.

My friends and I were at Village Inn, yes Village Inn, attending our sometimes-weekly ritual of Free Pie Night (FPN), which is exactly what you’re thinking. It’s free pie.  You can buy anything you want and you get a free piece of pie.  You can  buy a milk steak and get a free piece of pie.  You can buy an omelet and get a free piece of pie.  You can even buy a scoop of ice cream and get a free piece of pie.  Who could pass up that deal?  Nobody.  Anyway, we sat ourselves down because no one was paying attention and we started perusing the menus.  Blake joked about eating his arm, while Marcus genuinely contemplated it.  Land (yes, that’s a real name) was staring off in to space, thinking about rocks probably, because he’s a geologist, and I’m pretty sure that’s what they do in their free time.

When the server arrived, I had already decided what I wanted.  Since I’m trying not to get fat, and I was already having pie, I decided that I wanted two pieces of French toast, instead of the four that comes in the French toast combo meal.  That’s all I wanted.  Two pieces of French toast.  It’s pretty much the simplest request on the planet.  The only thing easier would have been bread, but I would have been an idiot if I just ordered bread.  Seriously, who would do that? Nobody.

Anyway, I look at the waitress and in my kindest voice I ask if I can just have two pieces of French toast.  “I’m sorry sir, I can’t do that, I can do the French toast combo meal with only French toast, but I can’t do just two, it’s four”. . . . Silence. . . . .“What?”. . . . At this point, the switch in my brain that usually keeps me from acting irrationally was teetering.  “I could give you the two sides of French toast, but that would cost more than the combo meal. . . . . more silence.  . . . “ok, how about we do this.  Could I get the combo meal with just the French toast, and instead of getting four pieces, could I just get two?” . . . . . .  “I’m sorry sir, we can’t do that”, she said.  “ok, I’ll just get the four”.

As she walked away, my mind drifted off.  I was laying on two giant pieces of French toast. Floating through the sky. In my wake was a trail of fire and brimstone that engulfed all of humanity.  I was brought back to reality by the feeling of Marcus nibbling on my arm.

Why?  Why?!?!?!!  Why can’t I have just two pieces of French toast.  Look, I don’t want four pieces of French toast.  I’m not going to eat four pieces of French toast (I did, but I didn’t like it).  Why can’t you just charge me for two pieces of French toast?  Take the cost of the combo meal, that’s four pieces of French toast, and divide by two, which will give you the price for two pieces of French toast, write it on a paper, and I will give you money for the amount that Is written on that paper.  It seems so simple, like something an octopus could do, but for some reason, Village Inn, a restaurant run by adults, not octopi, cannot do this.

Can’t or Won’t?

I’m convinced that Village Inn knowingly, willingly, and stringently overcharges for French toast because a) they’re Republicans, b) they like money, and c) they hate French people.  Therefore, as of today, I am protesting Village Inn until next Wednesday.  I will not eat at Village Inn, nor will I even look at Village Inn until I can go back and order something different in order to get a free piece of pie.  I would urge all of you to write a letter to our future President, Mitt Romney, pleading with him to make this a priority when he claims his Presidency, because at the end of the day, we all know that four pieces is too much, and once we finish the third piece, we’re going to eat that fourth piece only because it’s there, and not because we want it.

-Matthew Irving, author of the previous 500 blog posts, is currently residing in Salt Lake City, Utah, where he is anxiously awaiting next Wednesday when he can purchase a scoop of ice cream and get a free piece of pie, like a normal person- 

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Scones: A Coagulation of Crumbs





We’ve landed on the moon
We’ve sent robots to mars
A man jumped out of a balloon 24 miles above the earth, broke the speed of sound with his body, and survived.
But for some reason, people haven’t figured out how to make a scone that doesn’t fall apart in your hand, turning your shirt into a scone version of “Sunday on La Grande Jatte”.
I think we need to rethink our priorities.

Thanks Brian.

Fact Checking the Presidential Debates: Seems Like Something That Should Be Done Before The Event


I woke up this morning on my California king bed filled with money and I immediately grabbed my iphone 5.  I went straight to the AP ap (kind of a weird little thing that happened there), searching for the headline of “FACT CHECK” because the Presidential  Argument was last night and I wanted to see who telling more truths than the other.

As I sat there, reading how both Romney and Obama had lied, a thought occurred to me.  Couldn’t have all the fact checking been done BEFORE the debates? Am I the only person that thinks this?  Am I taking crazy pills? If they fact checked their brains before the event, then they would just be telling us full truths about themselves, instead of these weird truths cross-dressed in a shawl of lies.  It seems to me that having an accurate view of our Presidential candidates would be pretty high on America’s agenda, but instead, we just like to see two people argue.  It’s like a slightly more intellectual version of the WWF.

As I got bored with “Fact Checking”, I started looking at what the celebrities were doing, because that stuff is the bread and butter; the driving force behind curing this economic shit show we’ve been rocketing towards since the mid 1970’s.  And then I got bored with that because why would I want to care about something so trivial.  Instead I started looking at pictures of Paul Ryan washing dishes at a soup kitchen in Ohio, because it makes sense that the candidates focus all their effort on one state instead of addressing issues in the rest of the country.  Anyway, my first thought was never trust a man with a neck tattoo, but also never trust a man with two first names.  Paul Ryan. . . Barack Obama. . . .

Wait, what?

Paul Ryan is washing dishes in a soup kitchen?  Why would Paul Ryan be posing in a soup kitchen pretending to wash dishes? How the eff does that have anything to do with being Vice-President? I feel like my oxygen supply is slowly getting cut off.  This is what politics does to me.  It makes me feel like I’m helpless because this whole system is shit and it needs to change, but it won’t.  I mean, I would like to have more choices.  I’m sick of being forced to choose between a tasty turd sandwich and some delicious turd stew. . . . . .

Wow. . . That kind of got out of hand.  Sorry about that.

Um. . . . Fact checking: Best done before you open your mouth.
Also. . . . Political blog posts: Best not done in the morning before breakfast.  Or ever.