They should have written a song about me.
You know, like me being like Cleopatra, Joan of Arc or Aphrodite. And then kinda like Roseanne Barr, Sarah Palin and Kate Gosselin. (They never seem to write songs about dudes in history, do they?)
Dads are always saying “do as I say, not as I do,” but I won’t whitewash my innate contradictions that way.
I am complex. Whether it’s onion preferences or talk radio habits or sports experience, I am the exception to my own rules. There’s nothing wrong with that. Even Kate Gosselin has a little Aphrodite in her.
1. I order my burger without onions, then get onion rings as a side, and put them in the burger.
First, you should know that I put my own onion rings on the burger. None of this “no onion, but can you add mayo, but only to the underside of the patty, and can I have a kaiser roll instead of the regular roll, and do you have anything other than American? Gouda, perhaps?” No, I’m a “dream it and build it” kind of burger eater.
So, I do ask for no onions, then order the side of onion rings, and only about 13 percent of those I order from recognize the irony.
Way before restaurants billed this as the Western Burger (hold the barbecue sauce on mine, please – some things just should never go on a burger, but that’s a blog for another day), yours truly was stuffing his burgers with onion rings and keeping the secret all to himself.
This one isn’t so strange.
It did make me hungry to write about it, though.
2. I detest the prevalence of a lot of talk on music stations, but left to my own devices, I’ll listen to NPR.
There’s a big difference between Matt & Ramona on your drive time, and listening to Robin Young’s interviews on Here And Now midday (radio crushes aside). John Boy and Billy and Science Friday. Bob and Sheri and Morning Edition. I do love to tune in to 95.1 to see if anyone can beat Cassiday in pop culture trivia while I drive Elise to school, but after kidlet drop-off, it’s bye-bye Neon Trees, hello button No. 7 – my local NPR station, WFAE.
(If blog shout-outs could translate to fund-drive contributions, I wonder if this could score me a CD of Beethoven’s ninth symphony or tickets to the Museum of the New South. Or at least an NPR tote for the grocery store).
(Wait, do NPR types know what a shout-out is?)
Anyway, when the other stations stop spinning the tunes and start flapping their gums, it irks me, nearly to the extent of CiCi’s Pizza not having an adequate selection of pies on the rack at any point of my buffet visit.
Hey, weren’t we just talking about radio? How does this always get back to food?
3. I coach soccer, but I’ve never played soccer.
But I don’t consider myself a fraud of any degree. One kid in practice asked a few weeks ago, “Coach, what position did you play in high school?” I could have said, “third-string backup” or “left bench” or something equally pithy, and either one would have been truthful, but neither one had to do with soccer.
So I told him, “I didn’t play soccer in high school. In fact, I’ve never played soccer before in my life.”
Luckily, the kids’ gasps drowned out Marie’s contribution, which was “he’s never even worn shin guards!”
Sometimes, this is an issue. I’ve had one kid challenge me when she found out I’d never played. “Why don’t you do it, coach?” she answered when I told her to execute a soccer move. I did. Not prettily, but I did. NFL great Joe DeLamielleure once told me he didn’t much care for a certain coach he had who had never played the game.
“How’s he supposed to demonstrate anything? The guy was old, and so short, he probably got sand in his shoes when he farted.”
Images aside, he has a point. But being a great player makes no guarantee you’ll be a great teacher. Being the last kid to make a team – any team – gives a guy a nice perspective on what it means to BE on a team. More likely, your kid is closer to that than being the next incarnation of Alex Morgan or Landon Donovan, right?
And wouldn’t you want her coach to come from that background, too?
4. I can’t stand Ashley Tisdale as Maddie in “Suite Life of Zach and Cody”; however, I love her as Candace in “Phineas and Ferb.”
Sometimes, from another room, I’ll hear Candace’s voice, and come running to the TV room, only to find Maddie on the screen with Zach and Cody, not my favorite lovable loser redhead cartoon girl. In fact, if Maddie on “Suite Life” rants and yells, it makes my skin crawl; if Candace on “Phineas and Ferb” laments out loud her latest failure to bust her little brothers doing mischief, I find it entirely endearing.
Before you pass judgement on me giving so much thought to a Disney Channel character and animated big sister, please consider this is the second consecutive item listed here that I’ve not even mentioned food.
5. I sometimes run, and play disc golf every day on my lunch break. On any given day, I’m likely to indulge in a meal that doesn’t include sprouts, tofu or anything organic.
So, back to food. It’s untrue that I’ve imagined a slice of New York pizza and a tall Coke Zero at the imaginary finish line of my morning run, but I have thought about pie and soda during my cool-down lap.
It’s untrue that I have told myself, “bag this putt, and you can treat yourself to a bacon quesadilla” while on the disc golf course, but I have Googled disc golf courses in the area while allrecipes.com was up on another tab.
It’s untrue that I’ve mentally told myself “one for me, one for society” when scooping fresh cookies off the baking sheet, but I have consistently “tested” every first cookie of the first batch for quality assurance.
And while super-healthy folks go to the health-food stores right after their 342.3-mile run, during which they probably drank specially filtered water while cutting an incredible profile in lime green Lycra running gear, I’ve noticed they often come out of those stores looking … kinda grumpy.
Next door, the people walking out of Bojangles look … kinda happy.
So I’m sort of in the middle. Conveniently healthy-thinking at the right time, and able to appreciate what grilled meat, copious melted cheese or an extra tablespoon of brown sugar can do for a body.
An enigma, wrapped in a contradiction.