I once worked with a bellman who was an incredible eater.
By incredible, I mean “someone get this with your phone, because it should go on YouTube.”
My boy – we’ll call him Nico – ate 10 Wendy’s burgers in a single sitting. With minimal bites. (I wonder what the new Wendy’s girl on the commercials would say.)
A guest bought a Papa John’s pizza for me, my supervisor and Nico, the good bellman. Jong, I’ll call the supervisor, ate a slice. I ate another. Nico ate the rest. In an estimated six bites.
If there was a (pizza) pie chart to represent which of my girls asks the most questions, Grace would claim a share equivalent to Nico’s. When you’re 8 and spend lots of time at daddy’s elbow, you ask many questions.
When you’re 28 and spend time eating daddy’s pizza, you get called out in his blog.
1. How many feet tall is our house?
I have no idea.
I think the people who built it packed up and left the community in the middle of the night, and they left no blueprints.
Let’s see … two stories, 10-foot ceilings, what, a foot of floor/ceiling between them, an attic I probably couldn’t stand up in … yeah, about 100 feet tall.
No, not that tall. I’d estimate it pokes a good 32 feet up in the air.
I wonder if I could bounce a super ball over it.
2. What is brunch?
It’s nothing more than a cruel hoax perpetuated by contrived, parent-honoring holidays and overpriced buffets.
Brunch, a meal that takes place between breakfast time and lunchtime, in place of those meals, is fine for those who sleep in and wake up hungry. But what about those of us who wake up early and hungry?
I’d rather watch The View without Elizabeth Hasselbeck than wait until 10:30 to eat.
I propose a better plan:
Breakfast: Two eggs, over easy, two warm tortillas, tall glass of milk, short glass of OJ
Brunch: All your carbs – waffles, waffle sticks, pancakes, French toast, crepes, omelets. Or, three strips of bacon and a poptart.
Lunch: A grilled cheese, potato salad, a couple of carrots, a bottomless Coke Zero.
Don’t be fooled by Mother’s Day and Father’s Day specials and Easter brunches made to feel like special occasions with $20 entry fees. It’s still a meal for those who sleep in.
It shouldn’t cost as much as a half tank of gas – that’s what I call being tricked by a business. It’s NOT hella tight, as the kids say.
3. How do mood rings work?
Every human should have mood-ring technology strapped across their forehead.
Imagine the utility. If your cashier’s in a romantic mood, proceed with caution. If the traffic cop is having a blue day, he won’t get mad if you lag behind a bit.
If your hairstylist shows yellow? Proceed with caution. She’s a bit tense and excitable, neither of which mixes well with scissors.
Here’s what about.com says the colors mean:
- violet blue – happy, romantic
- blue – calm, relaxed
- green – average, not much going on with you
- yellow/amber – tense, excited
- brown/gray – nervous, anxious
- black – cold temperature or broken ring
A mood ring is actually a hollow clear shell with thermotropic liquid crystals inside. These crystals twist in reaction to temperature changes on your skin.
The twist changes the molecular structure of the crystals, which changes the wavelengths, which changes the color the ring displays. It’s more tiny science experiment than soul-reading sorcery.
I lost a mood ring once, when I was a kid. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
4. Does Iona stand for something?
It stands for Independent Oaths of Narwhals of America. Or Immigrant Oatmeal Needs Association. Or perhaps Impact of Oedipus complex for Nootkas Abroad. (Well, those would make good band names, anyway.)
Iona doesn’t stand for anything. It’s a college in New Rochelle, N.Y., with a cool nickname (Gaels) and cool mascot (a burly, man-sized leprechaun-like figure in maroon, wielding a walking stick.)
The Christian Brothers who opened the school in 1940 named it after an island of the west coast of Scotland.
The mascot’s name is Killian. He smiles a lot, even though the Gaels blew the biggest halftime lead in NCAA men’s basketball tournament history this past season (25 points).
Also, there’s no word on his stance on oatmeal needs or the Oedipus complex. (He might think that’s where the volleyball team plays).
5. Do you have to put all the ingredients in order when you make a recipe?
I do, honey.
I’ll probably leave out something small yet significant, such as baking powder. Or baking soda. Or chicken.
I go in order because if I happen to be cooking vegetables or bread or listening to the radio, my man brain can’t handle the strain. You end up with flat pancakes, bitter-tasting tortillas, or accidental vegetarian quesadillas.
I wouldn’t even serve those for brunch.