Tuesday, October 7, 2003

What in the name of all that is unhealthy and tasty is “condensed” milk? I’ve a can of the stuff in my pantry as I write to you, gentle reader, and goodness knows there’s an unwholesomely tempting vibe emanating from it. Had it not been for some rave reviews, I would’ve never even heard of the concoction. Now that I look at it, though, there’s just something inviting about the innocuous little can: Jewel brand, white and blue label, guaranteed quality from Albertson’s. Hell, the label assures me that the stuff is REAL, and I’m happy for that.

This 14 oz wonder, however, contains 1300 Calories, 100% of your daily saturated fat, 50% of your total fat, 80% of your total carbs, and 30% of your total cholesterol. In short, a veritable workout in a can. I was given a few choice recipes–namely spreading the stuff on toast and, perhaps you’re too young for this, spooning it straight from the source–and the can does nothing to dissuade me from either of these options.

This leads me to a grand metaphor about inner worth and appearances and shit. Oh, wait, no it doesn’t.

Monday, October 6, 2003

I’ve recently been struck by a feeling of restlessness, a desire to leave quiet Evanston for rockier, albeit greener pastures. In response to this wanderlust, gentle reader, I think I will sit myself down and make some pop-ups appear. A lot of them. Like right now.

Sunday, October 5, 2003

Who knew that monkeys could play tennis so well, gentle reader? I’d like to think I had a hand in all this, by which I mean Secondhand Rants R&D did a fine job of injecting the perfect dosage of Vitamin Tennis into Test Monkey No. 6’s breakfast, by which I mean his monkey ass.