Here’s a hypothetical for you. You’re stuck on a deserted island with only a gun, a cow, lots of enriched flour, a downed rescue copter inexplicably filled with condiments, and the Culligan Man (complete with Culligan Truck) gone off his rocker. What would you do? You could either be very innovative, gentle reader, or you could be a very, very bad person.
Ah, so you want to know what know what the correct answer is. Well, even if you don’t, I’ll tell you anyway. Here we go, the correct order of operations: shoot psychotic Culligan Man, get spring water, make bread, milk cow, make cheese, shoot cow, make burgers complete with fixings, shoot down another rescue copter filled inexplicably with lettuce and tomatoes. The only problem with this scenario is that you’ll only have cheeseburgers once, but hey! Condiment sandwiches will do in a pinch, or so I’ve heard. Actually, I’ve heard nothing of the sort.
My worldview has indeed grown exponentially in the past week, what with my newfound enjoyment of falafel and its complementary sauces. I’d previously written off the stuff as Middle Eastern hushpuppies, but then it dawned on me: I love hushpuppies, whether they hail from Long John Silver’s locker or the Olive Mountain itself.
Besides, do you remember Jim and his hairball oracle in Huckleberry Finn? Yeah, neither do I, but these damn tasty chickpeapuppies transport me to a Twain shrouded by compulsory grade-school reading.
From whence does falafel come? I haven’t the foggiest idea, so I will let my current contention stand. They must grow on trees. You may think it absurd of me to say so, but let me ask you a question. Where does granola come from? No one really knows, I believe, though co-worker Eric Flippo suggests they come from mines in Africa. Mines it is, then. There! Now you have something to chew on as well, gentle reader.
In an attempt at self betterment that will probably abort itself in mere days, gentle reader, I inducted myself into a book club recently. How do I set up a discussion board? What’s good to read? What books have won Pulitzers and Nobels? I’m supposed to figure these things out, bless my soul, and all I’ve done is blow my paycheck on a bunch of books. Fortunately, they promise to be good reads: Jhumpa Lahiri’s Interpreter of Maladies, Yann Martel’s Life of Pi, Sue Monk Kidd’s The Secret Life of Bees, and Richard Russo’s Empire Falls will probably remain shut for a good few years.
Unfortunately, I didn’t buy the very first club book, Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses, because the two available copies were covered in a devilish coating of snot and glue. Not guilty.
Any and all gentle readers are welcome to join, as the discussion board will be Net-based. I’m doing this to protect myself from all the pathological sneezers and glue mongers out there.