old man candy

I've recently experienced a candy renaissance of sorts. Suddenly the long-neglected candy aisle holds more interest than some variation on peanut butter (Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Peanut Butter M & Ms, Peanut Butter Twix, etc.). I'm rediscovering old classics and developing new candy theories. To foster your own candy renaissance in your area of the country (these things are highly regional, after all) here is my recommendation: follow an old man down the candy aisle. Go straight for whatever that old man picks up, no matter how much it may ruin his dentures.

While Worthers and other such hard candies (I prefer butterscotch discs) are an excellent starting point, just jump right in. A personal favorite of my is the Chick-O-Stick. It's like the inside of a Butterfinger without the bad chocolate around it. Moreover, the Chick-O-Stick is lovingly rolled in toasted coconut. It creates a magical flavor combination that kicks a Butterfinger's ass any day of the week.

Next up, I'm eating crow. Not the literal kind, of course. But I've poo-pooed Big Hunks recently because all I remember is weird nougat and a candy which requires strategies for consumption. Not my idea of fun as a wee one. I disparaged the Big Hunk in front of a life-long Big Hunk lover. Last week a Big Hunk made it's way into my hands as a result. Tastes change, I know this. I'm opinionated, not obstinate. I tried the weird nougat that requires strategies for consumption. The result? Brilliant. Absolutely delightful. A salty sweet (with peanuts!) concoction of such dense proportions one must fully commit to the candy. There is certainly no ability to speak when indulging.

Next old man candy adventure: Abba-Zabba

In summation: old man candy is where it's at. Shadow an old man down the candy aisle. Do it.

my boy builds coffins, I make chili that will put you in one

I'm just gonna say it. The chili I make is awesome. It's thick, meaterific, perfectly seasoned deliciousness. I bring this up because it's super bowl weekend and the super bowl is nothing but an excuse to eat food that is not good for you while drinking beer. Chili will most definitely make an appearance at this year's festivities. I suppose people actually watch the game. I mostly watch in fits and starts, but if it's good I'm a bit more inclined to pay attention. One thing that I won't have, because I think it's in the back of Matt-O's old car, is my old Nerf Turbo. Now that, friends, is a good time. Playing catch in the street and moving aside for cars to go through, just like you did when you were 11 years old.

One other thing that's awesome: Florence + the Machine. The fabulous MQH passed along the recommendation and I'm eternally thankful. The song below is called "My Boy Builds Coffins".... listen. Do it.

Migraine Update

I recently read a personally affirming article on the NYTimes regarding migraines and my particular approach to living with them over the past 3 months or so. One thing, however, that gave me pause was this particular line: "Researchers are learning that pain and the medications used to treat pain can potentially change the biology of the brain." Brilliant! But things are going well at the moment, so I'm not going to dwell on the issue. Just keep on keepin' on. Don't rock the boat, so to speak. And this is why... ahem: "[Migraine] Sufferers inherit a hypersensitivity to physical and emotional events — like stress, noise, certain foods and even bad weather."

You can check at least 3 of those things for me. I'm not sure about the noise bit for me personally, but I probably just haven't put two and two together.

I'm doing well at the moment. HUZZAH!

huzzah! travel!

A couple of announcements.

First, a trip down to Cali is in the works for sometime in the last two weeks of February. Just need to confirm dates then we can plan a Hug Attack. This particular work trip promises to be full of productive crap as well. Which is always nice.


Second, I secured dates/tickets/places to stay for my Next Grand Adventure (NGA). NGA shall also feature my sister, which is a total bonus. Destinations include London, Munich/Salzburg, and Stuttgart for my friend's wedding. Hells to the Yes.

All in all, I'm feeling rather lordly at the moment. Don't worry, I'll try not to let it go to my head. But for now, I'm excited.

That is all.

toy: red shirt & skinny jeans

cheese & peanut butter

The last two weeks for me could be summed up rather easily: supermarket laziness. The store is not someplace I wish to be. Menus for the week are not something I want to spend my time on. Choosing between the tiny cart or the basket is not a decision I feel compelled to address at this particular point in time.

This, of course, has consequences. I ran out of bread 2 days ago. The main contents of my refrigerator are condiments and stray beer. Perhaps I could call those singles feral beer? People know not to approach them. They keep to themselves, hide in the corners, and tend to inexplicably multiply. There are exceptions to the no-shopping feeling. These exceptions are quite narrow in scope: coffee & half-n-half. That's the long and short of it.

All this open real estate in my fridge and pathetic scavenger hunt for something marginally nutritious for dinner last night (I wanted to read and watch movies and sit on my couch and not do anything) led me to a very important culinary question. How could I combine two things I love, two things that survive the feral beer colony, into one delicious food? How can cheese and peanut butter come together for the greater good? I didn't get very far with that question as I turned my attention to other "important" matters. But the thought I had when I woke up this morning was Apples. Apples are the answer. Apples bridge the gap. I'd go to the store to test out my theory today, but I think I'm busy.

Be a Caveman, Give Blood

I feel as if I'm letting an opportunity pass me by. I could be a caveman. Err, a cavewoman. Let me explain. There are a handful of enterprising young people in New York City who fancy themselves neo-cavemen. For health reasons. Because, you know, a life expectancy of 30 years is pretty good.

The rules: eat lots of meat; don't eat agriculture supported foods (such as bread); fruits and veggies are fine (though there is some debate as to the place of nightshades in the caveman diet). Oh, and fasting is always good. You never know where the next giant ground sloth will come from. The delightful article all this caveman knowledge comes from further explained, "These urban cavemen also choose exercise routines focused on sprinting and jumping, to replicate how a prehistoric person might have fled from a mastodon." Bonus! Exercise would be more fun as well. It could involve "scooting around the underbrush on all fours," rock jumping, and throwing rocks. I'm just going to throw sprinting and clambering up trees in there because that seems like a reasonable thing for cavemen to excel at. One final small detail to include (with the meat, running without shoes, and fasting) is to give blood early and often. Cavemen got hurt. They lost blood. Then they had to go wrastle a giant bear.

This is all to say that I could have been a caveman. If I'd only planned accordingly. I gave blood yesterday. If only I stocked my fridge with all variety of meat. I mean, I don't have woolly mammoths to contend with and it wouldn't be very nice to pick fights with bums in the park, either. And foolishly I went to see a movie rather than scooting around the underbrush. Perhaps next time.