Archive | March, 2015

I Need a New Father

25 Mar

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I’m 26 and so I’m pretty sure I’m too old to be adopted, but I don’t care. I need a new father. Even if it’s just a nominal title that someone assumes.

The reason is simple: I don’t think my father is a sane man. Sorry, Abba, but someone has to say it.

This epiphany came to me earlier this week. It was Sunday night and I had just gotten home from a wedding. I left early, meaning I got no dessert. I love dessert. Missing it is not something I enjoy, or do very often. Making this even more painful was the site of a table full of those clear plastic wraps that go around warm cookies right outside the wedding hall’s ballroom that you take on your way home. My problem, though, was that I left before the cookies were put into the bags, which is pretty much the equivalent of seeing a turkey in the oven on Thanksgiving day but then leaving before it’s brought out.

This, as you can imagine, led to a crazy craving. I told this to my dad when I got home that night.

“I don’t really like warm chocolate chip cookies,” he said.

After that he informed me that he also hated puppies, America, Rock and Roll, football, cold beer on a warm summer night, sunshine, Batman, the Fast and the Furious movies, Pat Sajak, ice cream, comfortable beds and Disney World.

OK, none of that really happened. But the part about warm chocolate chip cookies did. I had to know more. How could someone not love something so savory and delicious?

“They’re too rich for me,” he said. ” They make me nauseous sometimes.”

Upon realizing that additional questioning would only further shatter the positive image that I had of my father, I decided to cease with the follow-ups. Enough damage had been done. The man who taught me how to throw a baseball, and how to drive, and how to complain about New York sports team, was no longer a man I could look up to or respect, which is why I need a new father. Anyone up for the gig?

Seriously, though: what kind of man doesn’t like warm chocolate chip cookies?! How is that even possible?

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Wraps are a Scam

4 Mar

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Was getting a sandwich the other day and couldn’t decide what kind of bread to get it on. If I was purely going by taste, I’d go club or hero every time. To me, the more bread in a sandwich, the more sandwichy the sandwich, the better the sandwich. But, alas, I no longer posses the metabolism of a 17-year-old. Also, if I make it to the gym more than once in a week I consider that a success.

All this is a roundabout way of saying that taste is no longer all I care about when selecting what to eat.

I approached the counter and told them I wanted tuna on a whole wheat wrap. Lots of veggies. Lettuce, cucumbers, onions, pickles and sweet peppers (try adding them next time. They’re fantastic and bring a different flavor to the whole thing). I then patted myself on the back — metaphorically, of course — for going with the healthy, lighter option and resisting the urge to get hero bread. For sandwich lovers like me, that’s a tough feat to pull off, and one that deserves praise.

And then I glanced up at the board that listed how many calories each type of bread had. A whole wheat hero, it said, had 310 calories. Damn, I thought, that’s a lot of calories. Aren’t I glad that I showed some self control and went with the healthier option.

Curious as to how many calories I had saved by being awesome and healthy and going with a wrap, I continued to look at the board.

A whole wheat wrap, it said, was…

280 calories.

30 calories less than a hero. I had sacrificed the taste of my sandwich for an amount of calories that I could burn in one trip to the bathroom.

How is this even possible? How can a something as thin and flimsy as a wrap be similar from a calorie perspective to something as big and fluffy as a hero? Science is not exactly my thing, but I don’t really get how that happens. What am I missing? And why have I been told that wraps are healthy? What a load of crap. I don’t know who’s at fault here — the Whole Foods Crowd? Hipsters? Dr. Oz? Big Wrap? All of the above? But someone is peddling some B.S.

Oh, and next time I’m getting the biggest sandwich I possibly can.