Subway Sandwiches

That was a puzzling thing last night…

Not long before it was time for me to stick another Swanson TV dinner into the oven, Father calls me away from my book to ask if I would be interested in trying with him Subway’s meatball sandwiches, brandishing a glossy page of coupons. Subway has never been one of my go-to places, but Father was obviously anxious to try the sandwich, and I did not mind trying something different, any excuse to give Swanson a night off. The picture on the coupon looked good.

The strange part came when Father returned. He literally pushes the sandwiches into my hands and practically pleads with me to take both of them, “You go ahead and have them!” I squint at him, entirely befuddled, as he said that he suddenly developed a taste for something else, although he had been so exuberant about these meatball sandwiches just a little while ago. As if he is self-conscious about how incoherent he sounds, he adds that he thought the meatballs would be bigger, and he says he doesn’t like small ones - who knew!

I should have known something was wrong. It’s not like my Spidey sense wasn’t going off like crazy. However, the option of throwing the sandwiches away and to start pre-heating the oven for a TV dinner never seriously occurred to me. I would at least have to taste the thing, and the truth is that it did not taste bad at all, though a couple of the meatballs, naked of marinara sauce, did look suspiciously raw.

The first sign that something was wrong came a little before midnight, as I was getting ready for bed. A nasty little bout of diarrhea. At least it was not accompanied by that sickening urge to vomit, though I was feeling mildly queasy. However, I was then able to fall asleep without any real problem. Until around three. Another bad bout of diarrhea, worse than the previous one, but I was still spared any urge to vomit. However, I was feeling appreciably more queasy, and was thinking that life really isn’t worth living. Falling back asleep was harder this time, but then I enjoyed one of those too-rare four-hour straight sleeps.

When I woke up and went about my morning routine, a little bit of the poison was still working through my body, but life was looking more precious again, if only to dream. In the end, I am left with the nagging question: what did Father know about those sandwiches? Did he knowingly and willfully give me sandwiches that he knew were bad and should not have been eaten, as he avoided eating them himself? The sad thing is such a thing is not out of the question.

Subway Sandwiches

That was a puzzling thing last night…

Not long before it was time for me to stick another Swanson TV dinner into the oven, Father calls me away from my book to ask if I would be interested in trying with him Subway’s meatball sandwiches, brandishing a glossy page of coupons. Subway has never been one of my go-to places, but Father was obviously anxious to try the sandwich, and I did not mind trying something different, any excuse to give Swanson a night off. The picture on the coupon looked good.

The strange part came when Father returned. He literally pushes the sandwiches into my hands and practically pleads with me to take both of them, “You go ahead and have them!” I squint at him, entirely befuddled, as he said that he suddenly developed a taste for something else, although he had been so exuberant about these meatball sandwiches just a little while ago. As if he is self-conscious about how incoherent he sounds, he adds that he thought the meatballs would be bigger, and he says he doesn’t like small ones - who knew!

I should have known something was wrong. It’s not like my Spidey sense wasn’t going off like crazy. However, the option of throwing the sandwiches away and to start pre-heating the oven for a TV dinner never seriously occurred to me. I would at least have to taste the thing, and the truth is that it did not taste bad at all, though a couple of the meatballs, naked of marinara sauce, did look suspiciously raw.

The first sign that something was wrong came a little before midnight, as I was getting ready for bed. A nasty little bout of diarrhea. At least it was not accompanied by that sickening urge to vomit, though I was feeling mildly queasy. However, I was then able to fall asleep without any real problem. Until around three. Another bad bout of diarrhea, worse than the previous one, but I was still spared any urge to vomit. However, I was feeling appreciably more queasy, and was thinking that life really isn’t worth living. Falling back asleep was harder this time, but then I enjoyed one of those too-rare four-hour straight sleeps.

When I woke up and went about my morning routine, a little bit of the poison was still working through my body, but life was looking more precious again, if only to dream. In the end, I am left with the nagging question: what did Father know about those sandwiches? Did he knowingly and willfully give me sandwiches that he knew were bad and should not have been eaten, as he avoided eating them himself? The sad thing is such a thing is not out of the question.

The Palinapocalypse

Robert Reich has drawn up the fullest Palinapocalypse story that I've come across. It can seem silly being worked up already for the 2012 presidential election, and about an outside chance like Palin, who even if she runs may actually prove a spoiler for the Republicans and give Obama something he probably doesn't deserve, a second term. But who doesn't like a good scary movie, something that gives you chills and nightmares. In my own case, I also feel a sick thrill at the prospect of a Palin presidency. Why read about dystopias when you can live in one?

( The Palinapocalypse )

The Palinapocalypse

Robert Reich has drawn up the fullest Palinapocalypse story that I've come across. It can seem silly being worked up already for the 2012 presidential election, and about an outside chance like Palin, who even if she runs may actually prove a spoiler for the Republicans and give Obama something he probably doesn't deserve, a second term. But who doesn't like a good scary movie, something that gives you chills and nightmares. In my own case, I also feel a sick thrill at the prospect of a Palin presidency. Why read about dystopias when you can live in one?

( The Palinapocalypse )

Save the Bunnies?

“The first step in women breaking the glass ceiling is pressing our boobs against it.”

-- Kristen Schaal for "The Daily Show"

The link leads to the "Daily Show" bit, which promises to be one of the classics. But is this based on something real? Is Playboy really in financial trouble? I don't feeling like doing some google-fu to learn on my own.

I would think Playboy to be one of those recession-proof, even depression-proof insitutions. Or is it possible that, in this Internet age of unlimited harder-than-hardcore pornography, Playboy is too tame and soft to draw your reliable raincoat crowds? I know I wouldn't care to waste a few bucks on Playboy these days, not when I'm just a few clicks away from the real thing. Playboy now seems like starter-porn for preteen boys.

Save the Bunnies?

“The first step in women breaking the glass ceiling is pressing our boobs against it.”

-- Kristen Schaal for "The Daily Show"

The link leads to the "Daily Show" bit, which promises to be one of the classics. But is this based on something real? Is Playboy really in financial trouble? I don't feeling like doing some google-fu to learn on my own.

I would think Playboy to be one of those recession-proof, even depression-proof insitutions. Or is it possible that, in this Internet age of unlimited harder-than-hardcore pornography, Playboy is too tame and soft to draw your reliable raincoat crowds? I know I wouldn't care to waste a few bucks on Playboy these days, not when I'm just a few clicks away from the real thing. Playboy now seems like starter-porn for preteen boys.