*- You’ll have to forgive me for the title error, but I’m up to my ass in smokehouse almonds.
*- Okay, not literally. I can’t imagine there’s a smokehouse somewhere with almonds up to my standard ass level, and that I’m standing there, typing this on some sort of TV tray.
*- You see, as I mentioned in my previous post, I’m largely giving up carbs for 2015. This doesn’t mean I’m giving up carbs like “broccoli” or other vegetables, just good carbs like “bread,” “pie,” and “Pringles.”
*- So I went to the store tonight to buy almonds
*- It was a full moon outside.
*- This has nothing to do with the almonds, but it sets up something about the moon, so bear with me.
*- At a nudist resort, I wonder if they have signs that say “Bare With Me.”
*- Anyway, as I sat at a green light, enjoying the chirping crickets and angry horns, I looked at the moon, and decided it would be from New England. It just has that combination of rough Southie and super-rich Cape Cod, all rolled up into a sphere, like God let a very young Jesus mess around with a huge ball of white Play-Doh.
*- “Look, Dad! Look what I made!” “Well, Son, that’s awesome! Since we don’t have a refrigerator, let me hang it in the sky so everyone can see it.”
*- Okay, I doubt that’s what really happened, but it’s a hell…uh, a heck of an image.
*- So anyway, the moon comes from New England, so what about the sun? Definitely the entire Rust Belt put that big hot sonofabitch together. It was smelted and resmelted, and re-re-resmelted, so it was huge and very hot.
*- Then the Rust Belt observed that their Sun should be hung in the sky with the moon, just because of all the hard work, and the unions, and–
*- I apologize. I digressed even for me. The easiest way to be dis-created would be to come up with a new creation myth involving a toddler Jesus and the American steel industry.
*- So the moon was full and beautiful tonight when I had my New England epiphany.
*- Then I went to the store to buy new almonds, big American smokehouse almonds grown in???? New England!! Who knew?? What an unlikely coincidence!
*- Yeah. The almonds didn’t really come from New England. I’m sure they have smokehouses in New England, but not almonds.
*- The almonds came from California, which has a lot of sunlight, although I don’t think they smelt enough there to make the Sun.
*- As it turns out, though, the Blue Diamond Smokehouse Almonds “1 lb Value Pack” was right above the shelf containing Pringles. PRINGLES!! My carb-laden archnemesis.
*- Pringles, if you recall from either advertising or smoking lots of weed in college, are potato crisps that are preserved–neatly stacked–in a canister, not a bag. This ensures the Pringles’ structural integrity, meaning they don’t get all smooshed and crumbled in transit.
*- Pringles were designed by a stoner at MIT, which is in? Yes! New England!
*- Okay, I don’t really know this, but it would make sense.
*- So, having the willpower of an ice-cube on a desert highway, I reached for the first canister of Pringles I saw, and prepared to make my hasty escape, before my body realized my weak spirit was cheating (or potentiating cheating).
*- I’ll be damned if every single can of Pringles was crushed in on one side. Just what MIT and years of advertising promised wouldn’t happen had happened: the mighty Pringles were crumbs. I shook a can, and it sounded like maracas. Not good.
*- And it wasn’t just the original flavor Pringles–my favorite. Sour Cream & Onion, BBQ, Nacho Cheese, Cheddar Cheese, Pizza, Birthday Cake–all of the flavors were crushed in on one side.
*- nb: There is not, to my knowledge, a “Birthday Cake” flavor of Pringles. If they invent one, it would probably be gross, but they could send me a couple cases for the idea. When I was in my college daze, God knows I ate worse to stave off the munchies.
*- My Jenny and I once ate an entire carrot cake without cooking it. We kept tasting the batter, and it was so good, that we said, “Fuck it,” grabbed two big spoons, watched some movie on Showtime, and ate an entire bowl of cake batter.
*- My Jenny weighed about 99 lbs. I was about 2.5 Jennys, if a Jenny is a unit of measurement.
*- So anyway, that was a carrot cake, not a birthday cake.
*- Oh, shit!! I couldn’t have Chex Mix anyway, since it’s just swarming with bad carbohydrates, although there are now gluten-free Corn Chex.
*- EVERY FLAVOR OF PRINGLES WAS DESTROYED!!
*- It’s like The Universe was telling me to take my almonds, go buy some string cheese, and get out of that dangerous carb-loaded hell before something bad happened, like I bought Sno-Balls or something.
*- They had jalapeno string cheese, which I counted as my reward for avoiding Combos, Cheetos, Wheat Thins, or any other high-carb cheating snack.
*- I don’t know where the jalapeno string cheese comes from. Presumably someplace where stringy cows give stringy milk, into which they mix stringy jalapenos.
*- So as I carried my meager, mostly unexciting purchases up to the counter, remembered the moon, and how it reminds me of New England.
*- The checkout lady, God love her, looked exactly like Mrs. Landingham from “The West Wing,” and Mrs. Landingham was from New England! Perfect!
*- Except that Mrs. Landingham was killed in a car crash at the end of Season Two, so it would have to have been her sister or a cousin.
*- When I finally got up to the register–sure as hell–Mrs. Landingham’s Boston cousin asked me, “Do ya have a rewahds cahd, deah?” Just as Boston as the Red Sox or Joe Kennedy’s mob money stash.
*- I swiped my “cahd,” wished her a good night, and walked outside the Carb-O-Rama (BERNIE CARBO!! HERO OF THE 1975 BOSTON RED SOX!!)
*- It was a clear night here in the SRQ, with a soupcon of chill in the air. And above the deserted parking lot, hung a moon, no doubt crafted in New England by Mrs. Landingham’s ancient forebears, neither from green cheese nor Divine Play-Doh, but carefully smelted together from jalapeno string cheese and crushed Pringles crumbs.
*- Happy Tuesday