As they revolve in the Middle East, I resolve not to feast

February 2nd, 2011 / #food, #resolutions

I have intentionally neglected to write about this until now, for fear that I would peter out two weeks in and have my words come back to haunt my dreams. Now that a month has passed, however, I reckon it’s time to codify this so I can hold myself accountable going forward.

On December 31, 2010, I was browsing my seven years(!) worth of blog entries. One in particular called out to me. Holy crap, I used to weigh 140 pounds? I was little more than a biological paperweight. A bit too skinny, if you ask me. So, I embarked upon a devil-may-care diet consisting mostly of pure grease and self loathing.

Well, six years and 70(!) pounds later, I began to rethink my decision to kneel at the altar of hedonism. After all, I figured, it probably wasn’t helping my prospects of having full intercourse with a woman in this lifetime. Luckily for me, I came to this revelation during resolution season. In the month since I decided not to fill my arteries with pure mayonnaise and doughnut glaze, I’ve lost 10 pounds (I think – I am too cheap to buy a scale, so I weigh myself weekly at the grocery store). I may have passed back onto the right side of 200, which would be a first since about two years ago.

Not that anyone reads this much anymore (I don’t fault you; I rarely update and when I do, it’s senseless drivel that the Internet would probably do better without), but I just wanted to put this out there. That way, if (when) I revert to my old habits, I can look back to this public admission of intent and perhaps regain some perspective on the whole weight issue.

The bikini calendar photo shoot is next week. Wish me luck.

Trouble Brewing

August 22nd, 2010 / #food, #funny stories, #usfsp

A couple of days ago, I went to the journalism department’s orientation to be inundated with dates and deadlines that, at present, seem like they are going to roll around sometime during the next millennium. After that, I joined some of my new comrades at the campus tavern (which, incidentally, is called The Tavern).

As we sat outside beneath the roar of planes from the airfield next door, everyone decided that it would be prudent to drink beer. If you have known me for any amount of time, you know of my rocky relationship with this most insidious beverage. It’s gross. It’s beyond gross. I smell it – nay, I look at it the wrong way – and I am mere steps away from an esophageal eruption on par with most active volcanoes.

However, as I sat at a picnic table with a bunch of other people around my age I realized that my life cannot proceed like this. As disgusting as beer is, it is becoming clear that the path to normal twenty-something relations invariably travels through a brewery.

So like I had done many times before, I told myself, “Self, it’s time to man up. You’ve got to learn to drink beer again. Your future depends on it!”

I stopped by Publix on the way home and bought a six pack of Killian’s Irish Red. I now realize that this was probably a poor choice for a new beginner. Regardless, I proceeded home, whipped up some dinner, and cracked open a longneck.

I took two sips.

Now there are now five beer bottles sitting in the fridge, wondering where their brother has gone and waiting for my father to get home so they can join him. I only hope my special condition isn’t too detrimental in my social life during the next two years.

The One Where I Declare (Delicious) War Upon Steak 'n Shake

January 22nd, 2010 / #complaints, #food, #observations

As my arteries and wallet will tell you, I have an uncanny knack of finding the most delicious food values.

During that brief time when McDonalds’ one dollar sandwich was a bona-fide double cheeseburger instead of the flimsy McDouble, I was there. When Wendy’s introduced its delectable double stack for 99 cents, I was there. And yes, when Burger King countered with its one dollar quarter pound double cheeseburger, I was there.

I fought beside brave trans fats at the battle of five dollar all-you-can-eat pancakes on the banks of the mighty IHOP; I flew with fearless endless chicken wings over the perilous Ale House ravine; and I landed with the super value squadron on the shores of the Taco Bell atoll.

However, all of my service in the delicious food corps has led me to a higher consciousness of edible values. And this, friends, is why I have one hell of a tasty bone to pick with Steak ‘n Shake.

Recently, these folks have advertised four meals under four bucks (though with tax and a Coke, you’re looking at increased minimums). Of these four meals, three consist of burgers and fries. The burger options include a single steak burger with cheese and bacon, a double steak burger with cheese, and a triple steak burger sans cheese or bacon.

So, if my well-trained palate and checkbook serve me correctly, these Steak ‘n Shake crooks would have me believe that a slice of cheese is equal to the cost of a couple slices of bacon, which is also equal to the cost of a patty of beef.

Now, I realize that employing transitivity in the delicate field of value pricing is a risky venture. This said, I cannot in good conscience allow this travesty of the taste bud to go unnoticed.

However, when it’s 2:00 a.m. and I’m in dire need of a steak accompanied by a shake of some variety, I’m afraid I’m pretty well painted into a corner. You may have won the battle, Steak ‘n Shake, but trust me: you won’t win the war.

Yet Another Post About Taco Bell

January 7th, 2009 / #complaints, #food

All right, it’s been about a month since I have complained to the Internet about something trivial that shouldn’t even cross my mind, so here we go. People need to learn how to say “Taco Bell.”

Taco Bell is delicious. And wildly inexpensive. Therefore, it is a popular food choice amongst my peers. However, many of them seem it necessary to put an extra emphasis on the “a” in “taco.”

Listen, folks. It’s just two words. Say, “taco.” Good. Now say, “bell.” All right, now put them together. There is the name of your eating establishment.

It’s not like we’re comparing bells. If I were to say, “Gee, I like the food at Burger Bell, not Taco Bell,” then such an emphasis on the first word would be necessary. But you know what? There is only one bell in my life and it will remain this way for at least the foreseeable future.

Now, if I could just teach people how to properly say “hotel” and “insurance.”

Here's to You, Chicken Quesadilla Hot Pocket

February 17th, 2008 / #food, #letters

Dear people who make Hot Pockets,

Don’t think that your work has gone unnoticed.

When I was knee high to a grasshopper sitting on the children’s seat on the back of my mom’s bike, I knew that I was heading home to a pretty disgusting dinner.

But now, I look forward to the Hot Pocket Experience.

I started eating Hot Pockets regularly when I came to college, in spite of the fact that I have a gigantic kitchen in which I could prepare feasts fit for a king. Back then, Hot Pockets were weird lumps of disgusting dough filled with cheesy God-knows-what. However, in the spring of last year, I went to my local Publix and I was greeted with an amazing thing: instead of boxes with two such disgusting doughy delights, they were now beginning to sell boxes containing five of these things!

Oh, I was in Heaven. Little did I know that Heaven could get even better. Friends, I was about to gain access to Heaven’s champagne room with the discovery that they were now stuffing these things with even more (real) meat.

And who would have known that I could have myself a grand time in the champagne room in Heaven? That’s right – it got even better.

Apparently, they redesigned the crisping sleeve. Now, you can fold the sleeve into a little dinner holster from which you can consume your now-delicious microwavable treat.

So, here’s to you, oh Mavericks of the Microwave. Your efforts haven’t been lost in a sea of gourmet disapproval.


I will probably drop dead within a month

February 3rd, 2008 / #food, #friends, #funny stories

Well, somehow my lifestyle as an unhealthy and bored college student has caught up with me and my friends.

Lately, we have been aching for things to do on the weekends. And seeing that we are not particularly interesting or anything, we have had to create fun things to do in the absence of actual social lives. Over break, we were confined to the realm of our hometown, the parent-filled purgatory of any college student. Ergo, we made socially acceptable things to do, most of which involved wandering aimlessly in our local Wal-Marts and ending the evening at Steak n’ Shake.

Now, this is all well and good, but it can get old after about one night spent in the toy aisles, pressing the button that cues the novelty horn on every miniature Dukes of Hazzard General Lee.

So, we’ve come up with a new game: generally, I attempt an absolutely amazing feat and if I can successfully accomplish this, my best buddy Angus has to do something silly.

Last week, I was dared to eat 10 tacos and an order of Nachos Bel Grande from Taco Bell. In return, Angus allowed us to bind his wrists and ankles for the rest of the night. While this sounds lame, I can assure you that it was quite humorous – at least until he had to go to the bathroom and I was the one in charge of removing his pants. If this sounds gay, it’s probably because it is.

Tonight, I was challenged to eat a Frisco Melt platter from Steak n’ Shake in addition to three double cheeseburgers and a large order of fries from McDonald’s.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “You, Casey, are the least healthy person on the face of the planet.”

Yes, I agree. And I regret this. But friends, the payout on this wager was marvelous: Angus Wade Hill was forced to shave his arms and legs.

Petty? Yes.
Silly? Yes.
Hilarious? Unequivocally, yes.

I know that all of this sounds extremely juvenile. However, I think we can all agree that as time progresses and the hilarity of Angus’ payback grows so too will the necessity of this entire process for the sake of physical humor both in Alachua County and our lives.

That said, any thoughts on what next weekend’s challenge should entail? We are running out of ideas.

News to no one

November 19th, 2007 / #awesomeness, #food

This just in: fried turkey is God’s gift to man.

Coming up after the break, we’ll tell you about the wonders of homemade fudge.

And now this…

Tang: America's Premier Powdered Beverage

July 18th, 2007 / #bliss, #food

I know that I alluded to my unfathomable love and adoration towards it a couple weeks ago, but my sweet Jesus. I love Tang.

(Upon writing that last sentence, I realized that some folks might misconstrue my love for Tang. While I’m sure that Tang as a derivative of “poontang” is equally as gratifying and probably way better than the kick in a glass, I’m referring to the drink that makes me feel like an astronaut. Thanks to Urban Dictionary for that definition.)

No, friends, I am talking about the greatest invention since sliced bread. Eh, scratch that. You know what? It’s better than sliced bread. Yeah, I said it. Tang is just that good.

It’s a strange thing, the love a man can have for a drink. Some folks are scotch men. Some guys sit back with a chilled bottle of some random imported beer. And there are those (and these really annoy me) who swish their glass of Cabernet Sauvignon under their noses before they take the girliest sip in the world. Me? I drink Tang.

It’s a fruit juice. But it’s not.
It’s orange soda. But it’s not.

No, Tang is more than that. Tang is more than some ordinary prefabricated drink. Tang is a gift from the God Dionysus’ teetotaling younger brother, Neil Armstrong. Tang is what the 1980 US ice hockey team drank between the second and third quarters during their match against the dirty Reds. Tang is what Popeye wishes he had instead of Spinach.

Too bad it wasn’t invented back then.

Don't be a chicken

January 31st, 2007 / #college, #food

Once upon a time, I was away from home and living with my brother, so I thought it would be a prudent idea to mosey on down to the local Publix and buy some food we could eat.

Oh, I filled my cart to the brim with all sorts of fantastic treats: Pop Tarts, Chef Boyardee, Hot Pockets, and frozen pizza.

I tried to balance that complete lack of consideration for my health with some not-so-awful things: bagels (with extra cream cheese!), bottled water, and, last but not least – the crème de la crème of my sojourn to the grocery – real honest-to-goodness chicken breast.

This was in August. All of these things have gone by the wayside (read: spoiled or into my stomach). However, to this day, if you come to my humble abode, meander into the kitchen, make your way to the icebox, yank on the freezer door, move the half-empty bag of ice towards the bottom, and rummage into our meat storage bin, you will find a couple of chicken breasts as hard as rocks and as inedible as, well, rocks.

All right. Lesson learned. Only buy food that can be cooked and done away with in 30 seconds. Thanks, college!

Merry Christmas 2006

December 25th, 2006 / #christmas, #food, #observations

So, I was in line to purchase a Honeybaked Ham with my mother for our festival of Yuletide joy, and as we checked out, the girl said, “Merry Christmas!”

I got to thinking. I guess they don’t have to worry about any of that “Happy Holidays” hogwash. I mean, they serve ham, after all.

  • Who I Am

    I'm a nobody from Florida with things to say (sometimes).

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    This is a not-so-detailed account of my adolescence over the course of almost a decade. Here, I shared my thoughts about things of no real consequence while at the same time being reckless with semicolons and flowery language.

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