Witness this Sickness

Out of nowhere, the nausea struck halfway through my case-in-chief.
I had to ask the judge for a recess so I could run to the bathroom and lose my strawberry toaster pastry and Coke Zero.
Rallying quickly and holding the rest down for the next thirty minutes, I triumphantly finished the trial, cross-examined a witness and made a closing statement. By the time I had packed up and was ready to go, I found myself dry heaving into a trash can.
I was five hours away in some far-flung Amish county where I had to stop every 20 minutes to ralph on the side of the road. I left a little bit of myself at nearly every 30th mile marker on Highway 31. I blacked out for 45 minutes in an Episcopalian church parking lot and another half hour at a full-service Clark station. By the time I made it home I was hallucinating and had nothing in my stomach but bile, and trace amounts of Pepto Bismo and ginger ale.
This happened Wednesday. They call it a 24-hour flu, but the effects are still lingering. I'm back at work today, but I look like death warmed over. Puffy eyes, blotchy cheeks, dried vomit on my sportcoat. I'm a walking zombie, but I'm here. I just successfully negotiated my way through a relatively important meeting and can't remember a word of what I said, but apparently I gave sage legal advice.
Or not. Whatever.
I hope to be back at full strength by the beginning of the week, when I'll have more time and energy to blog about a new gadget that I bought that will no doubt change my life. See this previous post for a similar device.
Have a good weekend folks. Stay healthy.

More Notes on Sandwiches

If you know me personally (and all three of you do), it is well documented that I eat sandwiches and nothing but. Maybe soup as well, but only accompanied by at least a half-sandwich in some sort of 'pick-two' combo meal situation.
Because Earl is already taken, I am dubbing myself the Duke of Sandwich. The following is the Duke’s Treatise of Sandwiching. I will take suggestions for amendments; however, the process is quite cumbersome and it is not guaranteed that your suggestion will be considered. It’s a dictatorship, not a democracy. In other words: what I say goes.

1. Hamburgers, hot dogs, wraps, Lunchables, pitas, and open-face items are not considered sandwiches for the purposes of this discussion and are therefore not under the Duke’s jurisdiction at this time. The Duke reserves the right for annexation of these ‘pseudo-sandwiches’. Schawarma lovers should not get their hopes up, however.

2. Pickles are a garnish, not a fixin’. They DO NOT belong on sandwiches in any circumstance.

3. Sandwiches au jus are a crime against nature and will not be tolerated. Ever.

4. There is a reason for the trade embargo with our communist neighbors to the south. It’s not Fidel Castro and his fascist policies. It’s Cuban sandwiches. Cubans have nothing else to offer except cigars. As excellent as hand-rolled Cohibas are, they only serve to cancel out the Cuban Sandwich in the fair trade paradigm. The embargo shall remain. They do not belong in America. Send them back like Elián González . On an important side-note, chorizo is banned throughout the Dukedom because chorizo is gross.

5. Tuna, egg and chicken salads are just that – salads. They are side items to be served stand-alone or on crackers. You can put anything between two slices of bread and call it a sandwich, but just because you can doesn’t mean you should. It’s cheating. And you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking otherwise.

6. Grilled cheese sandwiches, PBJs, BLTs, Fluffernutters (or any marshmallow crème variation thereof), etc., fall squarely at the bottom of the sandwich food chain. This is non-negotiable. The Duke declares said sandwiches unequivocally delicious, however, due to the often-slapdash nature of making these sandwiches, they should be considered ‘snack’ sandwiches only.

7. Lunch meat/deli tray sandwiches can become transcendent and rise above their base qualities if embellished with the appropriate fixins’. Otherwise it’s just meat and bread. Boring. You’re better than that.

8. The sandwich cookie. See Oreo, Nutterbutters, ice cream sandwiches, et. al.. Not technically a sandwich, per se, but I’m the Duke and I’m breakin’ all the rules. Except Hydrox or E.L. Fudge. They're made by elves.

9. The Sloppy Joe. Great going in. Quick coming out. Still worth it.

10. Club sandwiches are wildly unpredictable and should be regarded with caution. Points will be awarded based on height of stacking and necessity of frilly cocktail toothpicks. Must be served with chips in all circumstances. Pickle spears are permitted for this entrée.

11. Submarines, grinders, heroes, and hoagies will all be considered the same for these purposes. Their ranking can fluctuate based on variation. Meatball subs and Philly Cheesesteaks are two superior examples of long sandwiches. Fast-food subs like Blimpie, Jimmy Johns or Quiznos drag down the category. But they’ll do for the on-the-go crowd.

12. Monte Cristo. Deep-fried sandwich. ‘Nuff said.

13. Paninis, melts and other toasted sandwiches are excellent if done right. Sogginess is an omnipresent danger with such sandwiches and should be monitored accordingly during preparation. But a well done melt is delightful and delicious.

14. The Reuben. Sandwich perfection. Meaty, salty, and ever-so satisfying. This is the kind of sandwich where you’re stuffed full halfway through, but you just have to finish. Even if it means knee-buckling diarrhea cramps. This sandwich openly defies the law of diminishing returns. I’ll eat one for breakfast, lunch, dinner and midnight snack. It’s that good.

15. The Leftover Sandwich. The pinnacle of all sandwiches. The summit. The zenith. The apex. Seriously, is there anything better than lunch on the Friday afternoon after Thanksgiving? Bring out the Wonder Bread, Hellmann’s and dark meat turkey – it’s Sandwich Time! Also see: Meatloaf Sandwich and cold Pork Roast Sandwich.

On the Other Hand

In spite of yesterday's post, I will wholeheartedly acknowledge how cool it is that the United States has progressed to the point that we elected a man whose race was once relegated to the back of the bus and seperate water fountains. It's pretty awe-inspiring to have this happen in our lifetime. Even a cynic like me gets a little emotional thinking that our generations were responsible for such a monumental race-relations coup.
I'm as proud as ever to be an American.
But I still can't stand Oprah.

Hey Kool-Aid!

Once again, I shamefully have to admit that I voted.

But only because Krispy Kreme was giving away free donuts to anyone with an 'I Voted' sticker. Personally, I think that voting should only be offered to folks with an 'I Ate A Krispy Kreme Donut' sticker, but whatever.

The experience itself was miserable. After an excruciatingly long wait (three minutes), I was forced into a polling booth armed with a touch screen stylus that very nearly gave me writer's cramp. I was presented with a list of names I did not know with party affiliations I did not like. They would not let me wear my iPod while voting. Intolerable.

Let me make one thing clear: Based upon my observations this morning, I am the one person on the face of Planet Earth who is neither disappointed nor joyful at the outcome of the election.

I am passionately and enthusiastically indifferent.

I will confess that my candidate of choice did not prevail. I also know in the minds of my peers that my political preference implicitly labels me a racisit bigot (I'm not) - someone who is stuck in the past and therefore vehemently opposed to any kind of progressive change (by progressive change, of course, I mean willy-nilly government spending and regulation). And therefore I must also hate Oprah Winfrey (I do hate Oprah Winfrey).

My point is this - when it comes down to it, these days, admitting you voted for someone not named Obama has the same cultural stigma as being a registered sex offender.

So I guess I am disappointed this morning. Not that the guy I voted for lost, because I couldn't care less about him. I didn't vote for John McCain, but against the pied piper's followers. I'm a little let down that our society has sold out to someone who has absolutely nothing going for him other than an eloquent speaking presence. Even his catchphrase gives away the fact that he's a Yes Man.

But the bigger issue is that I dread going to work these days. Not because I dislike work. Everyone hates work. No, I dread going in to the office because my co-workers will strut around gloating all day, reveling in their novel principals and revolutionary choice. They love to spout off clips and buzzwords from Internet articles and act like they know what they're talking about. But they think they're so regal and forward-thinking. They're so mezmorized by Obama and his even-keeled style and speechifying. They talk about his ability to unify the nation, but in their minds, anyone who may be hesitant about him is a right-wing extremist whose dogmatic philosophies will never reconcile with hope and optimism and change and blah, blah, blah.

Sheep.

But I hope I'm wrong. I hope that his seemingly shallow promises and empty high-minded rhetoric turn out to be solid plans for conscientious change. I hope he doesn't pull the rug out from under our troops. I hope that he coordinates a responsible implementation of his health care plan. I hope he's proactive in regard to the environment and natural resources without compromising our economy. If my taxes are raised, I hope their allocated appropriately.

But we'll see.

I mean, surely 56 million Oprah fans can't be wrong. Right?