Everyone has a favorite food, or at least certain foods they prefer over others. If not that, I'm sure everyone at least have foods they DON'T like. But today, I'm going to speak on the subject of a certain type of food, a food that happens to be the favorite of the man with whom I spoke: Dustin, my brother.
"I love the small honeybee," says Dustin, in a quote I wrote down on a notepad and no longer remember why. I was taking notes on the subject while my brother explained the finer points of fried chicken to me.
"Fried chicken is like a chocolate chip cookie. Sometimes you want a crunchy cookie, sometimes a chewy cookie. Sometimes you want a cookie with alot of chocolate chips, and sometimes you want a cookies without alot of chocolate chips. Sometimes you want an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie instead of a regular one."
We talk about the different types of chicken. Dustin begins by talking about the different breadings: Crispy, spicy, breaded, etc. Apparently deciding which of these you desire is the first step in figuring out exactly what type of fried chicken to acquire. Also, the weather is important. "Popeyes is the kind of chicken you want on a rainy day, while KFC is better for late, sunny afternoon." Even the time of day affects the side items. How enlightening. Dustin also commented on other restaurants, such as Bojangles, in North Carolina, and Publix, which has a unique flavor that doesn't appeal to Dustin's taste buds.
"What about Chicken strips?" I ask. Dustin looks at me patiently. "Fried chicken is like a chocolate chip cookie..." He repeats the quote. Chicken strips, I learn, are another type of chicken. Bone-in and bone-out is another important decision to make in the chicken choosing process, along with the possibility of a chicken sandwich. My bad. Chicken fries are also, on rare occasions, acceptable. Dustin begins comparing most of the chicken from different well-known fast food chains, but I cut him off with my curiosity--what about chicken biscuits?
Dustin's eyes light up as he begins to shout about the genius invention of the chicken biscuit, the perfection of breakfast. Also, due to the growing popularity, chicken biscuits can now be found just about anywhere, sometimes even with country gravy if your appetite calls for it! Wow!
I begin to realize that Dustin has only ever had store-bought fried chicken. At the risk of sounding racist, I ask Dustin if he has ever tried home-made fried chicken made by a southern, home-cooking black woman.
"I haven't met one yet," responds Dustin, somewhat dejectedly.
"If you did, would you go for the food?" I ask.
"If I did, I would go for her."
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Going Home.
The school year finally ended. The school year in which I invested most of my time into pixels and electronic nonexistent items within a virtual world. I wonder if I will look back on this year of seclusion and regret the hermit lifestyle I lived, or if I will just accept it as another one of the lessons I learned and lifestyles I had to live to know how I want to live.
As it is, by the second semester I had better accustomed myself to maintaining my time. I'd found more time for friends, school, and the things in life I had begun to neglect since the last summer left me alone. I love my friends dearly, and I know without them life would be empty. Even as their lives change permanently, for the better, I know I'll remain close to them, whatever effort it takes.
I began this blog with the intention of writing about a specific two day time frame, and find myself summarizing feelings of the whole year. To return, I spent finals week mostly in the car, carting items the four hour drive home and returning to school for more. On the morning I was going to leave for the summer, I met with Leah and Judy for breakfast. These little times, the invitations, I so often take for granted, but at least on this day in particular, I fully appreciated what a blessing it was to spend the morning with two people I care about so dearly.
As I drove away from Tallahassee for the next few months, there was a definite lump in my throat, accompanied by a sinking in my stomach. I wasn't eager to return home; last summer had included some of the more stupid choices I've made and some of the most painful losses. At least this time, friendless at home, I'd only suffer from extreme loneliness.
I pulled into my driveway. Seeing the TV on, I wanted to sneak through the side door and remain unnoticed, to cause my mom and brother a laugh when they realized I'd been home for quite some time. However, upon entering the side door into the kitchen, I was met with an absurd sight. A metal gizmo was clamped to the table, Mom was spooning some rather mushy noodles onto a plate, and Dustin was holding a large, flat piece of dough and blow-drying it with a hair dryer. (This piece of dough would never get cut, Dustin would dub it "Supah-Noodle. It was the slimiest of them all, and not even the dog would finish what Dustin had taken one bite of to prove his manliness.) "Andrea! You have to go out back and see my vegetable garden!" my mother said.
Nothing quite compares to family. Nothing is ever as peaceful as returning home to a homemade pasta mess and being immediately put to work in the chaos.
As it is, by the second semester I had better accustomed myself to maintaining my time. I'd found more time for friends, school, and the things in life I had begun to neglect since the last summer left me alone. I love my friends dearly, and I know without them life would be empty. Even as their lives change permanently, for the better, I know I'll remain close to them, whatever effort it takes.
I began this blog with the intention of writing about a specific two day time frame, and find myself summarizing feelings of the whole year. To return, I spent finals week mostly in the car, carting items the four hour drive home and returning to school for more. On the morning I was going to leave for the summer, I met with Leah and Judy for breakfast. These little times, the invitations, I so often take for granted, but at least on this day in particular, I fully appreciated what a blessing it was to spend the morning with two people I care about so dearly.
As I drove away from Tallahassee for the next few months, there was a definite lump in my throat, accompanied by a sinking in my stomach. I wasn't eager to return home; last summer had included some of the more stupid choices I've made and some of the most painful losses. At least this time, friendless at home, I'd only suffer from extreme loneliness.
I pulled into my driveway. Seeing the TV on, I wanted to sneak through the side door and remain unnoticed, to cause my mom and brother a laugh when they realized I'd been home for quite some time. However, upon entering the side door into the kitchen, I was met with an absurd sight. A metal gizmo was clamped to the table, Mom was spooning some rather mushy noodles onto a plate, and Dustin was holding a large, flat piece of dough and blow-drying it with a hair dryer. (This piece of dough would never get cut, Dustin would dub it "Supah-Noodle. It was the slimiest of them all, and not even the dog would finish what Dustin had taken one bite of to prove his manliness.) "Andrea! You have to go out back and see my vegetable garden!" my mother said.
Nothing quite compares to family. Nothing is ever as peaceful as returning home to a homemade pasta mess and being immediately put to work in the chaos.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Fishtank.
I have a pet fish this semester. Four actually, and they are black tetras, and I didn't name them because I can't keep them apart. They are collectively "my fish" or "fishies," and that is all they ever need to be.
Over Christmas break, my parents asked me what I wanted. At first, I said a computer, to which they responded mine still had a warranty. Then I asked for a new front bumper to my car. Dustin asked what was the point of scratching an additional bumper. Then I remembered the loneliness of my dorm, and I asked for a fishtank. Mom hesitated to respond, then expressed her concern that any pet of mine would promptly die. Thanks for the faith, Mom.
Either way, I finally got my fish tank and bought my pet fish. I used to think fish were a fake pet. I mean, dogs and cats have feelings. Fish just kind of exist. The day I brought my fish home, I forgot to open the bag when i let them sit in the tank for the water temperature to adjust. As a result, when I returned my fish weren't looking so well. I felt panic to a degree that I wouldn't have expected over the danger that this four fish I'd had for a few hours were facing. I quickly released them into the tank, and watched terrified until they had all finally resumed their typical swimming.
Every morning when I wake up, I feed them and smile. Every night, I say goodnight to them. It sounds ridiculous, but I have legitimately built up an attachment to these four little creatures that inhabit a tank of water in my dorm. I look forward to seeing them, I'm glad to care for them, and I know that life would be lonely without them.
Over Christmas break, my parents asked me what I wanted. At first, I said a computer, to which they responded mine still had a warranty. Then I asked for a new front bumper to my car. Dustin asked what was the point of scratching an additional bumper. Then I remembered the loneliness of my dorm, and I asked for a fishtank. Mom hesitated to respond, then expressed her concern that any pet of mine would promptly die. Thanks for the faith, Mom.
Either way, I finally got my fish tank and bought my pet fish. I used to think fish were a fake pet. I mean, dogs and cats have feelings. Fish just kind of exist. The day I brought my fish home, I forgot to open the bag when i let them sit in the tank for the water temperature to adjust. As a result, when I returned my fish weren't looking so well. I felt panic to a degree that I wouldn't have expected over the danger that this four fish I'd had for a few hours were facing. I quickly released them into the tank, and watched terrified until they had all finally resumed their typical swimming.
Every morning when I wake up, I feed them and smile. Every night, I say goodnight to them. It sounds ridiculous, but I have legitimately built up an attachment to these four little creatures that inhabit a tank of water in my dorm. I look forward to seeing them, I'm glad to care for them, and I know that life would be lonely without them.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Frostbite.
As I have stated before, I live in Florida. The Sunshine State. Where it never snows. As such, I am quite accustomed to warm weather. I can wear jeans and a hoodie when it's 80 degrees out, and in fact did for the majority of middle school. (I was still figuring out who I was.) I mean, I have a tolerance for some cold, in short bursts, perhaps when it's still early morning and the sun hasn't risen, or maybe on a rare day when it stays cold all day and it's necessary for me to actually search for a shirt with sleeves that reach all the way to my wrists.
That was then. Now I have moved into northern Florida for college, where apparently the weather is much more brutal. I woke up yesterday for the first day of classes and checked the weather app on my iPhone. It was currently 32 degrees outside, but it felt like 22. I contemplated dropping the class, but begrudgingly realized that "I would have died of cold" would not have gone well with my parents as to why I lost my scholarships, dropped out of school, and moved back in with them forever.
I blow dried my hair. Not for any sake of fashion, but because although arriving to class with icicles on my hair might look surprisingly like dreadlocks, I felt it was not the best thing for my health. I did put on multiple layers of clothes. Florida jeans are made to be worn in the summer and not overheat. As such, they aren't good for the winter. In fact, they are completely useless in the winter. So I wear leggings under them to make up for this fact. It might help more if the leggings in Florida weren't made to be worn in the summer and not let you overheat.
Today, it is 33 degrees out, and it feels like 33, since there is no wind. In fact, according to the app, the wind is CALM at calm mph. That is great to know. I'll go prepare for that immediately.
That was then. Now I have moved into northern Florida for college, where apparently the weather is much more brutal. I woke up yesterday for the first day of classes and checked the weather app on my iPhone. It was currently 32 degrees outside, but it felt like 22. I contemplated dropping the class, but begrudgingly realized that "I would have died of cold" would not have gone well with my parents as to why I lost my scholarships, dropped out of school, and moved back in with them forever.
I blow dried my hair. Not for any sake of fashion, but because although arriving to class with icicles on my hair might look surprisingly like dreadlocks, I felt it was not the best thing for my health. I did put on multiple layers of clothes. Florida jeans are made to be worn in the summer and not overheat. As such, they aren't good for the winter. In fact, they are completely useless in the winter. So I wear leggings under them to make up for this fact. It might help more if the leggings in Florida weren't made to be worn in the summer and not let you overheat.
Today, it is 33 degrees out, and it feels like 33, since there is no wind. In fact, according to the app, the wind is CALM at calm mph. That is great to know. I'll go prepare for that immediately.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Love.
Love. There a thousand directions in which a blog on this topic could go. I'll start by saying that in other languages, there are often multiple translations for our version of love, referring to different types of love. Isn't it odd that we use the same word to describe scenarios ranging from someone with whom we want to spend the rest of our lives to a tasty meal which we found quite pleasing to the palette?
In my last blog, I touched--merely touched--on the topic of love for family and friends, about both of which I could write books and still never fully explain. However, today I want to touch on the topic most commonly portrayed by the media and most pressed upon our minds since we were first old enough to watch movies: I guess I'll call it relationship love for lack of a better term.
See, from what I've been taught my whole life in movies--fairy tales, chick flicks, even comedies--is that two people meet and realize they are attracted to each other, physically emotionally, maybe they initially hate each other even, it's not too important. In the course of the next small time period, there is an obstacle to this love. However, they are both amazingly able to overcome this, and you have true love! Applause and tears, that's how to find a soulmate.
Of course, everyone always mocks this. Everyone seems to know this is a farce, that love can't be that way, but deep down it's still difficult for me to overcome this mindset, that love should be full of turmoil but resolution, constantly full of the butterflies in the stomach and jitters and whatever else they portray. I think that many people, even if they openly know the movie love isn't true love, still seem to search for that feeling in life. I know I do. But any relationship I've ever been in lost that feeling eventually. And then I wonder why I looked to the media when one of the more true examples of love has been in front of my face just as long.
My parents were married some years before I was born. As long as I've been alive, they've been together. They seem to enjoy each other's company; they have such goofy jokes and sometimes my brother and I just roll our eyes to see them together, singing or some other nonsense. The little quirks that all families have. Also, though, like I'm sure everyone does in their lifetime, they've been known to fight on occasion. I'm sure I don't even know the worst of it, but I'm willing to bet at times they have been so angry with each other that at least one of them has wanted to walk out.
"Love is not a feeling; it's an ability." That was a quote in a movie. I, however, beg to differ. While I agree that love is not the emotion we make it out to be, I say rather than ability, love is a decision, love is a choice. No matter how my parents have ever felt towards one another, whether happy or angry or sad or disappointed or overjoyed, they have always made the decision to still be there, for better or for worse, through good times and bad, through whatever life threw at them. The choice to stay together, to still live together and function together, that's what love is. Any movie that shows love as the resolution after one conflict has only scratched the surface. I think love is so much more deep and so much more true than that.
Mom, Dad, I love you both very much. You two have helped show me more clearly that anyone else can a depth of love that movies or stories or music can't even touch on. Thank you for that.
In my last blog, I touched--merely touched--on the topic of love for family and friends, about both of which I could write books and still never fully explain. However, today I want to touch on the topic most commonly portrayed by the media and most pressed upon our minds since we were first old enough to watch movies: I guess I'll call it relationship love for lack of a better term.
See, from what I've been taught my whole life in movies--fairy tales, chick flicks, even comedies--is that two people meet and realize they are attracted to each other, physically emotionally, maybe they initially hate each other even, it's not too important. In the course of the next small time period, there is an obstacle to this love. However, they are both amazingly able to overcome this, and you have true love! Applause and tears, that's how to find a soulmate.
Of course, everyone always mocks this. Everyone seems to know this is a farce, that love can't be that way, but deep down it's still difficult for me to overcome this mindset, that love should be full of turmoil but resolution, constantly full of the butterflies in the stomach and jitters and whatever else they portray. I think that many people, even if they openly know the movie love isn't true love, still seem to search for that feeling in life. I know I do. But any relationship I've ever been in lost that feeling eventually. And then I wonder why I looked to the media when one of the more true examples of love has been in front of my face just as long.
My parents were married some years before I was born. As long as I've been alive, they've been together. They seem to enjoy each other's company; they have such goofy jokes and sometimes my brother and I just roll our eyes to see them together, singing or some other nonsense. The little quirks that all families have. Also, though, like I'm sure everyone does in their lifetime, they've been known to fight on occasion. I'm sure I don't even know the worst of it, but I'm willing to bet at times they have been so angry with each other that at least one of them has wanted to walk out.
"Love is not a feeling; it's an ability." That was a quote in a movie. I, however, beg to differ. While I agree that love is not the emotion we make it out to be, I say rather than ability, love is a decision, love is a choice. No matter how my parents have ever felt towards one another, whether happy or angry or sad or disappointed or overjoyed, they have always made the decision to still be there, for better or for worse, through good times and bad, through whatever life threw at them. The choice to stay together, to still live together and function together, that's what love is. Any movie that shows love as the resolution after one conflict has only scratched the surface. I think love is so much more deep and so much more true than that.
Mom, Dad, I love you both very much. You two have helped show me more clearly that anyone else can a depth of love that movies or stories or music can't even touch on. Thank you for that.
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