God's in his Heaven and all is right with the world.
How do I know?
Allow me, please.
-I only got a little lost on the way to my interview yesterday morning.
-While waiting in the lobby, a little boy (probably 4 years old) rubbed his eye and told me hates when he gets "f@#$ing crumbs stuck in there!"
-That same little boy pulled out a copy of Newsweek, pointed to a picture of the Times Square bomber and said, "He looks happy!"
-During my interview, I zoned out for a full 30 seconds just wondering what would happen if I farted.
-I got the internship.
-I told the director of my volunteer organization that I "don't really get numbers."
-I accidentally bought a pie.
-During my drive home, I physically leaned out my car window and quite literally screamed at the jackass behind me who insisted on riding my bumper and then became visibly angry with me when I - get this - yielded to oncoming traffic before turning left at an intersection.
-While at dinner with friends, I went on a tangent and managed to interject that someone "smelled like dead chinchilla."
Thursday was neat.
Showing posts with label Pie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pie. Show all posts
Friday, June 25, 2010
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
My parents are swell
My parents have been in Michigan for the last few days. This afternoon, I received an e-mail from my mother that almost brought tears to my eyes. It was so moving, I thought I had best share it with all of you.
"...And guess where we stopped in Muskegon on the way home? Hint: It is a PIE COMPANY that is Grand. Got a little something in the back seat as a souvenir that has cherries and a crumb topping.....:-)"
God bless us! Everyone!
"...And guess where we stopped in Muskegon on the way home? Hint: It is a PIE COMPANY that is Grand. Got a little something in the back seat as a souvenir that has cherries and a crumb topping.....:-)"
God bless us! Everyone!
Sunday, February 8, 2009
“But I, when I undress me each night, upon my knees will ask the Lord to bless me with apple pie and cheese” - Eugene Fields
Holy frick, do I love pie.
Saturday afternoon, my family and I traveled to the magical land of Terre Haute! (I'm sure most of you are awe-struck, so I'll give you a minute to take it all in.)
For those of you not well acquainted with Hoosier geography, I'll attempt to give you a visual. If Indiana were the human body, Terre Haute (pronounced "terra hoat") would be the knee pit. Not the armpit or the butt crack (those honors are reserved for Fort Wayne and Veedersburg respectively) but the knee pit.
If you've ever been there, you know that Terre Haute boasts both Indiana State University and a powerful stench. To this day, I don't know why, but Terre Haute smells like ass.
So, why on earth would I go there voluntarily? Well, it just so happens that Terre Haute has one of the finest establishments in this country. Saturday afternoon, we patronized the Grand Traverse Pie Company in all its breath-taking glory.
This phenomenal business began in Michigan and thankfully made its way down to Indiana. It's somewhat unfortunate that the only franchises are in Terre Haute (2 hour drive) and Evansville (4 hour drive), but it was totally worth the trip.
At some point during last week, my mother and I decided we needed good pie, so we bullied my dad into a little excursion. It depends from where you hail (I love that phrase), but from Lafayette, the drive to Terre Haute is not an eventful one, nor a scenic one at that. It's a lot of windy, nauseating country roads through little, weenie towns hosting one stoplight and a Walgreens, maybe.
We made it to Terre Haute at about 4:30pm and decided that was a good enough time to eat dinner. Actually, I love eating before 5pm because I'm always hungry at about 3pm anyway. Waiting until 6 or even 7pm just seems cruel. Now I know why the elderly set do it. When I'm retired and living my golden years, I will be eating breakfast at 11am, lunch at 4pm, dinner around 9 or 10pm and bedtime by 2am, the way God intended.
Anyway, we had the obligatory meal before dessert, which was quite delicious. Then came the reason we had made this trip. Oh sweet mother of pearl, the pie.
My mother has a personal affinity for peach, my dad prefers the more traditional apple, and I have had a torrid love affair with something called strawberry-rhubarb ever since college. My freshman-year roommate at IU made me a strawberry-rhubarb pie from scratch. I was completely nauseated the next day, but I think it had something to do with the fact that I ate 4 pieces. Tough call.
As we headed out the door, we took with us two cherry crumble pies (one was for a friend, I swear) and I selected an apple dumpling the size of my face, that will, no doubt, make me vomit within the hour (I won't be sorry. I'm never sorry.).
I took some pictures with my cell phone. While the quality isn't fantastic, I think they still manage to capture the raw emotions of the day.
Shiny thing! Just at this very moment, I remembered an article I read in the Journal and Courier sometime within the last two weeks, regarding the possibility of a state pie. While I would be all for this, I'm completely disgusted with the pie that is in the running. Most refer to it as sugar cream, but crap on toast seems far more accurate to me (or simply "phlegm", which is how my mom refers to it).
Now, I know we're somewhat limited in our choices. We can't have cherry because that tends to belong to Michigan. Georgia would throw down if we chose peach, and rightfully so. Key lime obviously belongs to Florida (that would be my favorite cream pie, by the way).
So, what does that leave us?
TONS!
Blueberry, sweet potato, chocolate mousse, raspberry or how about apple pie, for crying out loud? Last I checked, this was America's Heartland and what is more flipping American than apple pie (other than the Cubs leading their division into the playoffs and then choking when they're a stone's throw from the pennant)? Nothing! I will not be represented by a gelatinous funk someone had the audacity to call pie.
As this hissy fit comes to a close, I implore each and every one of you to take a look into your heart and ask yourself, when was the last time you had a really bitchin' piece of pie? If the answer is not, "Oh, well I'm eating some at this very moment!", you had best fix that. If your answer is, "I don't like pie", you had best move.
"When you die, if you get a choice between going to regular heaven or pie heaven, choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it's not, mmmmmmm, boy."
-Jack Handy
Saturday afternoon, my family and I traveled to the magical land of Terre Haute! (I'm sure most of you are awe-struck, so I'll give you a minute to take it all in.)
For those of you not well acquainted with Hoosier geography, I'll attempt to give you a visual. If Indiana were the human body, Terre Haute (pronounced "terra hoat") would be the knee pit. Not the armpit or the butt crack (those honors are reserved for Fort Wayne and Veedersburg respectively) but the knee pit.
If you've ever been there, you know that Terre Haute boasts both Indiana State University and a powerful stench. To this day, I don't know why, but Terre Haute smells like ass.
So, why on earth would I go there voluntarily? Well, it just so happens that Terre Haute has one of the finest establishments in this country. Saturday afternoon, we patronized the Grand Traverse Pie Company in all its breath-taking glory.
This phenomenal business began in Michigan and thankfully made its way down to Indiana. It's somewhat unfortunate that the only franchises are in Terre Haute (2 hour drive) and Evansville (4 hour drive), but it was totally worth the trip.
At some point during last week, my mother and I decided we needed good pie, so we bullied my dad into a little excursion. It depends from where you hail (I love that phrase), but from Lafayette, the drive to Terre Haute is not an eventful one, nor a scenic one at that. It's a lot of windy, nauseating country roads through little, weenie towns hosting one stoplight and a Walgreens, maybe.
We made it to Terre Haute at about 4:30pm and decided that was a good enough time to eat dinner. Actually, I love eating before 5pm because I'm always hungry at about 3pm anyway. Waiting until 6 or even 7pm just seems cruel. Now I know why the elderly set do it. When I'm retired and living my golden years, I will be eating breakfast at 11am, lunch at 4pm, dinner around 9 or 10pm and bedtime by 2am, the way God intended.
Anyway, we had the obligatory meal before dessert, which was quite delicious. Then came the reason we had made this trip. Oh sweet mother of pearl, the pie.
My mother has a personal affinity for peach, my dad prefers the more traditional apple, and I have had a torrid love affair with something called strawberry-rhubarb ever since college. My freshman-year roommate at IU made me a strawberry-rhubarb pie from scratch. I was completely nauseated the next day, but I think it had something to do with the fact that I ate 4 pieces. Tough call.
As we headed out the door, we took with us two cherry crumble pies (one was for a friend, I swear) and I selected an apple dumpling the size of my face, that will, no doubt, make me vomit within the hour (I won't be sorry. I'm never sorry.).
I took some pictures with my cell phone. While the quality isn't fantastic, I think they still manage to capture the raw emotions of the day.
Shiny thing! Just at this very moment, I remembered an article I read in the Journal and Courier sometime within the last two weeks, regarding the possibility of a state pie. While I would be all for this, I'm completely disgusted with the pie that is in the running. Most refer to it as sugar cream, but crap on toast seems far more accurate to me (or simply "phlegm", which is how my mom refers to it).
Now, I know we're somewhat limited in our choices. We can't have cherry because that tends to belong to Michigan. Georgia would throw down if we chose peach, and rightfully so. Key lime obviously belongs to Florida (that would be my favorite cream pie, by the way).
So, what does that leave us?
TONS!
Blueberry, sweet potato, chocolate mousse, raspberry or how about apple pie, for crying out loud? Last I checked, this was America's Heartland and what is more flipping American than apple pie (other than the Cubs leading their division into the playoffs and then choking when they're a stone's throw from the pennant)? Nothing! I will not be represented by a gelatinous funk someone had the audacity to call pie.
As this hissy fit comes to a close, I implore each and every one of you to take a look into your heart and ask yourself, when was the last time you had a really bitchin' piece of pie? If the answer is not, "Oh, well I'm eating some at this very moment!", you had best fix that. If your answer is, "I don't like pie", you had best move.
"When you die, if you get a choice between going to regular heaven or pie heaven, choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it's not, mmmmmmm, boy."
-Jack Handy
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