Current feeling…
It’s not mistaken identity… it’s the search for one. Will it be the right one when he finds it? How will he know?
Cartoonist and the candy corn…
I love candy corn. I mean… I LOVE candy corn.
Sure, I get sick of it…especially around November… because traditionally I mainline the stuff into my face from September to October. In November, the love affair wains, being replaced by another love: Christmas cookies.
I’m telling you that to tell you this- as of October 10, 2017 I have lost 40 lbs. I’ve talked about this transformation previously. It’s a whole new world, man. I’m almost in the best shape I’ve ever been… better than I was in my 20s or my 30s. That’s saying something.
But there’s candy corn. My new way of thinking and relationship with food has tested this love. I didn’t run out and get a fall colored bag the moment it was available. (I just found out THIS YEAR that candy corn wasn’t actually available year round… not through conventional means anyway). I stay away from sugar now. Candy corn is not only love… it’s a LOT of sugar. A lot of sugar.
I ended up buying a bag. And it was really hard to open… the bag was easy to open but getting me to open that bag was hard. Would my opening that door ruin seven months of new food discipline? Would I just inhale the whole bag once that first kinda softish, weird textured kernel hit my throat?
It took a me a full day before I could open it. This is insane, right?
I opened it. Counted out the recommended single serving (about 19 kernels), and proceeded to re-ignite my seasonal love affair. Before, about 19 kernels would be a mouthful for me. One single mouthful. How would this end?
Eh. It was alright. Took me a while to finish all 19. Crazy. All that build up. I sealed the bag, put it in my squirrel cookie jar and went on with my life.
I’ll always love you candy corn… it’s not you, it’s me. We can still be friends.
Happy National Cartoonists Day
woo hoo… paaaarty.
Fried Wonton, Fans and being Frank…
File this under: Only in my hometown and freakin’ kinda cool to be Frank.
Pick myself up some Chinese food. In my car, pulling out into the Boulevard. I reach for a piping hot fried wonton. I know they’re not good for me, even if I wasn’t driving…but I’m at a stop light. The wonton are very, VERY fresh… like right out of the fryer fresh. It’s a beautiful day and my driver side car window is down for the first time this year.
Just as I bite down on the wonton, I hear, “Bob the Squirrel?”
I ignore it at first because in addition to being at mid bite, I tend to hear the words “Bob the Squirrel” in my head all the time.
I bite down and immediately a lava hot gob of oil singes every corpuscle on my tongue. Yeah, the wonton are fresh.
“Hey, Bob the Squirrel?” I hear it again. This time I can tell that voice is not in my head… because that voice is usually laughing as well as talking.
I look to my left, boiling hot oil covered wonton smouldering in my mouth, to see a man in a green mini-van. We make eye contact. He smiles because he’s finally got my attention.
“Bob the SQUIRREL?!”
Now, because I have good reason to believe the wonton in my mouth is melting my teeth, I cannot open my mouth to talk. I’m chewing as fast as I can to get the burning out of my mouth and down into my stomach, where, it’ll be easier. All I can do give this wonderful fan a hearty thumbs up. Seriously, a thumbs up.
He acknowledges my friendly acknowledgement and says, across the traffic, “Yeah! I read it!” This phrase is followed by a wonderful laugh.
My mouth is blistered by now, but the wonton is safely down in my stomach. The light changes green and we both are on our way.
So, to the fan who spotted me in my car, across a lane of traffic, while I was nursing a wonton that was seemingly fried on the sun… I thank you for reading my strip.
Today was a good day.