Monday, July 19, 2010

John Lee Supertaster

People often get down on me when I brag about my sense of taste. I don't like to boast about too many things, but I believe that I have a heightened ability to taste things. I never get the feeling that I can hear, smell, touch, or see things more than anyone else, so why is it a problem that I think I'm a little better at tasting? I'm not saying that I have better taste when it comes to food. I'm saying that I can taste better. Supertasters are real, and I am one of them.

Supertaster: A supertaster is a person who experiences the sense of taste with far greater intensity than average. Women are more likely to be supertasters, as are Asians and Africans. Among individuals of European descent, it is estimated that about 25% of the population are supertasters.

Supertasting is also thought to be a cause of picky eating. I'm a picky eater. My tasting talent is almost a liability. Read up on it if you think you might be one of us. We can't hide forever.

On a different note, I've had the songs from the Rugrat's "Reptar on Ice" episode in my head all day. Reptar, Reptar, gotta find that Reptar.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Cuckoo for Coffee Puffs

When Kelsey asks me if I want coffee, I have an automatic response inside of my body that says: "Yes, please." Often, I'm unaware that this exchange even occurs, and in no time at all, she sets a hot mug right in front of me, ripe for the sipping. It's a pleasant surprise, and I'm grateful for my wife and her skills with the coffee maker. However, when this happens at 3:30 AM, the result of my auto-response is far more consequential. It's currently 4:45 AM, and I have no chance of falling asleep within the next hour. My only hope is that I do not come face to face with the dreaded 7 o'clock. If I were to ever become mortal enemies with an hour of the day, that hour would easily be 7 AM, and he'd be backed up by his old cronies 6 AM and 8 AM. This is due to the fact that I am somewhat of a Night Owl. (The term 'Night Owl' is used because owls are nocturnal. Using that logic, one could refer to themselves as a Night Possum or Night Wolf, but it's hard to not seem like an idiot or Native American in doing so. No disrespect to Native Americans, of course.) So anyhow, the morning is really hard for me.

Speaking of hard mornings (That's what she said?):
It's hard to believe, but it's true that there are crazy people out there who thrive in the morning hours. When I hear the term 'morning person', I probably feel similar to a dog when it hears the term 'cat person'. I'm not trying to offend anyone who claims to be one of these people, but I can't help but notice that many of them are more obnoxious than mosquitos biting me through my t-shirt. When I walk into an 8 o'clock class and some girl comes up and starts an enthusiastic conversation about last night's homework, there is nothing I want to do more than grab her lips and hold them shut forever.

Speaking of shut lips:
Kelsey and I's first kiss was behind a 711 our freshman year of high school. I was trying to be gentlemanly, so I was planning on a lingering peck, and that's it. She seemed to have other plans, and we had this really confusing mid-kiss hesitation moment. Mouths were opening and shutting in response to other mouths opening and shutting, kind of like when two people are walking down a hallway and can't decide who's going to change lanes. An unaware passerby would have probably made the assumption we were just having a conversation with our faces really close together. That's okay though. It was a great time.

I see the faint indications of an imminent sunrise outside of my window. 'Tis time for respite.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Free Cinnamon Twists... for everyone!

If I ever own a restaurant, every item on the menu will be a really interesting proper noun. This has been done before, (ex: Wendy's The Baconator, KFC's Double Down, etc.) but I'm just saying... I'd do it, too. It helps the particular product stand out a bit. Would you rather eat a quesadilla from Bueno or Bell, or the Quackle Quesadilla from Double D's? A burger from McDonald's, or a Beefy Blaster from Double D's? Due to the sheer power of compelling name choices, Double D's would be a booming competitor in a matter of months. I should probably change the name of my restaurant.

When it comes to Taco _____ food chains, here's my list (not definitive):

1. Taco Bell (recently regained the top spot over Bueno due to my newfound appreciation of Beefy Five Layer Burritos)
2. Taco Bueno (delicious cinnamon chips, but a little bit expensive)
3. Taco Mayo (too many onions)
4. Taco Cabana (too many hidden onions)

Speaking of Taco Bell:

In the Edmond location, they offer free crap to those who can land a coin on the bottom platform of a perilous spinny doodad: cinnamon twists for a nickel, hard taco for a dime, and something else for a quarter. Needless to say, I'm only spending nickels. I don't mean to boast, but I am able to consistently land these little Jeffersons on the victory platform, and I'm constantly earning free cinnamon twists. Everyone knows that the best cinnamon twist is a free cinnamon twist. Sometimes, I'm not even hungry, and I just do it for the satisfaction of winning. Next time, I'll turn the thing around to show the Taco Bell man my achievement, tip my hat, and tell him to donate it to the orphans.

Speaking of Orphans:

When I was seven years old, I found a pirate ship toy that I'd had my eyes on for quite some time in my parents' closet.

It was December, so naturally I assume this is my Christmas present. Worst case scenario, it was Jed and I's "shared" present. When I confronted my mom about it, she told me it was for the orphans. As a naive seven year old, I felt inclined to trust whatever ridiculous thing my mom told me. I had no reason not to believe her. How could she! She knew I wanted it, so she buys that very thing for the orphans!? I harbored such resentment for the orphans that I recall telling a few school friends about this terrible misfortune. It turns out, the ship was for Jed and me. Still, there are times when I catch myself hating the orphans for no discernible reason, until I remember that my mom is just a dirty liar.