American Food

It's no wonder America is thought of as the fattest country.
Mozzarella sticks: breaded cheese sticks. I recently found out that they taste the same without the cheese in the middle.
Hamburgers: ground steak on bread. Then people start stacking patties. Double and Triple quarter-pounders.
Hotdogs: mystery meat wrapped in sheep intestine. Yum. And you're wrong. You really don't know what's in a hot dog. They put leftovers, also known as Variety Meats, in hotdogs. That means livers, hearts, a mixture of beef, turkey, pork, chicken, and whatever else is left. Have you ever noticed that hotdogs are relatively cheap? It's because low quality leftovers are used to produce them.
Snack Cakes: daily calorie hogs. I have to admit that zebra cakes are like manna from heaven. However, one package would make up one-fourth of my suggested caloric intake.
Onion Rings: breaded onions. A vegetable that's healthy for the body but that wreaks havoc upon the breath is coated with flour and spices then fried. What's the point? I still don't see how someone came up with doing that.
French Fries. Nuff said.
Hot Wings.
Chicken Fingers.
Chicken Fried Steak.
Chili. (maybe you'll be lucky and find a finger!)
Steak.
Pan Pizza. (Italians made pizza thin for a reason)
Vienna Sausages. (I've seen someone drink the leftover juice - not pretty)
Jello. (there are cow bones in that stuff)
Those individual fruit pies. (they use beef fat. I'm still not sure why)
Tex-Mex. (Mexican food already involves frying; why refry?)

It's often said, "You are what you eat." I guess that would make us as Americans stereotypically greasy and fried. Looking around, I see that it's true. It's been proven that chocolate intake doesn't cause acne and other skin problems. However, eating greasy foods does. I see greasy faces and greasy hair that stem from our greasy fingers. Of course, the body naturally produces its own oils but the amount of oil put into the blood stream through food consumption adds more. As for fried, we fake bake. We bleach and color our hair until it's a lovely shade of tye-dye. In the end, we are popcorn chicken. We're crispy, fried around the edges, and too 'chicken' to do anything about it.
I'm not trying to turn anyone vegetarian, but maybe we should do unto our bodies as we would want them to do unto us. In other words, if you wanna be greasy, eat greasy foods. If not, don't.

Later Days
Peace
H

So Long a Letter

Dear G-ma,

You're sick now, really sick. I read Jessica's letter yesterday and figured that I should write one of my own. It's true, obviously, that I'm not one of your real grandchildren. Sure, Chandler and I are extremely close, but I'm not actually one of Sherilyn's kids. Ashley and Lucas aren't my siblings, neither is Brent. But, somehow, I always felt like I belonged right in the middle of your family's shenanigans.
Gratitude is the first thing I want to express to you. I'm thankful that you love me as one of your own grandchildren. You came to see my musical last semester just to see me. Chan wasn't in the musical at all and you didn't know anyone else in the production, but you came anyway. I spat on you right before intermission, but you still loved every minute of it. My favorite part of the care you gave me is that it "killed two birds with one stone", as Chan would say. The compassion and love you show me not only makes me feel special and one-of-a-kind, but you manage to make every single person you come into contact with feel the same way. I know we never really got to know each other, G-ma, so let me brief you. I hate conformity. I don't like the idea that I'm the same as someone else. If it were anyone else giving every individual as much attention as you do, I would be jealous out of my mind. It's still a mystery to me how I don't ever feel that way at all. I'm not jealous of the way you care for every single person with whom you come into contact. Your heart's big enough for the world over and I appreciate that greatly.
Secondly comes awe. As I sat in the hospital with your lovely, lovely family, I've heard stories of your past. Jessica, Chandler, and Lucas sang me your special alphabet song. I nearly peed myself from laughter. Though I never got to read it with you, I've heard that the miraculous Sleep Book written by the wonderfully philosophical Dr. Suess has hypnotic powers. Another thing about me, I'm a pessimist. I've always figured that being negative is ultimately beneficial in life: I'm either proven right (which I always enjoy) or I'm pleasantly surprised. It was there, in that hospital room that I learned the true powers of an optimistic mind. When I walked in, I saw tubes, IV's, packets of donated blood and bone marrow. When your family walked in, all they saw was you. Tubes and IV's didn't have that negative connotation in their eyes; they were proof of hope. Donated blood and bone marrow didn't exhibit dependency; they showed the love of a stranger. Every single person that walked in that room admires you. They admire your strength, your perseverance, your faith in God. But out of all of them, I think I admire you most. Out of anyone I have ever known, you have the most right to be cranky and to force that miserableness upon everyone. You don't, though. You never complained once. You hold your head high because you know where you're going after this small pit stop. You know that you have something stronger than cancer. You have God. That faith amazes me. I appreciate it greatly.
Last, I just want to say some things. This is in no way you giving up. I would never think that of you. This is what you want for yourself. You've spoken to God and you know this is what He wants for you. Your family is still trying to wrap their minds around the thought. But don't worry about them; you've taught them well. I'll take care of them for you, if you'll let me. In my mind, there was so much I had wanted to say, but, suddenly, nothing will come out. In that case, I'll say one last thing. Cancer didn't beat you, not at all. You aren't succumbing to it. This is God's way of healing; He has many different ways and this is just one of them. He's taking your damaged earthly body in exchange for an unimaginable and wonderfully new one. He's giving you one that's brand new, that never hurts. Now, if you ask me, that's the best kind of healing I've ever heard of.

With Love,
Hayleigh

P.S. When you get up there, say hello to my great-grandmother. She doesn't speak English very well, but I'm sure if you ask nicely, God will teach you some Ukrainian.

"Want a bottle of water?"
"I need something way stronger than that..."
--a conversation between my father and a coworker

Road Trip Entry #2: Boston

You cling to the seat in front of you as the worst flight you've ever been on lands. Now that the menace journey that's comparable to the Texas Giant is over, you overhear natives speaking about "the T". The wind blows your hair askew and cold rain stings your retinas. It's no Texas thunderstorm, so you're set, but the rest of the town isn't. Rain water floods the highway so the airport shuttle takes twice as long to find you a rental car. You drive around aimlessly for an hour, trying to find your hotel. Nothing is on TV. The wi-fi doesn't work. You go to sleep.
The next morning, the alarm clock sounds. You get up. The GPS becomes your best friend as you scramble back into your car. Major intersections and roads are closed and you're already late to your meeting. Your possible future is minutes away, but your so-called best friend won't give you correct directions to the college campus. The rain lightens as you pull up to the Undergrad Admissions Reception Center. Up and down both sides of the street are quaint brownstone-style dormitories.
It's then that that classic feeling all your older college friends speak about happens. You begin to remember all those times you "wanted to get away" but couldn't afford Southwest. Closing your eyes, you were able to escape any overwhelming stress or emotional trauma. Autumn would fill your mind; trees had leaves in the summer but didn't in the winter. There were seasons. But most of all, you would see a fresh slate. Reminiscing, you close your eyes, still standing like an idiot on the slippery marble stairs. You remember where you are and your eyes snap open. When you open your eyes, that image that has brought you so much peace is still there. It's tangible; it's real.
The college information session draws to a close and you've fallen even further in love than you were when you were standing numbly on the front steps. Your tour guides show you the rest of the campus. The group you're with complains about the cold and the rain and how they can't seem to make their umbrellas stay in their original formations. Unlike them, you're satisfied; you're in love. You haven't met the love of your life, no, but you have looked into your future. You know this is where you're meant to be.
This is Boston Unversity.

H

Road Trip Entry #1: Tennessee, Arkansas

You speed down the backroads faster than you ever would on the highway. It's a two lane road. A rusty road sign stands lazily to the right, telling you to take the upcoming curve at least 30 mph slower than you're driving. As always, the left lane is empty as it has been for about an hour, so you swerve over and drive down the middle. You rev the engine and smile as the 8-cylinder Ford pickup hums beneath your foot. There's no point in carrying a license around; no one is out to get you. Static from the poor radio reception fills the cab. Feeling a little like Fonzie, you smack the dashboard and, depending on the day, the radio either fixes itself or turns all the way off. The next curve nears and you start back towards the center of the lanes until you hear the rumbling of a '67 Chevy. You pass the driver, an adorable, young, blond kid in a plaid shirt, and exchange an embarrassed smirk. The accelerator scrapes the floor; the speed increases.

Horses gallop across fields whose fences couldn't stop them. The wild beasts, muscles tensing and pulsing, run in circles just to feel the breeze. Cows chew cud. Cell phones don't get reception. Internet is available only by a modem. But it's beautiful here. When it rains, the grass is so green that Ireland is put to shame. You might think it's impossible, but, at night, it's pitch black and, yet, so bright. The moon and the stars glisten in the pure, smog-free sky. Prudent, unabridged, natural beauty.

This is the country.

H

I Love Movies Too!

This is inspired by Olivier. His blog is one of my Not So Weakest Links.

Plot Twist Movies:
Everything is Illuminated
The Maltese Falcon
Sixth Sense
Signs

Holy Cows of Heaven! Movies: (Did that seriously just happen? or What in the world just happened?!)
Shutter Island
Memento
Science of Sleep
Donnie Darko
Sick House

Kick Rear Movies:
The Godfather
Public Enemies
The Dark Knight
Elf
Forest Gump

Movies That Leave You (Me, mostly) Speechless:
Into the Wild
200 Days of Summer
Schindler's List
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Why-did-they-make-this? Movies:
Material Girl
The Sting
Boogeyman 2
All The Sandlot's after the first one
Carrie (sorry. i just didn't like it.)

Not-so-classy Movies That I Love:
Phantom of the Opera
Mamma Mia
Spiderman 3
Clue
Airplane

Best Classic Movies:
Strangers on a Train
Singing in the Rain
The Music Man
Casablanca
West Side Story


Later Days
Peace
H

Things that make me go, "Really?!"

Far Right-Winged or Far Left-Winged People. No, I don't mean politicians; I mean people. Politicians are paid to be extremely biased. They are paid to be overly obnoxious, trying to force their beliefs upon everyone. Citizens, on the other hand, are not. I understand debates. I'm all for everyone having his or her own personal opinion on anything and everything. But, Really?! How can you honestly complain about a member or leader of the opposite political party when you're being as close-minded as they are? What is getting accomplished when people are too busy calling the president a socialist? What is getting accomplished when others are just relishing in the fact that our country is no longer under the control of George Bush? Nowhere.

Stereotypes. Not all blondes are dumb. Not all Asian people own donut shops or are superb in math and science. There are white cabbies too! They aren't all from the Middle East! I mean, Really?! Way to be judgmental of people you've never met before. Not all Emo people cut themselves. It's a genre of music. It's a style. Actually, the music and clothes were called emo before they were associated with negative ways of expressing emotion.

Lady Gaga. She has an AMAZING voice. Absolutely fabulous. But her outfits, Really?! That metal, 3-tiered hula hoop thing she wore on SNL? What was the point of that? It really distracts from the quality of the voice that is singing. I seriously just don't understand it.

Cheap off-brands that say "Compare with the leading brand", but you know the leading brand, though more expensive, is better. Really?! Why try? 'Nuff said.

Warnings on microwavable foods. Really?! "Food will be hot." No shiz, Sherlock.

Warnings on cribs, "Do not leave child unattended." Really?! Why not just write, "Parents with less sleep keep the economy going. They buy Monsters, Red Bulls, and lots of alcohol. Thus, you should stay up watching your kid while he/she sleeps instead of getting the 3 hours of sleep you normally get! Yay!" But that's too long, so they just stick with "Do not leave child unattended."

The Youtube video "Leprechaun in Alabama." I demand that you go see it now, otherwise the reason as to why it makes me question why some humans exist will not make sense. Really, Crichton, Alabama?! A leprechaun in a tree that only comes out at night and that disappears into the night when you shine a light on it? Let's be reasonable. Or borderline sane. Something. Please.

And this concluded this week's edition of "Really?! With Hayleigh Elmo".

Later Days.

Peace.

H