Bowlful of Crickets

The way one walks is all part of one’s image. Would-be models come on to America’s Next Top Model and either have a crazy walk they’ve invented for themselves, or they need Miss Jay to break them of their bad runway for (or both). George Jefferson had a signature walk- it added to the comedy before Florence ever complained about how cheap he was.

My walk is a slightly slouched, full speed ahead rumble. At 6′4" and hopefully no more than 245 lbs. (I haven’t stepped on a scale for a while and the holidays is no time to change this), I am by no means graceful, but I can move down a busy sidewalk quickly and weave in and out with next to no trouble.

A few things were in alignment a few weeks ago that altered my walk:

1) I was in my black Cole Hahn Shoes (apologies to Patrick Bateman for the product placement) which I don’t wear a ton- they’re a bit sturdier and heavier than my regular shoes, altering the way I take a step.

2) My lower back was a little sore, so I pulled my shoulders back a bit more than usual.

3) My left knee and left ankle were taking turns being tender, slowing me down a little.

4) Work, while extremely busy, was going pretty well. I had my head held a little higher than most days, and an increased level of confidence.

With these four issues combined, I realized as I walked from the train that I was walking differently. I had the early stages of a swagger.

If attitude is everything, the swagger is a way to show others that you have confidence in yourself, even if you are really walking like an extra in a western or a sailor on leave in 1941. The moment you doubt your own swagger is the moment you look like an idiot. Or at least realize you may look like an idiot.

My swagger was cool, I’m sure of it. I didn’t overdo it- just a little slower, a little bit of a strut with my head held high. I may have looked like Foghorn Leghorn in reality, but in my mind, I was confident, cool and perfect for an after-shave commercial.

I soon was in my old shoes again, the joints felt better, work got a little nuttier, and I was back to rumbling in and out of the crowd, shoulders pointing inward. But while I had my swagger, I looked pretty cool, at least in my own mind…

If there was any shred of a theme to the foods I gravitated towards in 2005, it would have to be my unexplainale cravings for mexican food. It seemed that was my choice more often than not.

So when the Chicago Reader ran a food feature on unusual Mexican specialties and wher to find them, I read it with relish (salsa?) I even found a featured resturant in my hometown of Berwyn, not far from where I currently live.

What’s the the regional speciality at this eatery (which, by the way, is El Chimbombo)?

Tacos de ojos.

Those of you who have a passing knowledge of Spanish just re-read that. Yes. I said:

Eyeball Tacos

Now I would consider myself an adventurous eater. But eyeballs? Could, Would, Should I try it? Would Debbie ever kiss me again?

The article ran a month ago. I’ve mentioned it to others. No one else was the slightest bit interested in trying one.

I can’t stop thinking about eyeball tacos. I think I want to try one.

Until, that is, I did research for this here article.

I found a picture. I will not reprint it here. This is nothing you want to see.

I read two articles- both, oddly, sampling tacos de ojos at Chicago’s Maxwell Street Market. One person didn’t have the courage to try one. The other- at the food blog ExtraMSG.com- tried it and wishes he hadn’t. I considered reprinting some of the descriptions here, but they’re really just too repulsive. Follow the link at your own risk, and don’t plan on eating for a while…

So, I think I’m likely going to pass on tacos de ojos for now. I’m shifting my thought towards huitlacoche, the mexican corn truffle- or the fungus that grows on corn. Some call it "black corn smut" (wasn’t that a Soundgarden song?) I found a blog that liked it and a blog that hated it.

Anyone want to join me on this one?

Recently I found myself at Super Target, picking up various groceries and household items. Among the things on my list was a new deodorant/antiperspirant for yours truly.

So I went to the men’s deodorant section and tried determining the best brand for me. I went nor only by the sent through the plastic container, but also by the cleverly calculated names for each sent- Heated Rush, Glacial Poke, Iambic Breeze, Cool Ranch and so forth.

So I ultimately decided on Degree for Men- I don’t remember the actual name of the scent or what made this scent stand out among the others. I think I chose it amongst the other Degrees for Men, and I chose that brand because I never tried it before.

It’s what happened when I got hope and openied the cap that leads me to write about the whole experience.

You know the little protective cap that’s on the deodorant in stores, under the main cap and protecting the pruct somehow? Well, when I lifted this one, I was in for quite a surprise…

There were words imbossed in my deodorant

GO FOR IT

You see, I was going to just take it easy that day, but once I read my deodorant, I was ready to conquer the world. And conquer the world I did! Meet your new Emperor!

O.K., so that part I may be exaggerating upon a bit. But this much is true- this deodorant goes the extra mile. While others are content making us smell good (or not smell at all), Degree for Men goes one step further- it gives us the strength to carry on!

I assume go for it is the only message- but could "Stop Smoking", "Dare to Dream", "Carpe Diem" and "My Wife’s Other Deodorant is a Broom" be far behind? I hope not.

I briefly considered keeping the cap and either A) putting it back on the deodorant after each use to reset the message, or B) washing it throroughly and using it as a press on various foodstuffs around the house. What goes better with Go For It bacon than Go For It pancakes? And what could be a better start to your day?

A full set of inspirational stamps could make this world a greater place. Want to use that idea for your own personal gain? I say go for it. Or maybe that’s just my deodorant talking.

I think this blog has more lives that a hindu cat…(feel free to use that, I’m disowning that line).

I’m back, after almost destroying my blog. There were a few days there where Carlton was dancing on top of a very skeletal design. I managed to fix it now, so I will do my best to be sure that these efforts were not in vain.

Of course, the holidays are coming, I’ll be on vacation and I’m short a person at work. A bad time to ressurect this blog? Most likely. But on the other hand, I think writing will prove to be the release I need in these hectic times.

So, dear readers, let me whet your appetite for what lays ahead:

• The personal hygiene product that inspired me
• A "Fear Factor"-level delicacy I can’t stop thinking about
• Posture, self image, and where America’s Next Top Model and George Jefferson collide
• The 2005 Timmy Awards, drawing on the largest pool of albums I’ve ever listened to in a calendae year. Guitar-laden alternative will still dominate, I’m sure.

If you used to read this blog, thanks for hanging in there during the large periods of inactivity.