The Sandwich That Never Was

Good news on the et cetera et cetera CD project: Josh finished the music for the 15th and final song yesterday, so now it’s a matter of mixing and mastering the second CD (and doing a little clean-up on the first (voice only) CD). This has been such a big, ongoing project, so it’s great to see that there’s light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Josh has done an amazing job composing the music for omnino (the name of the second CD), not to mention everything else he’s done (including a ridiculous amount of time) for this project. I can’t wait for everyone within the sound of my voice to hear it (and hopefully love it). I wonder if I could fit in yet another parenthesis in this paragraph (it looks like I can).

Here’s a little ditty that I wrote and posted on my old blog quite a while ago, but it might as well find its way onto blogger at this point:

The Sandwich That Never Was

I was starving more than Kate Moss on. . .well. . .on any day. I had just finished a long night of drinking, so I decided to make a sandwich. I opened the fridge and saw that we had fresh French bread (a rarity in our house), a mound of roast beef (the sandwich meat of choice) from the deli, some respectable ham, a fresh head of lettuce, mayonnaise, mustard, and Colby cheese. It was going to be a feast of epic proportions. I was going to make the biggest sandwich in my short but sordid history.

I like a dill pickle with a sandwich, so I fished one of them out of the jar and meandered into the living room. I turned on the TV to see what was on. It was South Park. The Beefcake episode. It was perfect. I decided to eat the pickle, finish South Park, and then make my delicious sandwich.

That’s the last thing I remember.

I never got to make that sandwich. I passed out on the sofa with the TV on. When I awoke at 5 am, an infomercial about some new abdominal device—I think it was called a Fatassabs Plus—was blaring as if I had been temporarily hearing impaired the night before. I turned off the damn TV and immediately headed for the sweet comfort of our king size bed.

On the way past the kitchen something on the counter caught my eye. It was the roast beef. And the French bread. And the cheese. And the ham. And the lettuce. And the mustard. I had left everything on the counter, and now some of it was most certainly going bad. I hadn’t taken the mayonnaise out of the fridge with the other stuff, though. I don’t really care for mayonnaise, anyway, but at the time it seemed like a good idea.

I tossed everything back in the fridge and headed for the bedroom, reasoning that everything would be alright in the morning. Trouble is—it was morning. And I was hungry. And tired. And hung-over. “Screw the sandwich,” I thought. “I can’t eat a sandwich for breakfast.” So I hopped in my car and drove straight to Taco Bell.

Taco Bell was closed. It wasn’t a 24x7 Taco Bell. It didn’t open until 9 am. I drove home. I was too hungry to sleep, so I turned on the TV and watched some damn infomercial about knives or something. I don’t really remember. I kept hoping the Fatassabs Plus infomercial would come on. It was another modern, completely inessential, American invention. And I wanted it more than anything.

I can be such a miserable prick sometimes.


There are 633 days remaining in Bush’s presidency.

Welcoming Myself

I've just relocated my blog here from diaryland.com...and...um...then from blogit.com. If you're hear because you first visited my site, www.scottsiders.com, thanks for dropping by. If you're hear from browsing blogit.com, thanks for dropping by as well...and why not check out www.scottsiders.com?

I hope to start posting more often, even if it's just to run my mouth about the inane events of my day or my self-righteous comments on the news of the day.

There are 634 days remaining in Bush's presidency.