So… January 10, 2012

I’ll save you the “oh, I’m sorry I didn’t post for such a long time ” blahblah blah blah.

Truthfully, I’m alright with not having posted. Mostly because I’ve been leading a pretty good life in the months between now and my last post.

I graduated. I got a new job. I became a permanent resident in Washington, D.C. I hung out with some great friends. Started to learn to ride a bike (!!!) and threw some awesome parties in the meantime.

Life was and is good.

I’m not saying I’m going to be a prolific writer again (see my previous blogs, not this one), but today, I felt the need to write.

Maybe it’s because I’m training again. This time for the Marine Corps marathon in October. I ran my first miles today — a rickety painful 3.03 that took me 45 minutes. Maybe I’m feeling vulnerable whereas during my absence, at my best, I felt invincible.

I’m not sure.

For some reason, some part of me today feels vulnerable. Like I’m on the cusp of something big and I’m not quite sure I’m prepared for it. (I’m not. Just saying it feels that way.)

Anyway, some friends and I have made our list of resolutions for this coming year. They don’t represent all of the things I want to accomplish, but it’s a start.

1. Settle into my new job and own my beat. I’ve been kind of getting by and doing a lot of reactionary journalism. I’d like to become indispensible — or at the least, hella competent. In practice, this means I need to spend at least 30 minutes each morning reading news, maintaining and developing source relationships better and pitching more stories on my own. I’m going to aim for at least one analysis/features page story per month.
2. Train for and complete another endurance event. I got accepted to run the Cherry Blossom 10 miler on April 1. A friend and I are planning to run the Marine Corps half or full marathon in October. This also is a double goal in that it gets me to exercise and use the gym membership that I’m currently paying for at Georgetown.
3. Purge my house. I did round 1 of this in 2011, but I really need to do it again and really make sure that I am only surrounded by things that 1) bring me joy or 2) help me enjoy my life. I did the kitchen this weekend and got rid of an entire large Rubbermaid container of pots, dishes and other utensils. Feels good. I want that feeling all through my house.
4. Decorate my house.  Again, I’m trying to make my home a place that brings me joy and helps me enjoy my life. I want my home to reflect the awesomeness of my life and the maturity befitting of a nearly 30 year old woman. I’ll be enlisting some help from my friend Soraya and my other fashionable friends to help me develop my aesthetic and get the most out of my space.
5. Find an org/cause to volunteer with and do so at least once every 2 months. This is a recycled goal from last year, but I really want to get back into volunteering. I did so sporadically last year, but now that I’m settled in my apartment and new job, there’s really no excuse. I need to give back since I’ve been so blessed.
6. (Continue) Learn(ing) to ride a bike AND go bike riding! I had two lessons with one of my awesome friends this fall, but Homecomings, school and general business kept me from having more. When we left, I could start pedaling by myself and ride unassisted for short distances. Our next lesson was to be on turning. I need to either continue lessons with him, or find a new teacher to help me along in the process. My goal will be to bike a portion of the bike trail once I master the skill.
7. Get financial life in order. This means I will pay off my credit card debt, my loan and open a credit card solely for work expenses (so that my balance doesn’t get out of hand).
8. Add at least $3000 to emergency account – I’ll be rebuilding my emergency savings account and establishing funds for leisure and my camera fund. But it seems $3,000 is a popular — and attainable – goal.
9. Throw at least four gatherings.  I like to entertain. And I don’t do it enough. The Blaxploitation Extravaganza is now an annual event, but I want to start entertaining more. I figure at least one party per season is a fair goal. I can always do more if the mood strikes me.  Already on tap for 2012 — January: Tacos & Taboo; February: Blaxploitation Extravaganza – Feature titles – “Pootie Tang” & “The Mack”
10. Strengthen relationship with God. Did minimal soul searching while I was in school — almost as a reflex of being in a very strict church in RI. I do miss having a closer relationship with God and I’d like to develop one again. I need to decide they type of relationship I want with God and commit to doing what it takes to achieve that relationship.
11. Be more purposeful in my interactions. I am a control freak. I’m bossy. But in the nicest way possible. I need to allow myself to receive more and be okay with relinquishing control sometimes. Additionally, I want to be more purposeful about how I allow people to treat me, what I tolerate and what I expect from people. I need to demand better treatment from those in my life, or those seeking a place within it.
12. Guest Goal: Find my “cute” – I’ve got a style, apparently, but I don’t have a beauty look: something from the neck up that defines me. So my challenge is to look in the mirror, decide what I want to highlight and find a way to rock it in an amazing way. This will require some experimentation. Tentatively, I’m thinking that awesome hair and played up eyes will be my things since they tentatively are, what I feel, my best assets.

It’s been a long time March 26, 2011

I’m procrastinating from studying, so I figured I’d blog really quickly.

That’s logical right?

This song and video are awesome. Watch it.

I’ve got about 7 weeks of law school left and honestly, it’s kicking my behind. I’ve got two papers due (really, more than that, but it’s a long story I’d rather not get into) and I’m here blogging instead of researching and reading the cases I’ve already found.

Did I mention I’m in the library? Yeah. In here not being productive like a mofo.

I volunteered this morning at DC Central Kitchen, which was actually really fun. I may try to do it again before I graduate. We’ll see. I worked out to keep from falling asleep. But all those endorphins aren’t translating into more focus for me.

I’m going to the Cherry Blossom Festival this week. Hell or high water. And I”m taking pictures. AND – know what else?? — I’m gonna post them here, since I’ve been such a slacker about posting here. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Yeah. I knew you would.

Beyond that, I’ve just been hanging out. When I should be studying. Like right now.

I’m going to go crack a book open.

A Day On January 15, 2011

When the clock went off at 6:30, I didn’t want to get out of bed. But I knew I had to be at S.O.M.E. in the next 20 minutes, so I hopped to it.

I’m not a morning person. At all. But I wasn’t getting up for myself. I was getting up to help someone else. So I prayed as I walked the three blocks to the soup kitchen at 71 O St. NW, thanking God for the resources and opportunities I had been blessed with.

When I got into the offices, they’d already started orientation. Dirk Whatley, the volunteer coordinator was telling the volunteers about the people they would be serving, and the services that S.O.M.E. offers. At this location, in addition to offering food, patrons are provided with a place to shower. At locations throughout the city, the organization provides education and health services, and even a shelter for the elderly.

The main dining room seats 160 people. During one shift, about 300 people will walk through the doors to receive a meal. There’s a system that keeps things moving along quickly. Two lines of volunteers flank the food and provide plates, assembly line style to the end of the line, where two volunteers are waiting to hand out the plates as people come into the door. The diners take their plates and any other belongings they come in with, to the tables, where forks, napkins, cups and water pitchers are placed. Everyone gets one plate. You can opt out of something we’re serving, but you can’t double up.

Another set of volunteers roams through the dining room, serving coffee. In the kitchen, yet another group of volunteers is cooking the food.

I got placed on the food line. My item? Bread. I kind of wished I had a more active role, but I just reminded myself that I was part of the whole that provided food to the visitors.

Some of the people spoke to us as they passed the line. Most didn’t. As one of the volunteers closest to the door, I got to see the people who were coming in. Some of them looked stereotypically homeless: layered unkempt clothes, scruffy faces, lots of bags. But others, I was surprised at. A few men, maybe 25 or so, came in wearing what I thought were nice leather jackets. One man walked through the door proclaiming “This is for all the women on the line who like men, homeless or not!” and then proceeded to play what I think was “It’s Raining Men” from the older model Mac laptop he was carrying. The employees made him turn it down (I think they bribed him with an additional piece of bacon).

I looked out at the people eating breakfast during one break in the line and realized what a difference a change of scenery makes. I walk by the corner where S.O.M.E. is located nearly every day. It’s along the route I take to go to school. I normally walk by quickly with either a neutral face, or a slight scowl, in hopes of deterring anyone from trying me. If I’d seen any of these people on the streets, I wouldn’t have looked at them, or I would have scurried quickly past. But here, as I served food, I was smiling at them. Saying ‘good morning.’ Inside, I was a little ashamed that my behavior wasn’t the same both inside and outside of the S.O.M.E. walls.

At the end of the shift, at 8:30 a.m., we wiped down all of the tables and chairs (as we had done midway through service) and replenished the napkins, cups and forks at each table. Someone ran a mop while others washed dishes. I busied myself in whatever way I could, wiping chairs, placing cups and packaging leftovers into large aluminum pans.

Truth be told, I loved it. I miss doing community service. And serving food is something I’m accustomed to since I was always on the food committee at my church back in Rhode Island. As I left, I realized this was an easy way for me to give back to the community. I got Dirk’s card as I left the building. I told him I live a few blocks from here and I’d like to volunteer more regularly. He said to shoot him an e-mail and we can talk availability. If anyone wants to come with me, let me know. We’ll set a date. They serve breakfast and lunch daily, so there are always opportunities.

First Street NW was bright when I stepped out of the doors of S.O.M.E. My fellow volunteers walked to the left toward their cars. I turned right to walk home. I noticed a man who had passed through the line standing off to the side of the sidewalk. I looked him in his eyes, flashed a smile and said “Have a nice day.”

He smiled and wished me one in return.

Making Progress January 15, 2011

Yes, it’s Friday night and I’m blogging. But only to keep from cleaning.

Tomorrow I’m having some people over for food and games. But, I wanted to give a quick update.

In addition to signing up for jazz class on Wednesday, tomorrow, I will be volunteering at So Others Might Eat with the Alliance for Women in Media – National Capital Area Chapter  as a part of their observance of Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday. I used to volunteer a lot more when I was in college, and when I had a church home, so this service is something that my soul has been crying out for.

Bright and early, I’ll be slanging eggs and whatnot. That should be cool. I might even be able to get a nap in before people start ringing my doorbell.

But tonight? Back to cleaning.

*cranks up “General Patton”*

Lata.

I like the way you move January 13, 2011

I was psyched about going to class tonight. I’m not even sure how it came about. It just all came together.

I was with Veronica Tuesday and she suggested I go to the intro to jazz class at her dance company, Contradiction Dance. I scoffed at first, then said, okay. I mean, I do have a slate of classes to finish by the end of this year — I promised myself.

So today, she and I made our way to Silver Spring, took off our shoes and got ready to move.

I’ll say this: it moves quickly.

But not even. Like, I felt like as it was going along, I could follow and that I was doing what I needed to do. But by the end of the class, when we had done like, three movements (not sure if that’s the right word) of a dance the instructor was teaching us, I was looking back like, how did we get here?

How’d I do?

There were some missteps. Quite a few. I don’t have a ton of rhythm, so I watched the instructor a lot. That was cool when she was in front of me. But then, I’d have to do it with another student and I couldn’t look at her. So I kinda felt like I had two left feet at times. I think it was also a little frustrating because I’d just done it not 30 seconds prior when she was leading us through, but I was stumbling trying to replicate it.

I’d talked with her prior to class beginning and she said she was going to try to convince me to sign up for the entire class. I was skeptical.

But at the end of the class, I wanted to finish it. I wanted to at least be able to get those moves down. And I did say I wanted to take a class. Why not this one? Why not now?

So, for the next 7 weeks, my Wednesday night dance card is full. Now let’s hope I can just get the whole counting-in-your-head-while-listening-to-music-and-moving-your-body thing down by then.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Eleven in ’11 December 14, 2010

I’m jumping on the bandwagon. Albeit a little late.

Erika and Darby started 11 in ’11 — a list of eleven goals that you want to accomplish in the New Year. They aren’t resolutions, they are specific goals that you will achieve in the coming year. (All about positive thinking.) Veronica jumped aboard and so did Keith. Me, I’m  tardy for the party.

Law school finals will do that to you.

Sue me. I had law school finals to fail pass, so I had to prioritize. But just because I didn’t have time to write this post doesn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about the things I wanted to accomplish in 2011.

1. Buy an SLR and start taking photographs. I’ve always loved photography and last year, I even took a class at my local design school (RISD, you may have heard of it?). Well, I’ve coveted a digital SLR for years, but after I got a chance to work with one for a semester, I REALLY wanted one then. But I had law school and a move to pay for. So my camera fund sat empty. With graduation on the horizon, there’s not really an excuse for me to at least be saving up for a really good camera. And I’ve got enough shutterbugs in my life to help me choose one that’ll work for me.
2. Go on at least 2 dates with men I do not currently know. So, before you get on me for that extremely low number — I’ve never been a dater. I’ve always been the friend who happens to kind of stumble into relationships. So in all, I’ve probably been on like, 4 dates in my entire life. I’m 27. That should change. I’m starting small with two because I’m not really interested in just dating a ton of people. And really, that’s pretty good jump – from 0 to 2 – I think. And the qualifier is the kicker: they HAVE to be people I don’t currently know. Every one of my exes — every. single. one. — I knew before we started dating. I need to expand the circle. See who else is out there.
3. Challenge myself in my career. Keeping it vague on purpose, though trust there are very specific goals in this category that I’m aiming for.
4. Train for and complete another endurance event. In May, I completed a half marathon. It was the longest I’d ever ran in my life. And it was one of the harder things I have done. But after all of the training, I felt great. But after my race was over, I felt I deserved to be able to sit on my couch and eat nachos. Seven months later, I’ve yet to lace my running shoes up for a real run since. Even though I miss big parts of running. I also know that I didn’t push myself as hard as I could have during my half. I stopped a few times and I was running pretty slowly. I was glad to finish, but as I see my other friends finish their marathons and halfs, I know that I could have pushed myself harder and finished with a better time. So why not? I know I can do it. I know it is within my realm of possibilities. I just have to do it. And shoot, maybe I’ll think about a triathalon or something? Who knows!
5. Purge my house (stolen from Veronica). I’m a pack rat. And I buy things unnecessarily. When I moved from Rhode Island to D.C., I packed at least 2 boxes of toiletries and extra products I had accumulated over the years. Since I’ve been in the District, I’ve vowed to not buy a lotion, soap or hair care product without first using up the stuff I have. I’ve barely made a dent. If I plan on staying in major metropolitan areas (i.e. places with tiny apartments and even smaller storage areas), I need to learn how to live with less. Plus, it would probably go a long way to helping me keep my house clean.
6. Find an org/cause to volunteer with and do so at least once every 2 months. I’ve always liked helping people and when I got to Rhode Island, I volunteered with an organization helping young girls with their self-esteem. Once that program ended, I kept telling myself to look for something else to do, but I never got around to it. I really want to volunteer somewhere on a regular basis — so that I can build relationships and see the change that I’m contributing to. I’m not sure exactly what subsection of people I’d like to service, but I know that I want to find a group of people and help them in any way I can.
7. Learn to ride a bike. I don’t know how. I never learned. There was a very harrowing experience when I was like 8 that involved me tucking and rolling as I jumped off a speeding bike and tumbled into the grass, but that’s neither here nor there. I live in a great city and you know what? It’d be nice to be able to bike it instead of taking the bus, train or driving my car. Plus, it’s something I want to learn how to do. And for years, people have promised they would teach me — we see how well that’s gone. So the  best remedy? Teach myself. Pointers are welcomed.
8. Rebuild my emergency account. I exhausted it moving to D.C. and paying for law school. When I buckled down to create it (in the year before I enrolled) I was pretty amazed at how quickly your savings account can grow if you put your mind to it. I automated everything so that I didn’t have to think about it — I just saved. And it was awesome. It’d be nice to have that kind of money lying around for emergencies, or for vacations.
9. Take  better care of my body. I have some health issues (nothing super serious) but they are exacerbated by my lifestyle — mainly by me not eating properly and not getting enough sleep. I need to do better about getting the foods I need to eat, and monitoring myself so that I can enjoy life a little more fully. I also need to floss — I always say I’m going to start this year, but I fall off. I’ll lump that into this goal as well.
10. Take a dance class. So, disclaimer: I can’t really dance. Well, I can. But I’m not really comfortable dancing unless it’s in some sort of line formation (see: The Hustle, Cupid Shuffle, etc.). I mean, I can’t tell you how many times Veronica tried to teach me how to dougie. (It didn’t end well.) Not that you need a class to give you the moves, but I always thought it was cool how real dancers (like trained ones, or even just really good ones) are just really aware of how their bodies move and confident with it. I think that would be cool. Not sure of the genre yet — maybe salsa, lyrical or pole dancing (it is all the rage, after all!).
11. V upped the ante. For my 10th goal, I have to take at least one class in each of the major dance categories: Hip Hop, Jazz, Ballet, Broadway/Vegas Jazz, and African. If jazz isn’t available, I can substitute it for latin dance.

And as is the custom in this little shindig we’ve got going here,someone else is going to choose my 11th goal for the coming year. Since Erika and Darbs have already done it, Veronica is going to choose mine. I’ll let you know what she comes up with.

Here’s to the New Year!

Signing Off November 29, 2010

…For now, at least.

Next Tuesday, finals for my first semester of law school begin.

The bad news: As of right now, I’m woefully unprepared.

The good news: As a journalist, I’m well versed in the art of understanding complex stuff on short deadlines.

With all that said, I need to set some limits on myself, because I’m still a procrastinator. That means I’m logging out of Facebook, substantially curtailing my Tweets and Imma neglect the blog for a little bit (as if you aren’t already used to that by now).

Also, a plea to you: I like to procrastinate. If I hit you up on gchat or engage you in some mindless Twitter banter, I beg you to ask me if there’s something else I should be doing right now. Because there probably is a book/outline/study guide I should be reviewing rather than weighing in on the merits of Pink Friday. Just saying.

So send me good vibes (and gummy bears to fuel my cram sessions if you’re feeling generous) while I study and slog through this material. I’ll catch you around mid-December.

-Talia

Word Up to the Marathoner November 9, 2010

This?

 

This right here?

 

Downright amazing.

 

And it makes me want to run again.

 

Big ups to my boy Gene for killing the NYC Marathon this weekend and inspiring all of us wanna-be runners in the process.

(Can’t Go) Home Again November 7, 2010

This afternoon, I got a call from my sister.

My mom is moving to another city.

For the first time in my life, Flint isn’t my home.

I’m going to miss it. As much as I hate that city, as much as I hated my neighborhood, East Bishop Avenue was home.

We had to leave because the city isn’t safe anymore.

Last week, my mom’s house was broken into. But that alone isn’t the reason we’re leaving.

It’s kind of an old bag for us. That’s just what happens on the Northside of Flint, Mich.

Yes, from Bowling for Columbine/Roger & Me/any other Michael Moore movie you have seen and loved.  And my hometown has been on that recession when the rest of the country was still in flush times. I just wish we could say we were on to the next one.

I can’t count how many times our house has been broken into. After a while, it doesn’t make sense to get mad. You just stop buying nice things, or if they get taken, you can at least put it into perspective:

No one was home. No one got hurt. No one got shot. It’s just stuff. We have insurance.

It literally happened at least once every 3 to 5 years. The last few times, I was always away. At school. At an internship. At work. At law school. I’d get the news and do what I could to help from whatever state I was at the time. This time, it meant getting my mom a plane ticket home to Michigan as soon as possible.

When I think about that house now, I remember all the hot summer days my mom made us follow behind her with the trash bag to collect the clippings as she lined the hedges that surrounded the property. I remember how it always amused me that I could turn off all of the lights in the house and still walk from the front door to my room without hitting anything. I remember playing on my porch. We had the best porch ever. It ran the entire width of the house and had this thick railing that you could sit on. It looked out at the vacant field across the street from my house and the large tree that sat in my front yard. I remember not learning to ride a bike because we lived at the top of a hill at the end of the street. I remember being afraid to go into the storage room beneath our stairs because there was always a spider that had built a cobweb near the light and I didn’t want to touch it. I remember the day we got new carpet. My mom did it, if I remember correctly, while we were at school. We left school that morning and our house had this ugly green brown shag carpet. When we returned, our house had this deep lilac colored carpet. I thought it was too bright. My mom loved it. It stayed.

I remember when we got the bars on our windows. Our house had been broken into so many times, we had them installed in hopes of keeping people out. I remember being scared that if there was a fire that I wouldn’t be able to get out of the window. I’d sit in my bed at night sometimes and rehearse how I’d get out if I needed to. (I’d pop the safety button on the window, slide it open, balance on the window sill and then dangle from the window and drop down to the ground below — this was a big deal to me because I’m short and afraid of heights.) I remember the time I got held up at gunpoint on my porch. I remember being so scared as I ran in the house to tell my family that I couldn’t even get words out. The man didn’t take anything, but my friend, who was sitting on my porch with me, didn’t come back to my house. None of my friends came to my house much. Though Flint is relatively small, I stayed in the “bad part” and some of their parents were worried about their kids being over my house. I never had a birthday party or a sleepover there.

The house I grew up in was small, modest. A white two bedroom house with a great big porch that I remember playing on as a kid. We had this huge tree in the front of our house and we lived across the street from a big empty field. When the owner cut the grass, we’d play kickball or tag in it. Otherwise, we’d take our phone cords and play double dutch in the shade of that tree.

The house next door was an exact mirror of ours. They moved out years ago and no one ever moved in. A few years ago, they demolished that house and my mom bought the lot it sat on. Slowly, the people I grew up with all moved away. The women my mother knew on the street, they moved away. When I came home after a few years, the entire street had transitioned from home owners to renters. The yards were unkempt. More houses than not were boarded up. Even though I’d lived on that street longer than most of the residents had been alive, I worried that my car would be broken into because it had Mississippi plates; they’d think I was a visitor.

This time, the burglars didn’t take much. Our televisions and valuables were still there. Instead, they took the copper pipes that ran through our basement. As they worked, they tore the metal from the baseboard, unleashing gallons of water in our basement. My mother said when she got to the house, the pillows in her room upstairs were still damp from the moisture in the air. Our water bill for last month? Hundreds of dollars.

I know I”m probably being selfish by being upset that my room isn’t going to be there anymore when the place where my mother has lived the last 30 years is going to be gone. I think we’ll all miss it a little.

I just wish I had gotten a chance to go home one more time.

Let it never be said that I’m not a good friend or “The McRib experience” November 6, 2010

This is so many kinds of messed up, I’m not even sure where to begin.

Let’s start with Gene.

This is a big weekend for Gene. He turned three score a few days ago and on Sunday, he’s running the New York City Marathon. I called to wish him a Happy Birthday, but a phone call seemed too ordinary to celebrate such a momentous occasion.

“Tell me how I can immortalize this and celebrate this with you,” I said to Gene over the phone.

He hemmed. He hawed. Then finally:

“You could eat a McRib for me.”

*scratches record*

“Excuse me?”

Now, I have never had a McRib in my life.  For the uninitiated, let me explain. The McRib is a boneless rib-shaped pork patty dipped in tangy barbecue sauce with fresh onions and pickles, all on a bun. It also apparently has 500 calories — almost as many as the KFC Double Down.

I remember the McRib being sold when I was younger. But I’d never eaten one. I was happy back then with Quarter Pounders and

Chicken Nuggets. As I got older, I stuck mainly to fries and crispy chicken sandwiches ($1 menu, holla). So the idea of eating pork — not even BEEF — from McDonald’s just didn’t seem appealing to me.

“Are you sure?” I asked Gene, who, ironically enough, is a vegetarian.

“Yes,” he said. “You look like the sort of [expletive] who eats McRib sandwiches.”

He wouldn’t elaborate, but I’m pretty sure I should have been offended. I mean, exactly

what kind of person eats McRib sandwiches? Oddly enough, in the days after I accepted the challenge, Twitter exploded with people extolling the virtues of the McRib. Personally, the response I got as I told more people about it was less enthusiastic:

Said Tasha: “You’re going to destroy this delicious delicatessen by placing your ‘Mc’ in front of it.That’s unacceptable.”

Said @BelmontMedina: that is true friendship of a kind i am not even willing to contemplate.

I put it off long enough. It was Saturday and in less than 24 hours, Gene would be running his marathon. I needed to consume a McRib. And I needed to do it now.

I pulled into the McDonald’s on New York Avenue and looked for something to twitpic. If I was going to subject my stomach to the McRib, the world was going to know it.

As I waited to order, this man came up to the driver’s side of my car and asking me to spare $3 so he could get some food. I placed my hand over the $5 bill sitting in my lap and told him I didn’t have any change. What about $2? $1? I shook my head and told him I was paying with a card. He walked away dejected.

I took it as a sign of bad things to come.

“Welcome to McDonald’s, how may I help you?”

“Can I have a McRib,” I said, laughing. I honestly could not believe that I was actually ordering this monstrosity.

A few minutes and $3.02 later, I had the bag in my hands and rushed home to eat it. I opened the bag and pulled out the box. The words “Tangy Temptation” seemed to mock me from the cover. I had a feeling this was going to be neither. Inside, the sandwich actually doesn’t look horrible. But as soon as I opened the box, I didn’t smell barbecue sauce, instead, I was overwhelmed with the smell of pickles. I like pickles. *pause* So I continued.

I tentatively took a bite. The sandwich is mostly bread and those pickles. As I chewed the meat, I tried to find the words to explain what I was eating. The meat literally tasted like nothing. There were no juices, no flavor, no nothing. It tasted like thick, wet cardboard. Or, to put it another way, it tasted like those rib sandwiches you had in school lunch that no one ever really ate.

I think I was most disappointed – well, most is a relative term – at the sauce. It’s billed as tangy barbecue. It tasted less like barbecue and more like weak ketchup.

I ate it begrudgingly.  I stopped after a few bites to look at what I was eating.

That wasn’t a good idea.

I kept eating.

Halfway through, my stomach started to growl as if in protest.

I forced myself to eat 3/4ths of it. But as I got down to the bottom half, the meat slipped out of the bun.

I didn’t have the heart or the desire to place it back and continue eating.

So I closed the box and threw away what was left.

About an hour later, my intestine still feels as if it’s going to revolt against me for forcing my stomach to digest a McRib.

In case I don’t make it, now, dear Gene, I ask a favor of you:

1. Kill this marathon tomorrow,

2. Never ask another human to consume the McRib in your honor ever again.