30 August 2007

Ode to the Banana Twinkie


The college years are times of great sacrifice. In order to achieve the academic status necessary for our dream jobs, we students sacrifice our social lives, our workout regimens, sleep, and most importantly, good food. The days of eating cereal while reading the daily paper are long gone, not to mention those luscious Saturday morning brunches. Too often the stomach is put on the backburner for that extra hour of sleep after an all-night cram session or fifteen more minutes of study time for that brutal anatomy exam later in the day.



This morning, however, after months of skipping meals, I discovered the secret to the college breakfast: the Banana Twinkie. A Twinkie, you ask? How does that delicious spongecake Hostess treat even begin to provide a balanced diet? And sure, a regular everyday Twinkie would have a difficult time justifying its role as a breakfast food nutrition-wise (and there's also that small detail that a Twinkie cannot talk). But, the Banana Twinkie... the Banana Twinkie surpasses the regular Twinkie in one very significant way.



Examine its name: B-A-N-A-N-A T-W-I-N-K-I-E... B-A-N-A-N-A... banana! Bananas are shown in every self-respecting breakfast commercial on TV. They are a core breakfast component, an integral part of the breakfast of champions. Who can argue that anything with the word banana in it cannot be considered a breakfast food when such glaring evidence proves the contrary? (for the sake of this article's integrity, I ask you to ignore the fact that the Banana Twinkie is most probably made with artificial banana flavoring rather than real bananas).



Okay, so the spongecake portion of the Banana Twinkie may not exactly meet the quota of the American Association of Nutritionists. And I suppose that the gregarious amount of preservatives within the Twinkie are not the epitome of health either. Plus, one could argue that if the issue of eating is ease and speed of consumption, a cereal bar would suffice to solve that problem better than a Banana Twinkie.



However, in the realm of college logic, the word and taste of banana (and do not forget that the creamy texture is made with none other than milk and eggs, two other top rate breakfast items) automatically idealizes the Banana Twinkie as a perfect munchable to "break the fast". Thus, until someone comes up with a more desirable and more reasonable morning edible (or else my Banana Twinkies start making their presence known on the lower posterior quadrants of my body), one will likely find me stuffing my face with this delectable sponge rather than foregoing hitting the snooze button that luxurious fourth time before rolling out of bed in the morning.

25 August 2007

Shoe Saga


I wore bad shoes today.
This is not a mistake I make very often. Perhaps it is because I own very few pairs of bad shoes. Or maybe it is because once I make the mistake of wearing bad shoes, I am inflicted with several quite painful blisters which prevent me from wearing bad shoes again for a time.
This particular pair of bad shoes are brown and have a heel (my first mistake). They are dress shoes and have the most adorable gold buckle across the toe. I remember I used to wear them with my uniform skirt and navy blue knee socks. I thought I looked so cool (no comment please).
So, maybe, I put these shoes on for their sentimental value. Outwardly, I remember choosing them because they were tall and prevented my too long jeans (heaven forbid I find jeans to fit my short stature) from dragging on the wet ground. But perhaps there was something more.
A girl lives by her shoes. Sure, she makes everyone think it's her clothes or her body shape, but really, it is her shoes. I don't own many bad shoes for this reason. Sadly, the bad shoes are usually the cutest shoes but since we've already determined that I am not the most fashion conscious of persons, I have come to terms with this sad fact.
Bad shoes, adorable as they may be, cause my current predicament of sitting shoeless in the library (the offending shoes have long since been kicked under the table), dreading walking to lunch as the blister on my heel will begin to bleed again on my white sock. But, alas, my stomach wins the fight and I search with my injured foot for the cruel heel, painfully slip it on and begin the arduous journey across campus.
Moral of my sad tale - shoes are overrated. Stick with bare feet.