Atlanta, Part I
Vann had a training session in Atlanta today and I decided at the last second that I would tag along. I’m trying my best to be a well-rounded person who has a life outside of work, which I have not had much of for the past year, and I figure this is a good way to start. My plans for the day are as follows:
Doesn’t that sound lovely?
I just came back from a very successful continental breakfast in the hotel lobby, the success being my champion waffle-making. I am a serial offender when it comes to making waffles. In fact, if I had a Super Villian name, it might be The Jenninator: Destroyer of Waffles. I have this nasty habit of lifting the press to see if the waffle is done, which usally results in a gooey, inedible mess. The thing is, I know that you can’t ‘check’ on waffles. I get it. Its just that I’m impatient and have this feeling like the waffle is going to burn, so I very cautiously lift the press to take a quick peek and just like Britney Spears, oops, I did it again.
Today, as you have no doubt guessed, my waffle turned out perfectly golden and delicious. The waffle makers at this hotel have a built-in timer that starts as soon as you close the press and counts down the time for you. It sure felt like a loooong time that I was waiting for that waffle, and I was certain that it was going to be of the extra-crispy variety, but I did not lift the lid. Lo and behold, what only felt like half an hour later, I lifted my personal best waffle clean out of the mold, slapped it on my plate and drowned it in syrup. It was deliciously sweet, both with syrup and the taste of victory.
Since I spent so much time waiting on the perfection that was my breakfast, I indulged in a favorite sport of mine; people watching. During this morning’s sport, I had the pleasure of eating with what I can only assume are the Hungriest Children in America. I realize that continental breakfasts have an all-you-can-eat sort of flair, but most people don’t take it seriously. Three boys and one girl all made their way down the line, grabbing one of everything at the bar. One of everything. Per person. Banana, apple, cheese danish, fruit danish, blueberry muffin, banana nut muffin, sausage patty, scrambled eggs, bacon, oatmeal, orange juice, milk, hot chocolate, apple sauce, yogurt, bagel, cream cheese, preserves, butter, margarine, ONE OF EVERYTHING EACH. I cringed in terror as they steadily approached my place at the waffle maker. Would they take my waffle?
They didn’t take my waffle. What they did was stand there silently, a fortress of flesh behind their many plates of food, and mentally weighed the pros and cons of waiting for me to finish and then making four waffles individually. They voted against the wait and proceeded to their tables where they, astonishingly, finished every crumb.
Then their equally well-fed parents came down to visit. They saw their kids sitting with empty plates in front of them and said ‘why don’t y’all get something to eat?’ Obedient angels that they were, they repeated their ‘take one and pass it down’ strategy on the buffet, leaving no carafe unturned. The first three went through the line pretty efficiently this time, but #4 had a little more trouble. You see, not all danishes are created equal. Everyone knows that the danish with the most cheese is the one to get, but most of the time we’re just polite and take the one on top instead of judging each danish on its individual merit. #4 had other ideas.
Ignoring the tongs provided at the display case for our sanitary convenience, he reached his hand inside and pulled out each danish, one by one, judged its character, and put it back in the case. He finally made his choice, selected a danish and moved on to the muffins. Since muffins, by their very nature, are not as yummy as danishes, he thought that he would do a little exchange. Instead of getting one of everything, #4 decided to pass on the muffin and get two danishes, still partaking of the correct number of breakfast items. He transferred the first danish to one hand, licked the fingers of the other one and returned to his quality-control inspection process, handling every single danish available with his saliva-covered fingertips. After making his second selection, crisis set in. You see, there was a third danish that met his high standards, but both of his hands were already occupied. Since it would be a crime to either leave the danish uneaten or to use a plate, he put one danish in his mouth, grabbed the third with his free hand and waddled back to his table looking much like one of those pastry tripod displays you see at old lady luncheons and bridal showers .
When they were finished with second breakfasts, the real fun began. Out of nowhere they pulled out to-go containers with plastic bags and began stuffing them from here to high heaven with everything that remained on the buffet. Each of the six people in that family left with two, count ‘em two, full bags of breakfast items, including milk and juice. To be honest, I am surprised that they didn’t take my plate, or me for that matter. The staff stood on either side of the buffet, clearly unsure of what to do. There must be some sort of protocol, but who wants to engage in that sort of confrontation? ‘Drop the donuts, buddy! Unhand that sausage!’
And so, with my appetite sufficiently curbed, I ate about 3/4 of my waffle, got the last to-go cup of coffee and returned to our suite on the third floor. I took the stairs.
My Dream Come True
I was blessed in life with a singularly fantastic childhood, with one drastic exception. You see, I was not allowed to have yummy cereals that were bright, colorful, sugary, marshmallowy, chocolatey, fruity, gooey, frosty, sticky or – how shall I phrase this? - tasty in any way. This mandate pretty well limited my cereal intake to plain Shredded Wheat, Cheerios or Alpha-Bits, which were just like Cheerios but shaped like all letters of the alphabet, not just ‘o’s, and seem to no longer exist. I was also permitted to eat Rice Krispies, but without marshmallow goo holding them together, eating them was just too much work for too little pleasure. The ’snap, krackle, pop’ mantra only happened if you put them in milk, which I don’t believe in using on cereal.
That’s right, I said it. I don’t believe in milk on my cereal…or anything else for that matter. Milk is merely an ingredient used to achieve other greatnesses, such as ice creams, cheeses and chocolate. In its grocery store form of undiluted cow’s mucus, milk shall never touch my cereal nor my lips.
That said, when I reached adulthood, I started at one end of the cereal aisle and worked my way all the way to the other; no small feat. Favorites include Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Golden Grahams, Honey O’s and Honey Bunches of Oats, with or without almonds. Since most of the General Mills cereals come fortified, and since I typically eat them as snacks out of sandwich bags while I’m at work, even the bad ones aren’t tragically unhealthy. Arguably, the most healthy choice listed is Honey Bunches of Oats, which has become a routine favorite in my household, mostly because Vann will eat them as well. I guess what makes them so good is that they walk the line between ‘adult’ cereal with healthy corn flakes and almonds and ‘kid’ cereal with the honey roasting and the bunches – oh, the bunches! those delectable bunches – making it a perfect compromise for the two of us.
Well guess what, America! Introducing JUST BUNCHES cereal, from the same fine folks who brought you Honey Bunches of Oats. You read that correctly, JUST BUNCHES is exactly what the name implies. Sweet, granola-like bunches dipped in honey to make them perfectly sweet, salty and crunchy all at the same time. Who could ask for anything more from a cereal? They make a delectable snack for the dance teacher on the go, but I feel that they may have other uses as well. So far I have had them solo, a la mode, a la yogurt, and as a crunchy addition to my apple pie filling. I feel that this cereal’s limits may know no bounds.
In conclusion, I encourage all lovers of cereals, granola and snacks to experiment with this newfangled delicacy. Please remember to report back to me with your findings. I thank you.
Books
Hello, my name is Jenn and I am a bookaholic.
Whew, am I glad to get that off my chest. Reading is my thing, my hobby, my pastime, my joy, my vacation I get to take every day. Which is why I’m a little miffed at this whole ‘work’ thing interfering with my reading time. Recently, I’ve had some time off from work and since my field trip program hasn’t started yet, I have most of my mornings free, leaving me lots of delicious reading time. But as time goes by, my windows of literary opportunity get smaller and smaller, usually leaving me dangling mid-sentence or forcing me to leave my people in some desperate situation, which only my page-turning can solve. People that don’t love books don’t understand; you have to finish the chapter OR ELSE. You can’t just leave someone hanging off the edge of a cliff by one finger for an entire day while you go around dancing and singing. It just isn’t right.
Currently, I am working through several books. My habit of reading multiple books at one time used to drive my mom crazy – in fact it still might, the subject hasn’t come up recently – but I can’t help myself. To me, books are like choosing an outfit to wear or a wine to drink; it has to match my mood. At all times I need a fluffy fiction or comedy, historical fiction, thriller/mystery and something for work, like a book on theatre or dance. This week’s selection includes Undomestic Goddess, A Breath of Snow & Ashes, Interview with a Vampire and Theatre for Community Conflict & Dialogue, all stellar choices to fit any whim. Raining and thundering outside? Vampires, please. Bubble bath time? Chic lit, please. Problems at work? Voganova, please. If only everything in life was as easy to suit. 
