Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Let there be Sriracha ...

Every Monday I get an email from writer-performance artist-actor Miranda July and within it are the personal correspondences of a handful of somewhat famous people ranging from Kareem Abdul Jabbar to Lena Dunham. 

It's a project, much like everything Miranda July does. She is curious about the way people comport (her word) themselves in this medium, so she asked a bunch of people to comb through outbox and give her an unfiltered glimpse of emails that refer to a specific topic. This week it was "body." Then July forwards the collection to anyone who wants to read it. Like me. The whole thing is called We Think Alone.

Plenty of the emails are boring -- though I never tire of seeing new mail from Miranda July -- except Lena Dunham. Her letters are always so neurotic and witty that it's like she secretly believes that someday her entire life will be open to the public, her emails public domain, her underwear drawer on the second floor of the museum next to whatever mites, skin and hair some intern vacuumed out of her mattress.

Some Mondays, after reading the collection, I type the topic into the search bar on my Gmail to see what my contribution would be if, say, I was one of Miranda July's somewhat famous friends. The verdict: Zzzz.

Regardless, today two things happened: 1. I was thinking about Miranda July and 2. My friend C1 and I sent a few emails back and forth and at one point he asked why I never blog anymore. I realized amount of words I put into the email to him would more than make a blog post, so why waste the finger-pad power.

So here is my own mini We Think Alone project.

Me: Next time you're at Subway, might I suggest a touch of the creamy Sriracha sauce on your sandwich. 
C1: Subway's bread is sub-par, I avoid it at all costs. Well, except for the occasional meatball sub when Subway is the only option. But I did see a commercial for the Sriracha sauce and thought, "That might make something completely shitty slightly better." 
Me: The Sriracha made my shitty ham and turkey sub actual percentage points better. I guess I didn't realize that you don't eat at Subway. I guess I won't tell you about their new garlic-flavored bread or that they now serve breakfast 24/7.  
C1: I ate at Subway for about 75 percent of my meals when traveling with (group he travels with) from 2003-2012. That's a lot of Subway. I think their breakfast is actually OK, but (get ready for a controversial statement) the breakfast at Arby's is far superior. The wraps are fantastic, in the worst fast-food way possible. 
One of the women (he travels with) is sponsored by Subway, so she had a card that got her free sandwiches anywhere in the world. Luckily, the only Subway we encountered last year was in Kuusamo, Finland.  
Me: I guess I've been eating Subway almost every day since godknowswhen. When I was home on maternity leave I, of course, did not eat Subway. Then (Chuck) and I went to Minneapolis for this thing and we stopped at Subway because we were starving and it was the healthiest option on the road. He purchased a $5 foot long from a shop in a strip mall in Pine City that was so damn good that I almost lost my mind. It was just a simple turkey on wheat with a bunch of veggies, but it was packed so tight and so delicious. Secret ingredient: Dijon mustard, which they call "spicy mustard" at Subway. I've relished my return to Subway.  
Today's trip was almost thwarted because I was being followed by someone who had jumped into the Skyway system near the Radisson. This person was really huffing and puffing and snorting and seemed to be dragging a limb. I tried to walk fast, but it felt like this person was gaining on me. Every time I touched a glass door I was reminded that this person behind me -- and people like him (her? I never got a visual) -- were also touching these glass doors all day every day. By the time I got to Subway, my body would be more diseased than the garbage cans behind St. Luke's.  
Then she (he?) hawked another loogie, which she (he?) swallowed and grunted some more and coughed a phlegm-y couch and I almost took off running so as not to ruin my lunch. When I got to Subway, I quickly ducked inside making sure not to look at the faces of any of the customers. One stray blotch of Mayo on a customer's chin would probably push me over the edge.  
C1: BLT at Subway is a winner. It's not good bacon, but it's less weird meat than, say, the turkey. Erbert's & Gerbert's is far superior, in my opinion. I mean, they have two different types of hams. 

I ate tacos from a taco stand in Ogden, UT today. One spicy pork, one regular pork, one chicken. They were kickass. They came with a grilled jalapeno as an option. $1.50 per taco. Hell of a deal. I'm going to go to one of these places for dinner: 
Probably Lorenzo's because I go to El Chub all the time.  
Me: Every night for dinner I eat an Amy's Organic Burrito, the one in the red wrapper. I pair it with two heaping dollops of cottage cheese, after first eating a third and fourth dollop straight from the container. (We buy cottage cheese two containers at a time). I dump a bag of baked Doritos on the plate, too. Sometimes I do this one handed with my kid on my hip -- a kid that is becoming increasingly interested in the concept of food-food -- and sometimes I put her in her crib beneath her mobile, tell her I'm going to the bathroom, but really pig out.
I hope my one-a-day vitamin is picking up the slack.  
C1: WTF, (Blahler). Can't you get someone to fix a casserole for a week? A salad? What's your hemoglobin at right now?  
Me: Unsure. Thanks for asking. 

1 comment:

Futbol said...

i feel that naming a mexican restaurant "el chubasco" is a questionable marketing decision.