As you might imagine, I got a lot of flack over my ode to Hostess snacks.
I admitted * gasp * my affection for the Ho Ho, even though I am as organic/farm-to-table/no-transfat as the next girl. Since way back.
I just hate propaganda–and self-rightousness.
Funny thing is: some of the same people who eschew the Twinkie, or McDonald’s, are happy to down a 400-calorie Starbucks mocha latte or a 2,000-calorie Chipotle burrito.
Glass houses have glass kitchens too.
Check out my Ode to Hostess in today’s Baltimore Sun.
Bi-polar father, in the classic film The Group (1966), as he whips up a gourmet dinner:
“I’m not your bourgeois neurotic, you know. I’m quite mad. And we mad men are the aristocrats of mental illness.”
I just love the forecast for this weekend: Generally sunny despite a few afternoon clouds.
A good attitude for life.
You know, I used to live in Florida.
Whew, I thought as I left. At least I won’t have to worry about hurricanes.
Ha! Here in the nondescript Mid-Atlantic Region (really the Midwest of the East Coast) I’ve suffered through three hurricanes just in the past couple of years.
Hurricane Irene put us out of power for six days. Then Lee dropped a massive tree branch on the corner of our house (another big twig, meanwhile, crushed the entire back half of our one-week old car). And now Superstorm Sandy left us without power yet again, in the cold and the dark, until the middle of Trick-or-Treating.
When the lights came back on, one of my neighbors exclaimed: “It’s a Halloween Miracle!”
And this doesn’t even touch on the recent earthquake, Snowmaggeddon, and the bizarro derecho storm that smacked us square in the snout.
Gees, it’s like Calvin Ball around here and I feel like Hobbes. In this game, somebody keeps changing all the rules.