Why I Need Meridth: A Gonzo Tale

When Meridth isn't around I have the tendency to go off the rails just a bit. When she was in NYC for the summer of 2006 I watched all three (at the time) Terminator movies back to back to back, had a severe case of food poisoning, worked 60 hours a week, ate 1500 Otter Pops and ran seven miles every morning. It was a gonzo summer. Suffice it to say that Meridth centers me in an important stabilizing way and when she's gone, things tend to become pear-shaped, like an ill-formed lump of clay on a potter's wheel...


...which leads us to this peculiar photograph. What is it? What does it mean? What does it have to do with my dignity? It's simple really...


BEHOLD THE McZOO!!

Yes, like the cast-off cigarette butts tossed aside by the wheezing emphysemic, these buns are the husks lesft over in the construction of this...this...monstrosity...this abomination. What is it you ask? What drives a man to so alter the natural constitution of the 'burger' phenotype? What was its unholy aim? It's an elegant theory actually...like the ancients in their construction of the Tower of Babel, I only sought to reach the heavens of deliciousness by melding all the varieties of animal flesh offered on the McDonalds menu into one Voltron-like mountain of meat. How could this be a sin?


So one Saturday last month I rolled up to the drive through and ordered one Third Pound Angus Bacon Cheeseburger, one Chicken Selects Chicken Sandwich, and one Fillet-o-Fish...

(Meridth: "It would have been cooler AND grosser if you had the McRib." Edward: "Don't I know it, but you have to work with what's available and Bacon = Pig. Good enough for me.")


Looking at them all just sitting there with their accusing stares was intimidating. Like the Tell-Tale Heart, I was consumed with madness. Working swiftly and with surgical precision I deconstructed the sandwiches, unveiling their meaty cores and combined them, knitting flesh-to-flesh like a culinary Doctor Frankenstein. And the result was no less monstrous and incapable of being loved.


In his epistle to the Romans, Paul called me out as one of the "inventors of evil things" chasing that stupendous and gonzo line between culinary genius and coronary disaster. I ask you: what was the result?


I was so preoccupied with whether or not I could combine so many different meats, I never stopped to think if I should!

Next month I'm going to try to stick two pieces of each type of meat on one sandwich and call it the McNoah's Ark.

I would gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.

Uschi is almost 5 months. Almost. A few weeks ago her pediatrician told me that she probably would be ready for solids between now and 6 months. I started reading some books, last weekend Edward and I bought spoons and bowls. We hadn't even gotten rice cereal, the perennial favorite for starters. Yesterday my brother, Nat, was eating a big bowl of cereal. Uschi looked at it and started wailing (which is VERY atypical for her). She was so mad I didn't give her any cereal. So we had to go out and get the darn stuff, because like I said we didn't think she'd be ready for food this early. So today was the big day. Milk was not enough and Uschi let me know how inadequate it was. Anyway, I honestly thought that she would maybe be overwhelmed or change her mind about this whole new food thing. No, no. She got extremely angry in the evening and demanded another serving. I realize that there are those of you who think that I should have stuck with the typical one serving a day thing. But really, Uschi is certainly my boss and she would let me have it if I didn't give her the appropriate portions.