Lunchables

I used to envy the kids in my school who brought Lunchables to lunch.

 

In case you don’t know what Lunchables are, here’s a nice picture:

 

 

They’re pre-made, fake lunches that they sell cheap at stores like Shop Rite or Target (our local Target has a mini-grocery store inside of it). It’s basically the epitome of unhealthy lunching, and when you’re young, unhealthy=awesome.

I envied my friends and the other kids who would bring Lunchables to lunch. It was just so—cool! That you could bring your lunch in that pre-made, bought, cardboard box, and show the entire world that you have a piece of candy for an aftersnack. Oh, how I envied them. It was first or second grade.

I remember asking my mom if she could buy it for me, whenever we passed that aisle at the market. She’d shoo it away like it was some inferior piece of artificial food. (Which it was, but at the time, I was not aware of it. It was a piece of unattainable heaven to me.)

 

 

Now that I’m older, you know, at least five years older, I look back and I think about those kids who brought Lunchables to the lunch tables and had to eat them every day (or at least, nearly every day) for lunch. And I realize how sad it is.

Not sad as in the sarcastic, mean sort of ‘sad.’ I mean sad in the original way. Sad as in, it makes me teary. (Fine. Not teary. But you know what I mean. That kind of sad.)

 

To have your mother buy lunch for you—not just any lunch, but the cheap sort, I realize, wasn’t exactly the ‘unattainable heaven’ I once thought it was. I’m not trying to offend anybody with Lunchables—they’re still cool and everything, but it kind of signifies that you either can’t afford a healthy lunch every day (because, unfortunately, let’s face it—it’s not exactly recommended by the United States Department of Nutrition, you know) or that your mother doesn’t have the time/attention to make your lunch for you. I’m talking about first graders. Second graders.

At the time, I idolized those kids, having no idea what it really meant to bring a Lunchable to lunch and seeing your friends bring out foil-wrapped, ham and turkey sandwich with the homemade applesauce. I wasn’t living in the richest town when I saw my friends and peers (some of them) with Lunchables. And thinking back on it, it kind of signifies a lot of things in life. Some things we take for granted, some things we think too good of, and some things we don’t think of at all. Sometimes, we really do need to sit back and appreciate the things we have. Like parents who care for you. Or a somewhat stable financial position.

And this is regardless of the Lunchables thing. It might sound cliché (in fact, it does, I admit it), but we need a time to give thanks other than Thanksgiving. Because Thanksgiving is, like, Costco’s party day or something. Thanksgiving where we don’t scramble and stress and complain about getting turkeys and making millions of dollars worth of food that some kids at the other side of the world are dying because of the lack of it. I’m talking about a sort of thanksgiving when we sit down, we eat a normal dinner, and then we think about why we’re here, how blessed we are to be here in the first place (and not the other sperm of your father or a different egg of your mother—that’s some intense competition, you know. We’re the chosen ones), and just let it all sink in. The food in front of you. Bam. Gone.

 

The roof above you.

Bam. Gone.

 

The nice, warm, thick clothes you have.

Bam. Gone. (Except for rags. Let’s keep you clothed.)

 

Your smiling parents. (or ranting. But either way they love you deep inside.)

Bam. Gone. (Or on drugs or something.)

 

Your loving brother who pulls your hair out.

Bam. Gone.

 

The nice weather.

Bam. Gone.

 

There you are, sitting in a hot, dry, arid place with no food, no family, and a few pieces of cloth as garments. There are people like that still living on the same Earth that we’re standing on, stomping on, complaining about the slowness of our computers or the suckiness of our school. And while it might be too much to ask everybody to stop (because, let’s face it, I complain, too), we should at least acknowledge and appreciate the things that are always there for us.

 

Like that street light that stays red and won’t turn green on that street in our town.

 

Because there are always people who are worse off than us. (The fact that you’re reading this means that you have a computer, so this is probably mostly true.)

And if not, then think about the other sperm cell that could have fertilized your mother’s egg. Think about how close that was. You almost died before you were born.

(Sorry I was studying Biology.)

(Sorry not sorry.)

 

So yeah. Through that reminiscent memory of Lunchables, I have just given you a rant, a lecture, about thankfulness.

Chew on that.

Deviled Eggs

MUAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAH

Sorry had to.

Well, today, this Friday, as I used to every Friday a while ago, I made some food. Unfortunately, my mother had made salsa and chips, so everyone was munching on that while I was pathetically making—yes—deviled eggs!

I read it in lots and lots of books, and it always mentioned the delicious-ness of it, so I wondered, how does it taste like? (At this context, you should realize I have never eaten deviled eggs before.)

So, I went on allrecipes.com (now that I go on it so much, I just made an account. :D) and searched ‘deviled eggs.’ Obviously, there were quite a few of them.

I saw a short video by foodwishes.com, where this creepy-happy man keeps guiding you through the recipe (obviously). He had a very good idea of candied peppers.

And I combined that recipe with the recipe that had four stars (out of five) and six hundred something reviews. Obviously it’s better than the four stars with eight reviews.

It’s really easy. There’s technically no need for a recipe. For every three eggs, you need one tablespoon of mayo, and half a teaspoon of everything else. Imean, not even half a teaspoon, because technically it depends on your taste.

The ‘everything else’ list is:
mustard
vinegar
hot sauce (:D also the creepy-happy man’s idea)
salt
sugar

What you do is you boil the eggs, you peel the boiled eggs, and then you cut them in half vertically, into two long, congruent (symmetrical, however you want to put it) slices. You then pop out the white yolk parts, mash them in a bowl, and dump in the mayo and everything else. (See the ‘everything else’ list for details.)

You mix it all up with a fork or spoon or whatever utensil you’d like.

Then, you put the yellowy mixture into the empty white-part-of-the-boiled-egg.

Only, I came up with an idea. Obviously, I don’t have ‘dispensable tube thingy whatever they’re called’ laying around, so I used a small plastic bag (those short, horizontal ones), and I cut off the tip of the bag just a very little bit, so that the hole is perhaps three eighths of an inch wide.

I dumped in a spoonful of the yolk-mayo-everythingelse mixture, and closed the bag just a little bit so that it doesn’t spill out of the bag, and then squeezed the bag so that the mixture could come out of the tip of the bag like icing. I made a swirly motion when putting the yolk-mixture into the white part of the boiled egg. Then it made a pretty design!

Then, I took a little bit of peppers (any kind, in fact. Bell pepper, sweet pepper, whatever it is) and diced them into small pieces and put them aside.

Then, I boiled a little bit of water (that was left in the teapot) just to about a medium simmer or whatever you call it. I put about a tablespoon or half of sugar into a very small cup, and poured in just enough water to wet the sugar. (Not too much water—it has to be syrupy.) Mixing it around for a few seconds will melt most of the sugar, and if you have OCD like me, you put it in the microwave for about five or seven seconds. (Or six.)

Then, after stirring a bit more, you put the diced peppers into the sugar-syrup mixture. Swirl it around a bit, put a bit more sugar, put it in the microwave for six more seconds, whatever.

Then, you take a small spoon that will fit comfortably inside the cup, and scoop out just three or four of the diced peppers and place it gently on top of the deviled-egg yolk mixture (which should be in the white-egg thing). Maybe press it down gently to make sure the peppers don’t fall off.

And if there’s some syrup left, just take an eighth of a teaspoon, a very tiny bit, and put it on top of the peppers, just to make it more shiny and sweet.

And walah! Your deviled egg is done.

Credits go to: http://allrecipes.com/recipe/deviled-eggs-2/detail.aspx?event8=1&prop24=SR_Title&e11=deviled%20eggs&e8=Quick%20Search&event10=1&e7=Home%20Page

And the video:
http://allrecipes.com/video/526/deviled-eggs/detail.aspx?prop24=RR_RelatedVideo

Here are my finished pictures:

I especially love the second picture because it’s using macros and I love macros. And it looks so appealing and perfect.

They look so pretty!

Okay, I’ll stop self-complimenting my pictures.

Macros makes everything bad look good. I guess when you look close up, things aren’t as bad.

(Or maybe sometimes if you look close up, things aren’t as good.)

O: THOUGHTFULLLLLL.

 

…have a nice day!

TY A HAND!

PI DAY

Here is the long history of Pi. On March fourteenth, also the birth date of the great EINSTEIN, is the day to commemorate, remember, and acknowledge the wonders of Pi.
Pi is circumference divided by diameter.
This wondrous definition not only defines what it is, but it was also a subject in which we learned in Math class. Yes, human beings, we are in Honors Geometry.
Here is a nice statement, derived from a few others, and concluded through transitive property of equality.
Geometry=shapes.
Shapes=circles.
Circles=diameter and circumference.
Diameter and circumference=Pi.
Pi=Geometry.
Geometry=Pi.
Therefore, would it not make the most sense to celebrate Pi Day, on March Fourteenth, in Math class? IMEAN—The Algebra class is celebrating it, and they’re learning polynomials! (This very good argument and reason was stated by Rachel X. Must give credit.)
Then why, why, Mr. V (Let’s just use this letter, V, to represent my math teacher’s surname. To keep his and our privacy at the utmost restricted-ness.), are you refusing to celebrate pi day?
Is it not relevant? Had we not all failed the circles test a chapter before?
Are we not good students? Do we not deserve a nice day off, with some Pi, circumference, and diameter? And pie?
Of course, our beloved teacher Mr. V, says in the most monotonous, humdrum voice ever—“No.”
(Actually it was more of a bewildered, nervous ‘No,’ but I’d like to keep things at a dramatic level.)
We were aghast—devastated by this reply. We had only been expecting one of two answers—maybe even both—either “OF COURSE!” or “Why not?”
“No” was not an answer we had thought of, at all.
Yet, the truth was bleak, and we were to have no day reserved to worship Pi and its wonders.
But we did not give up! I, proud student of Geometry class, decided to make a PROTEST. A PEACEFUL PI PROTEST for Pi Day. What we would do, is create picket signs, and march down the hallway to the front of Mr. V’s room with our signs, chanting “PI DAY! PI DAY!” Like they do in football games, or when you want someone to go up in front of the class and do something, and everyone starts chanting his or her name.
With this wondrous dream in mind, I went to my Band Lesson, ignored the meaning of the term ‘Band Lesson,’ and gathered supplies. I took my band teacher’s stapler, and his sharpie, and some paper. My two friends and I dutifully marched into the lunchroom (not seen, thanks to the Lunch Aids’ nearsightedness), grabbed a whole bunch of plastic spoons off the rack thingy, and then marched outside and ran at full speed to the band room. Spoon-stealery is not the best of crimes, you know.
We then unwrapped twelve spoons, decorated and created the signs on paper, stapled them to the spoons (actually, we folded the paper in half and stapled the edges so that the spoon, which was in between the folded-paper-halves, would not fall out). We created twelve magnificent Peaceful Pi Protest Picket Poster Signs, full with reasons, demands, and wishes on them. Creativity, determination, and hard-work.
We then took more of the band teacher’s items by asking for a plastic bag (which, was initially a joke, but it turned out he actually had one), and putting the signs in the plastic bag to use on the glorious day of the protest. I then informed (almost, except for the obnoxiously arrogant genius match peoples, who did not seem to care whether they had class or not) all the Geometry Students about the Peaceful Pi Protest and the Picket Signs.
They seemed halfheartedly delighted, so I was happy.
Word spread around the school (among the nerd-Asians in my grade), and soon, most of the people knew of the Protest. I then passed out the signs we had created, gave them the directions on how to execute our plan, and then hoped for the best.
The following Monday, I walked out of Physical Education Class with anxiety and hope. I was late.
All of the kids participating in the protest were dutifully standing awkwardly outside of the door, not sure whether to go in or not. They all had their pathetically small signs with sharpie scribbled over them, and they were laughing nervously and awkwardly, asking “Where’s (My name here)? Where’s (My name here)?”
And upon seeing me, they were ready to PROTEST. It was just in time, because Mr. V, who was wondering where three fourths of the class was, came outside to see us standing awkwardly, waiting for directions from a protester.
Seeing Mr. V, I nervously said, “Pi day protest……?”
And we were all half-heartedly, laughing-ly, un-seriously saying, “Pi day. Pi day. Pi day… Pi day…. Pi day….?”
We were laughing, because it was so awkward, and the voice was not strong. It was weak. For our math teacher asked, “What is this?”
I was horrified. Did he not recognize this act of peace and negotiation from his students? How could he not recognize a simple protest? Was our protest that weak and bad?
The bleak truth was that, yes, it was. It was awkward, and quite unorganized. We were awkwardly crowding around the door saying “Pi day.”
He then asked, “Are you guys coming inside now?”
Then, after a moment of hesitation, a protester said firmly (with a slight giggle) “No!”
“Do I have to give you the answer?”
“Yes!”
“…I’ll think about it.”
“No, that’s not an answer!”
“Guys, you have to come in!”
“No!”
But we went inside anyway.

This was the Pi Day Protest.

And Mr. V did not keep to his word. We planned the Pi Day celebration, yet he did not keep to his word. (Today, 1/4 of the class was gone, because of a field trip, so we agreed to celebrate it on Thursday.) Today, he said, “We’re not celebrating pi day.”
Because we had taken some food and Pie from another teacher, who, even at the end of the day, had two whole unopened pies.
Can we believe it? This rash act of betrayal and ignorance? How important is Pi Day to us Geometry Students?
VERY.
(It means missing a period of class, for food. :D)
So, we secretly agreed to bring the food tomorrow anyway, because we already bought the food.

I will tell you how it goes tomorrow.

Playing Farmer

So Mother was cooking spaghetti, and she had the box of raw spaghetti noodles in the box out, and I walked over.

I took a spaghetti noodle (raw) and stuck it in my mouth, like those farmers do, only they probably don’t use spaghetti noodles, they use wheat or something. I don’t know.

It’s just fun, and it’s cool, pretending to be a farmer.

Except  I didn’t do anything much more farmer-like than the noodle in my mouth.

But it’s still fun to think about it anyhow.

My brother of course followed me.

 

Raw noodles  in your mouth = Playing farmer!

Let’s play farmer!

C:

The worst day of 2012 so far. D:

Because of the unexpected half-day-scheduled-whole-day, I was starving. If it was just a half day, I would have come home at like one o clock and eaten. If it was a whole day, I would have time during lunch, so I wouldn't starve to death.
But it was an unexpected half-day-scheduled-whole-day. It was the most unexpected of days. Imean, I didn't even know they existed! A mutation of the combination of a half day and a whole day. It was a whole day, alright, but the periods were scheduled as half days. Meaning, all the classes would be thirty minutes long (or however long the half day periods are), which would result in two hours left of nothing after last period, because usually, on half days, they would let us out late, but today was a half-day-scheduled-whole-day.
/
Those two hours of nothing, we were each assigned classrooms to go to, based on what period we had whom for social studies, and we would force some school spirit out of our tired minds.
For about ten minutes, the teacher, (whom I do not know, which is kind of difficult, considering I keep forgetting her name) looking at the unresponsive class, asks for the umpteenbillionth time, "Seriously? No ideas to how to decorate our school banner? Team banner, I mean. This is for our team! We're in competition against the other teams!"
Which makes us all the more lazy, because honestly, who heard of teams versing each other? This is teamwork we're going for, and the team is the school. Making divisions among the population of our school will create only diversion and hatred. And pride. And shame.
But of course, the teacher whose name is easily forgotten, decides to force some school spirit out of our "boring minds." She draws this hawk on the board (which, if you look at it, looks more like a hot dog with bat wings) and a square around it, and tells us to each go up to the board and add our ideas.
OUR NONEXISTENT IDEAS, SCREW THIS.
/
/
Then, she goes, "OH! Why don't we try doing __________?" And says some decent idea, and we all nod, because it's better than that hot dog bat on the board. She does this two more times within the time of fifteen minutes, with a five minute span in between the three "ideas."
She then looks at us and says, "Come on, guys. You can't be this boring. I can't believe from this big a class, you can have such little ideas!" (We're the smallest social studies class our social studies has. Seriously?)
WE ARE THIS BORING, WOMAN. WHAT DID YOU THINK CHILDREN WERE? HYPERACTIVE CREATIVE CHILDREN WITH IDEAS TO HOW TO DECORATE SCHOOL BANNERS ON THEIR MINDS?
And so went the two hours.
But actually, we came up with pretty good ideas and made a pretty good hawk with a pretty good decoration and pretty good drawings. So overall, it was pretty good.
/
/
But not the starvation.
Godsh, I thought I was dying by the end of the day. Three o clock or something around that, and I can't hear anything because my stomachs screaming nonstop.
Even better! I have to stay after school. Meaning all I'll have since nine o clock is nothing, besides the scraps of chips I gather from friends who (cleverly) brought money to buy stuff from the vending machine.
/
/
I stay until five thirty. Meaning I went from nine to five thirty with six chips. One Sun Chip, one Lays salt and vinegar, two Hot Fries, and one nacho Doritos. Or was it two Doritos? I'm not sure.
Either way, that was not enough to satisfy my ravenous mood.
Then, as psychology often proves, everything looked like food. Not literally, because how can and drill suddenly look like candy, or wood and styrofoam look like--pizza, I don't know. Just small things. This really cutely decorated basket full of green fluff fuzzy stuff looked like ice cream (the sort in the bowl, yaknow? Like Breyers ice-cream?) all of a sudden, and I kept thinking of that kind of stuff.
Then, my stomach hurt, which did not help at all, because I then knew I couldn't steal any more junk food (anyhow everyone ate their's, so...).
/
/
Then, at five thirty, I went outside to wait for my mom, except it was FREEZING. I didn't feel like being alone next to all of those annoying basketball boy peoples yelling at each other and jumping around inside, so I stayed outside when my friends went outside to get picked up by their moms and dads.
/
Then, I saw this boy who was yelling at someone, and I thought it was my brother, so I ran over to the car with the boy sticking his head out the window, only it turned out it was some other dude. So I looked over the car, pretending I thought the car behind it was the car I thought my mom was in, and then casually turned around and walked back, my cheeks redder than they already were.
I was in an extremely terrible mood.
And so as I was waiting, I was more and more and more angry, and when my mom did come (after all of my friends left), I was fuming, except it would have been nice if I were literally fuming, because that would mean there would be some warmth in my body. So I was freezing fuming.
Anyhow, I climbed in, and said, "why did you come so late? I was freezing."
/
/
And, the rest is history, as some people may say.
I got yelled at.
/
/
Well, adding to my more terrible mood, I stomped to the basement, and didn't even stop for goldfish, because I'd have to cross my mother on the way to the goldfish, and she would ask why, and then I'd have to tell her about the unexpected half-day-scheduled-whole-day, and then I would feel better. But I didn't feel like feeling better, so I didn't get goldfish, and I didn't cross my mom until dinner, where I shoveled the food down my throat because (1) I was so hungry, so hungry I could eat my mom and brother in two bites (half a bite for my brother, one and a half for my mom), (2) I was so mad, because not only was I yelled at, but I had this annoying half-day-scheduled-whole-day, and I was starving and I was cold, and (3) I felt like it.
/
/
And now, my stomach feels all cold and weird, probably because I stuffed too much food way too quickly down my throat, swallowing at mouthfuls at a time.
But it was SO GOOD. Imean, it was delicious. I was so hungry, but all of that food--omnomnomnomnom.
Food is best. C:
//
//
/
Moral of the story: Today was the terriblest day of 2012 so far, and the dinner was AWESOME.