California as a Final Resting Place: Two Years Later: The Cheese Blends
So it was that after the whole “Price is Right” debacle, I went to work in a place called the Cheese Hut. And so it was that while working in the Cheese Hut, I underwent three procedures to correct three different cases of impacted bowels. I would like to have blamed myself for the trouble, but in the end I blamed the makers of the Cheese Hut, who had crafted such an exquisite brand of cheese (that went by the name of ThunderPepper), that I could not help myself, and after falling a slave to my taste buds, I lost all sanity. In short, the cheese made me crazy, which made me eat too much, which lead to three separate cases of bowel impaction that the Cheese Hut was then litigated into paying for.
So, after suing myself right into retirement I had all kinds of free time on my hands, time that produced a novel by the name of The Cheese Blends, a reference to its main character’s inability to melt and mix cheese well. It was somewhat of a cooking novel, in that respect. It centered on cooking, at least. The main character wanted to be a chef. In the end, he masters cheese blending, but has lost his passion for cooking. After so much intense, mathematical cheese practice, he was no longer able to see the beauty in culinary artistry.
Needless to say, I wrote The Cheese Blends as a result of my experience working at the Cheese Hut. The novel never saw the light of day, except for the parts that I posted on my blog, and those parts didn’t get great reviews. I think I remember one commenter saying that he had pooped better things than my story.
Anyway, acknowledging the irony of that statement, I began to realize that cheese was ruining my life. Even though I was now a millionaire due to its adverse effects on my personal ecology, I was still very unhappy and dissatisfied with where my life was headed because I was in my mid-twenties, and that was the mindset de jour. What I did next was unprecedented.
I decided to give all of my money to Africa. Africa was a rather large fellow that lived downstairs in my apartment complex. He had eleven kids, nine of which stayed sick a lot, and I figured he could really use the money. My only mistake was that I gave it to a local church that was taking up money for Africa and his family. I don’t think the money ever made it to them, though, because when I asked him a few weeks later how it felt to be a millionaire, he said he wouldn’t know, and thanked me for chipping in on the groceries that the church had brought his family last week. I was walking by that church a while back and noticed they were building a movie theater. That’ll be really cool when they get it done, except for the fact that they probably won’t show anything except G rated movies and Veggie Tales.
After I gave my money away I started walking a lot. Granted, this was mostly because I had accidentally set my car on fire, but still, it was nice; it made me come off really earthy, and I’ve heard that it’s a healthy thing to do. During this walking stage I was able to do a lot of soul-searching and the first thing I found in my soul was regret that I didn’t buy an iPod when I had millions of dollars because apparently you can’t just pick up radio signals from the wind, and there’s nothing else to do while you walk except think, which is the very thing that lead me to this depressing realization.
So, in my boredom I started to make a habit of counting up the homeless people I ignored while I walked. One day I was able to ignore 14 in just my morning walk. I was hoping the walk home would throw me over the 30 mark, but no such luck. I always liked it best when they came right up to me and asked me for money because those used to be the hardest ones to ignore. I had to step up my game a bit, and so what I would do was, when one of them would come up to me on the street, I would start singing Italian opera very loudly. It occurred to me later that this technically did not qualify as ignoring them because my action acknowledged their presence, but it was still fun.
And that’s been my year. My one complaint about the year, though, is that when I gave all my money away I kept my subscription to MAD magazine, and now I wish I hadn’t because they’ve fallen off into doing social commentary, and I think that’s ridiculous. They’re not even good at it. I say just shut up and be funny.
So, after suing myself right into retirement I had all kinds of free time on my hands, time that produced a novel by the name of The Cheese Blends, a reference to its main character’s inability to melt and mix cheese well. It was somewhat of a cooking novel, in that respect. It centered on cooking, at least. The main character wanted to be a chef. In the end, he masters cheese blending, but has lost his passion for cooking. After so much intense, mathematical cheese practice, he was no longer able to see the beauty in culinary artistry.
Needless to say, I wrote The Cheese Blends as a result of my experience working at the Cheese Hut. The novel never saw the light of day, except for the parts that I posted on my blog, and those parts didn’t get great reviews. I think I remember one commenter saying that he had pooped better things than my story.
Anyway, acknowledging the irony of that statement, I began to realize that cheese was ruining my life. Even though I was now a millionaire due to its adverse effects on my personal ecology, I was still very unhappy and dissatisfied with where my life was headed because I was in my mid-twenties, and that was the mindset de jour. What I did next was unprecedented.
I decided to give all of my money to Africa. Africa was a rather large fellow that lived downstairs in my apartment complex. He had eleven kids, nine of which stayed sick a lot, and I figured he could really use the money. My only mistake was that I gave it to a local church that was taking up money for Africa and his family. I don’t think the money ever made it to them, though, because when I asked him a few weeks later how it felt to be a millionaire, he said he wouldn’t know, and thanked me for chipping in on the groceries that the church had brought his family last week. I was walking by that church a while back and noticed they were building a movie theater. That’ll be really cool when they get it done, except for the fact that they probably won’t show anything except G rated movies and Veggie Tales.
After I gave my money away I started walking a lot. Granted, this was mostly because I had accidentally set my car on fire, but still, it was nice; it made me come off really earthy, and I’ve heard that it’s a healthy thing to do. During this walking stage I was able to do a lot of soul-searching and the first thing I found in my soul was regret that I didn’t buy an iPod when I had millions of dollars because apparently you can’t just pick up radio signals from the wind, and there’s nothing else to do while you walk except think, which is the very thing that lead me to this depressing realization.
So, in my boredom I started to make a habit of counting up the homeless people I ignored while I walked. One day I was able to ignore 14 in just my morning walk. I was hoping the walk home would throw me over the 30 mark, but no such luck. I always liked it best when they came right up to me and asked me for money because those used to be the hardest ones to ignore. I had to step up my game a bit, and so what I would do was, when one of them would come up to me on the street, I would start singing Italian opera very loudly. It occurred to me later that this technically did not qualify as ignoring them because my action acknowledged their presence, but it was still fun.
And that’s been my year. My one complaint about the year, though, is that when I gave all my money away I kept my subscription to MAD magazine, and now I wish I hadn’t because they’ve fallen off into doing social commentary, and I think that’s ridiculous. They’re not even good at it. I say just shut up and be funny.
posted by Matt Mc at 7:00 AM
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