The Muffin Man

Here is another story from the archives. As always, everything in this story is true although I do attempt to tell it in the most interesting way possible. By the way this blog is dedicated to a couple of my most loyal readers, both hailing from the great state of Wisconsin. Teri and Cari, this ones for you.

Let's turn the clock back to 2001. I was a freshmen in high school and was really finding a sense of comfort and belonging in high school after the initial anxieties associated with starting at a new school. Before my second hour American History class I often stopped by the vending machines to pick up a snack to hold me over until lunch. Unfortunately, a lot of other students also decided to use this time to get snacks as well, causing a bit of a vending machine traffic jam, leading me to be late to class from time to time. I was never more than about thirty seconds late, but my teacher soon grew tired of this behavior. She was a couple months pregnant at the time and her resulting moodiness was apparent on most days. Threatening me with a detention, she made it clear that I was not to be late to class again. Not thrilled with the idea of staying after school, I decided to comply with my teachers demands and get to class on time.

After a couple weeks of being a model student, I was a little bit antsy to get into some mischief. I just don't think I'm wired to behave in school for extended periods of time. Its not in my DNA. On a day that seemed just like any other, I happened to notice a muffin sitting on my teachers desk. What most people saw as a snack for my teacher, I saw as an opportunity. I quickly raised my hand and my teacher called on me. Our exchange went something like this:

Me (raising hand): Can I have that muffin?

Teacher: Excuse me?

Me: May I please have that muffin on your desk.

Teacher: No, Ravi. You can't have my muffin.

Me: Please? How about just a bite? I'm hungry

Teacher: Well you should have brought your own snack.

Me: I can't, you banned me from the vending machines remember?

Teacher: I'm pregnant, you can't have my muffin.

Me: I'm diabetic, I need it more.

Teacher: Leave me and my muffin alone, do your work.

Now you would think that that would be the end of the story, but I was never one to give up quickly on the opportunity for free food. So as I shifted my focus mostly back to my worksheet, I could not shake the image of that muffin which was so close, yet still out of my reach. Furthermore, I felt as though my American History teacher needed a lesson on sharing, especially considering that she was bringing a new life into this world and would have to teach that child such lessons by example. Really, what I was about to do was for the well being of our future generations.

Clearly, unlike me, my teacher had forgotten largely about the muffin incident because several minutes later she left the room to pick up some more copies of a worksheet from the office across the hall. I saw my opening and I pounced on it. Quickly I walked toward her desk, grabbed the muffin and left a rather conspicuous trail of crumbs back to my desk. I then smudged a few strategically placed crumbs in the stubble on my face (yes I had beard stubble when I was 14) and hid the muffin in the compartment under my desk. Moments later my teacher returned to the room. As she placed the worksheets she had retrieved on her desk, she looked shocked and horrified to notice her muffin was missing. She slowly followed the crumb trail back to me as she shouted out my name. Our next exchange went like this:

Teacher: RAAAVI!!!!

Me: Yes ma'am?

Teacher: Ravi! Where's my muffin?!?!

Me: I'm sorry? What muffin?

Teacher: Did you seriously steal a muffin from a pregnant women?!?!?!

Me: I have no idea what you're talking about. Why do you assume I took it? Is this a race thing?

Teacher: Don't pull that crap with me! You have crumbs on your face!

Me: I had a low blood sugar I'm sorry.

Teacher: You are such a liar, go the the principal's office!

Me: I really don't think that's going to be necessary.

Teacher: Why not?

Me: Because I have something for you.

Teacher (looking at me confused) . . .

At this point the entire class was falling out of their chairs laughing (some literally). My teacher had not noticed this while yelling at me but became quite confused once she realized it. I slowly removed her muffin from its hiding place and put it exactly where it had sat before, unharmed on her desk, missing only a few crumbs. My teacher stood there, in total shock, completely dumbfounded as to what just occurred. I quickly mentioned to her that I thought she needed a lesson in sharing as I made my way back to my desk.

After finally collecting herself and regaining control of the class, my teacher proceeded with the lesson as if nothing had happened. What else could she do? I may not live on Drury Lane, but that day in American History class, my teacher discovered that I was in fact, The Muffin Man.

No Sugar Added

For those of you who don't know, I am a type 1 diabetic. This is relevant because a couple days ago, my great friend Beth Cavender (of falling down fame) sent me a picture on my phone of a diabetic cookbook with the caption "I should have gotten you this for Christmas!" Little did she know that I have a long held hatred for diabetic food. Whether it be sugar free cookies, no sugar added ice cream or even sugarless gum, I cannot stand it. I hear they have made great strides in making these types of products actually palatable but when I was diagnosed over 15 years ago they all tasted like stale rice cakes, so I now refuse to eat anything of the sort. The only sugar free thing I can stand is diet pop, which I happen to be addicted to.

Receiving this fateful picture message reminded me of when my hatred for sugar free foods officially hit epic proportions. It was my 17th birthday and I was hanging out with a girl I liked at the time and a couple other friends. We were attending an outdoor jazz concert (I know what you are thinking, and yes I did have to like that girl a lot to end up at an outdoor jazz concert in the middle of August), and it is customary to have a little mini picnic while you are listening to the music. Well, because it was my birthday our picnic included a pan of brownies that this girl had made for me with a candle in them. Now these weren't just any brownies, they were special brownies (not the good kind). They were sugar free brownies. The fact that I liked this girl once again comes into play because had it been someone else, I would have blown out the candle, made my wish and politely declined this sugarless dessert that was sure to be a train wreck at best. However, boys who like girls often do foolish things and I was no different. I thought to myself, that it'd been so long since I'd had any sugar free food that the industry may have come along way.

The industry in fact had not come a long way. It may have actually regressed. Those sugar free monstrosities were one of the single worst things I have ever tasted, and this is coming from the guy who as an adult ate a crayon for money (it was red). To give you an idea of how these things tasted, I'd like you to imagine something with me. Imagine that one day a saltine cracker was walking along and met a slightly promiscuous sponge. The saltine immediately fell deeply in love with the slutty sponge, and they were overcome with passion and consummated their new relationship. However, being a skank the sponge moved on, only to find herself nine months later giving birth to the illegitimate son of the saltine cracker. This bastard child that was born, was the batch of sugar free brownies that I was given for my birthday.

Now I have heard many times that it is the thought that counts. Really? Is that so? Do you think the guy who came up with that saying ever received sugar free brownies for their birthday? I highly doubt it. With this being the holiday season, I want you to remember this lesson. When you are out shopping for someone, and aren't sure what to get, do not rely on the "it's the thought that counts" principle to convince yourself that anything you get them will be fine. This is a lie, it will not be fine. If you really believe its the thought that counts, then try thinking a little longer and buy a present that does not suck. Merry Christmas.

The Snow Buffet

The legend of the snow buffet began as best as I can remember about five years ago in a small town called Norfolk. Norfolk, was the home to a small private college and was notorious for it's harsh winters. It seemed as though all of the major winter storms which often steered clear of the big cities of Omaha and Lincoln (hey it's big for Nebraska), always seemed to find Norfolk. Now there wasn't a whole lot to do in Norfolk when everyone wasn't buried up to their necks in snow, so when the harsh blizzards forced everyone inside for extended periods of time, the cabin fever soon followed. People with cabin fever tend to do some things that no amount of logic or reason can explain and out of that madness, the snow buffet was born.

On one fateful winter night, late in the year 2005, I got my introduction to the snow buffet. It is unclear how exactly it began, but sometimes the girls of that small private school decide to mouth off to the guys. Their comments likely were not even remotely bad, they were in fact just jokes. However the mix of being barely disrespected and being trapped inside for days on end, sent the male population right over the proverbial edge. They picked up the mouthiest of the girls, took her outside and threw them into the snow drifts. Afterward these girls were aggressively encouraged to enjoy the taste of some of that snow while they were there. I was merely a witness at this point, but the snow buffet would change my life forever.

Since that inaugural snow buffet, it has been a rite of passage for many of those girls who decide to associate themselves with me and my group of friends. There is absolutely no mean spirited intent in the performing of a snow buffet, rather it is just some good natured fun. That being said, the snow buffet's most epic execution to date occurred about two years ago here in Omaha at the relocated campus of that small private school. There was a group of four girls (containing our informant who was promised immunity which she did not receive) who were coming back to the school sometime around 11 pm. We found out about this some time earlier, and had decided to act. We outfitted ourselves in the proper attire and began to head outside. We built a trench behind a small hill just in front of the parking lot and laid in it so that we could see when the girls arrived, but we were not visible to anyone in the parking lot. We laid in that trench for over 20 minutes as we awaited their arrival. Finally a large red Dodge Durango pulled slowly into the parking lot. The stars must have been aligned because they chose the open parking space directly in front of us. We laid motionless in our trench, waiting for them all to get out of the car and proceed up the sidewalk. Once they arrived next to an area where all the snow from the sidewalks had been piled up, we went to work. There were probably six of us in all, and we sprung into action like lions hunting a pack of gazelles. If you have ever watched Animal Planet, you know how this ends. The four girls were thrown in the snow, tabled top in enormous drifts, tackled into snow banks, and of course aggressively encouraged to eat some delicious snow for the better part of 2o minutes. When it was all over, they were exhausted and their spirit to fight back had been broken. We all walked back into the school, our arms raised in triumph. We had just been part of snow buffet history.

This year, the snow buffet-ing is on a record pace. The weather has cooperated nicely, after getting off to a slow start, the snow has come in a plentiful manner. The tradition of the snow buffet is being passed on to the younger generations in hopes that the legacy will continue long after my friends and I have left that small private college. Perhaps one day when I am old, I will see children playing outside in the snow, and they will forsake the building of snowmen, or riding of sleds, in favor of snow buffeting each other until their little frozen noses turn red. This is my dream.

As someone who does not appreciate most things involved with winter, this can sometimes be a miserable time of year for me. A lot of people tend to get a little depressed in the winter and I was certainly one of them, not anymore though. Since the invention of the snow buffet, I have had that glorious tradition to look forward to every year. The difference between the snow buffet and say Christmas, is that Christmas is just one day of fun in the middle of a frozen desert, but the snow buffet is an oasis that can last me through until the spring time. Is it too much to say that the snow buffet alone keeps me from being depressed in the winter? I don't think it is . . . I don't think it is.

I Get Knocked Down, But I Get Up Again

After reading the title of this blog you are probably expecting some inspirational words about perseverance and not getting discouraged by your failures and setbacks. Fear not, no such cheesy encouragement will be provided here, that's not how I roll.

This post is actually about literally falling down, getting back up, and falling again. Now most people would not consider the act of falling down a talent, but those people have never met Beth Cavender. Beth is well known, some might same even famous, for her lack of grace (read: clumsiness) and just general awkward essence, however yesterday she took things to a whole knew level. It was reported that yesterday Ms. Cavender managed to fall down a staggering eight times in what is believed to be a new world record for failing to stay vertical. Just for giggles, lets do a little bit of math on this. Let's say that Beth slept for 8 hours yesterday, and was in class for about 4 hours. That leaves only 12 hours to get all of her falling down accomplished. But she likely was not spending all of her day walking around outside as it was rather cold. So let's figure she spent a maximum of an hour outside, walking from place to place. This means that Beth Cavender managed to fall down a staggering once every 7.5 minutes that she was attempting to walk upright.

Now everyone falls down from time to time. When you live in Omaha in the winter, there will be ice and when there is ice sometimes you slip, no big deal. Most people usually learn after a couple falls to tread a bit more carefully, however, as an art major, Beth has managed to make a masterpiece of falling on her gluteus maximus. This is why I believe Beth's ability to fall down with such frequency is a talent, perhaps even a gift. Beth Cavender, I hope we can all be as awkward and clumsy as you someday.