So Ends Our Broadcast Day...

    I am never eating a fish taco again.  Like Woody Allen and apricots, the fish taco is dead to me.  Dead, I tell you!  Somewhere between the time it was placed on a plate before me at the restaurant, and the middle of the night math session where, after plowing my way through the literary campaign of soap, shampoo, and toothpaste ingredients, I found myself counting the tiles of my bathroom floor, the poor fish taco curled up and died a horrible, gut-wrenching death.

 

    Don't worry.  It wasn't all multiplication tables and "rinse, lather, repeat" at Two AM.  I actually had some wonderful moments sitting in front of the TV watching (what else?) the Food Network.  Yes, my friends, it takes a special kind of masochist to battle food poisoning while watching Emeril Lagasse elicit screams of blind glee from his wailing, happy audience with things like booze and garlic (why do people go so nuts whenever he adds those things to a dish?). 

 

    However, once the cult-like madness of Emeril had passed, at Three AM, the following show was something called Low Carb, and Lovin' It (Remember the evils of the dreaded carbohydrate?).  The host of this odd little show struck me as a lone soldier in the fallen Commander Atkins' battle against the culinary insurgent that is the carbohydrate.  However, he made a pizza with only six net carbs per serving.  That's good considering that had he pushed the envelope and gone for the insane flavor explosion that comes with seven net carbs, I'm certain we'd all be lining up for bariatric surgery and begging for the second coming of Dr. Atkins.

 

    Anyway, I flipped through the channels after becoming bored with this chef's irrational war, and as a result of not being able to sleep, I was brought into a strange world of television programming where nearly ALL channels broadcast a common theme.  Apparently, the three-AM demographic consists of overweight, carb-loathing insomniacs who do not know how to operate a computer.  Every single station broadcast either that guy who will send you a handful of CD's to teach you how to work your computer or exercise equipment.  Even the religious channel had some maniac on there hawking a body-shredding device which looked as though it was stolen out of a health club during the heyday of The Inquisition. 

 

    So, I curse the fish taco for opening the door to this bizarre and dirty world.  However, once the gastro-intestinal event had passed, I slept like a rock and awoke craving a huge breakfast of carb-laden doughnuts and beer-battered, deep-friend, hard-boiled eggs. 

 

    Finally, there was supposed to be a lesson in here somewhere, and if you find it, let me know. 

    

-DP