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Tongue-coating ingredients

I read someplace that bologna is made from the lips and assholes of different animals. I’d go a step further and guess that a decent baloney is probably like 65% lips and 35% assholes. I’m no butcher, so there’s no factual basis for that estimate. It’s just kind of the way it coats my tongue and the inside of my mouth that makes me think that. 40% assholes is likely too high, and yet 30% assholes strikes me as way too low.

I don’t like the word bologna, so I’m never going to use it again in mY lunch blog.

Anyway, as I was washing myself this morning the #BattleAx popped in and said, “Would you like me to make you a baloney sandwich for lunch?”

“What? No salad?” I said. I turned away so she wouldn’t see the disappointment on my face.

“No. Just baloney with white American. I’ll put mustard on it.”

“Sounds great, hon.”

She put the sandwich in a baggie. She likes to put things in baggies. Before I ate it I took a picture with my intelligent telephone (see Figure 1, below). It took about 3 minutes to eat. Then I went to the vending machine and got some Choco-Cremes, which are like Oreos, only they suck. They were in slot D2.

Figure 1. Ricky’S desk, with baloney sandwich in baggie, center left. Look how busy Ricky is! He uses scotch tape to affix receipts to pieces of paper, which is the standard procedure/best practice he conforms to when submitting expense reports.

After lunch, let'S go play frisbee in the quad

I've been working at my desk while I eat lunch a lot lately. This is all part of my plan to become a cranky old bastard at the youngest possible age. Even though outwardly I'm a big, virile, strapping buck, inside I'm like the librarian in that Twilight Zone episode who steps on his own reading glasses. Yeah--that episode, which was an awesome one by the way.

Anyway, I had a package of Ramen noodles for lunch today, as shown in Figure 1, below. Supposedly it was chicken flavored although I couldn't tell. I can tell you this, however--I love the salt they put in there. When I eat it, I feel alive. I didn't let the noodle slab steep long enough, though, and it was crunchy and I burned my mouth. Then I swear I could feel the noodles expand more when they were inside me.

When I was done, I had the urge to blow off classes, play my guitar over by the fountain, and be back in my room by 3:00 so I could catch Leave it to Beaver on WGN.

Possibly the worst lunch blog ever. Don't wait around for an apology, because there won't be one. And you better keep that goddamn football out of my yard.

Figure 1. My, that's some lovely lunch fair you've prepared, Mrs. Cleaver.

This maverick don't need no lighter fluid

With great lunch thought-leadership, comes great responsibility. I just want to make sure everyone realizes the incredible strain I’m under since re-asserting my preeminent position in the lunch arena. It has affected relationships with my family, my ability to sleep through the night, and has given rise to delicate performance issues. Let’s just say I’m having trouble getting the fire started on the beach in the wind when the lighter is empty. But don’t worry—I’ll be fine.

Anyway, yesterday we jumped on the motorcycle and headed into the hills for lunch. Destination: the hippy cafe near the stoner town. A guy I know recommended this place some years ago. He said there was a green chile cheeseburger on the menu, but there isn’t.

I had the breakfast burrito for lunch. Yep, breakfast...for lunch. If you want to achieve thought-leadership, sometimes you have to break the rules (see paragraph 1, above). The #BattleAx had something too. I can’t remember what, because I wasn’t paying attention. See Figure 1, below, for an action shot. I tried to take a selfie but it didn’t work.

Figure 1. A picture without Ricky in it

As we got up to go, the #BattleAx asked if I needed to pee. I said no. Then as soon as we got on the bike and pulled out of the parking lot, I had to.

Figure 2. Where'S Ricky? Even though there's a lot going on in this picture, can you find Ricky?

You look really hot in that cotton v-neck undershirt

I went for a run at lunch yesterday. It was hot outside but I went anyway. My superior physical conditioning and high tolerance for pain typically allows me to go where other men don’t dare.

After a long, dreamy shower, I found that I still couldn’t cool down. I put back on my fancy expensive work clothes, but my trunk--that area that runs from my neck down to my man parts--was still perspiring. I had a number of big important meetings to get to, so stripping down and taking another long, dreamy shower was out of the question.

I got back to my office with just enough time to eat the leftover Pad Thai I brought for lunch. This made the sweaty trunk problem only worse. People started coming into my office for the meeting. All were looking to me, RickY, for direction. They were seeking level-setting, action items, feedback, balanced scorecards, cross-functional alignment, next steps, and high-performance leadership---basically all the stuff I do really good.

Anyway, as the meeting started, I realized my cotton v-neck undershirt, hidden beneath my nice clothes, was soaking wet. It was a strange, damp feeling. I kinda liked it. No one else in the meeting knew what was happening, and I liked that too. It was like I had my own dirty little secret that no one would ever discover. That is, unless I did something really stupid, like write a blog about it, but even I’m not that....Hey, wait a minute...

Yep. Onion Rolls.

I don’t want to tell you about lunch today because it was awful. I sat by myself in my office with the door closed and ate my #battleax salad. I just kinda stared at all the shit on my desk and felt sorry for myself again. I actually got a little weepy and dabbed my eye with the paper towel I got from the men’S room, telling myself it was just because I’d gone overboard with the black pepper. So I don’t want to blog about that anymore.

Yesterday , though--yesterday lunch was terrific. I played golf with these guys I know. I made two ham sandwiches on onion rolls before I left the apartment, because--as long-time readers of Ricky’S Lunch Blog know--Ricky don’t like to force feed himself frankfurters at the turn.

I didn’t need two sandwiches but I figured I could share one and maybe they’d like me more. Maybe they’d even invite me to play with them again. When I opened the foil and started eating, one of the guys said “What you got there?”

“Spiral-cut ham and swiss on an onion roll,” I said. “Would you like half?”

“Sure. Give it here.”

I gave him a half. He grunted while he ate it. I think he said something about onion rolls, but I had a hard time understanding.

In the parking lot after, they said we should all play together again sometime, and that they’d call. There weren’t any messages today, but I’m sure I’ll hear from them tomorrow. Wednesday at the latest.

What do you think of this blog post? I'm of the mind that it'S not my best effort.

Turn your head and...

I had some leftovers from the Greek place in the fridge, so I brought them for lunch yesterday. They included a couple of those tasty pickled pepperoncini peppers. When I bit into one of them, some of the juice inside the pepper shot down my throat, which made me cough, forcing the remaining juice up into my sinus cavity. I didn’t aspirate it out my nose or anything disgusting like that, but it burned. I let out a panicked, high-pitched shriek.

My office door was closed so no one heard or was aware of my whimpering as I continually spit into my waste basket and blew my nose in a napkin for the next 10 minutes until my eyes stopped watering and I could smell again.

Of course, I felt extremely sorry for myself and wanted to blame someone for my misery. I decided to blame Greek people, as they have proven to be fiscally irresponsible—although they do seem to have a knack for geometry. And fisherman caps. The have nice fisherman caps there.

But you said you would call...

If this were Ricky’S Dinner Blog I could tell you all about what I ate tonight. I wish I could, because it was really something. But I can’t, because this is Ricky’S Lunch Blog and the only thing we make blog posts about is lunch.

Lunch sucked. Now I’m not a finger-pointer, and I don’t cut and run, but the #BattleAx really dropped the ball and let down the entire team today. You see I’ve been having to go to work early lately, like in by 6:30-ish. I’ve recently been given a lot more big and important responsibilities. She doesn’t seem to appreciate this, and refuses to get up and prepare #BattleAx salads for me before I leave. I’m serious. She just, like, keeps sleeping.

So today I had to rush out at 11:30 and buy a pre-fab salad and a bag of croutons at the supermarket down the street (see Figure 1). It was awful, and I felt sorry for myself. You see that hard-boiled egg in the corner? Well, when I put it in my mouth and bit into it, there was some sort of liquidy stuff between the yoke and the white part. I kind of gagged a little, but I still chewed and swallowed most of it. I called her and told her about it, and she said she was busy and would call me back, but she never did.

Figure 1. My desk, showing today's lunch and the bag of croutons I purchased.

It ain't a man-purse if there'S goulash inside

I found a bag of frozen goulash in the ice box last night, so I defrosted it and served it over egg noodles for dinner. I enjoyed it, even though it was 8 or 9 months old. You see, it stayed tasty and fresh because it was properly preserved in a seal-a-meal bag. One day I'll blog at length on seal-a-meal technology, because I believe it is worthy of Ricky'S attention.

I combined the leftover goulash and egg noodles in a tupperware thing and took it to work in my little man-purse/lunch-bag. I ate it standing up in my office, looking out the window while I was on a conference call because I'm one of those can-do go-getters like you might see in a rent-a-car commercial. I didn't even put it in the microwave. That'S how busy and important I am.

This is another disappointingly average blog post. I think I used too many hyphens.

Power-tossing: Risks and Rewards

After I finished my #BattleAx salad for lunch today, I happened to look down and notice I had stains on my shirt—tiny little specs of vinegar, see Figure 1, below. This must have occurred when I mixed in the dressing. You see, I get pretty aggressive in the tossing phase, as I like an even distribution. So stuff tends to splatter.

Figure 1. StainS

Anyway, the presence of this stain upset me because I’m high-class, and I like to intimidate and bully people in the big important meetings I attend throughout the day. I sensed this stain would diminish ability to dominate and force my will on others.

When I had calmed down, it dawned on me that I eat a lot of #BattleAx salads. I rushed home and went straight to my large, Imelda-Marcos-like walk-in closet. I randomly sampled a few of my expensive shirts and, damn, don’t you know, they had been compromised by vinegar as well. I knew you wouldn’t believe me, so I documented it, as shown in Figures 2 and 3.

Figure 2. More StainS

Figure 3. Even More StainS

After a 3-year hiatus from lunch thought leadership, I believe this to be a mediocre blog post. I know it could be better, but I can’t say exactly how.

Focus on priorities

I had a nice salad for lunch yesterday and some minestrone soup. Then I had to go potty, so I grabbed a cup of coffee and my Kindle, intending to make the most of it.

Everything was going great until I took a sip of coffee. As I returned the cup to its perch on the handrail, I didn’t balance it correctly. It slid off, crashing into my thigh. Coffee splattered everywhere, including all over my Kindle, and on some other things too. This upset me, and I struggled to keep me shit together.

After 15 or 20 minutes, I’d calmed down sufficiently to snap a photograph using my I-tunes-touch-pod-nano-pad, as shown in Figure 1, below. I think it really captures the tension in the room. I’m scheduling a post-mortem / lessons-learned session for next week to identify causal factors and develop and action plan to mitigate the risk of event reoccurrence.

This is a terrible lunch blog entry, although I’m proud of myself for using the word perch in the second paragraph.

Figure 1. The collateral damage from Ricky’S lack of focus and inability to successfully prioritize

The quiet beauty of lunch

I've written numerous web logs about attempting to eat lunch on the golf course and ending up with condiments all over my shirt, or my face, or my trousers. I've also promoted the salami and provolone sandwich as safe alternative.

On Saturday I took my own advice, buying a pre-made sandwich at the grocery store before heading to the course. As I took my first bite of it on the 10th hole, I became contemplative, comfortable with my superior ability to strategize and execute on an effective lunch approach. I captured the moment with a photograph. I call it Salami Sandwich Still Life with Tees and Golf Glove. Take a good look at it. The shadows add quite a bit of drama, don't you think?

This image was deceptively powerful. The guy who took the photograph--using his I-touch-phone-tunes-pad--couldn't shake it off for 2 or 3 holes, resulting in a string of double bogies and pathetic excuses muttered under his breath about "Ricky'S stupid lunch blog."

Figure 1. Salami Sandwich Still Life with Tees and Golf Glove

Tube of salad

You know what else comes in a tube? My hemorrhoid ointment and my denture cream. And they taste awful too. I fear a lunch like this is insufficient to fuel the engine of thought-leadership.

Figure 1. Forget about this terrible lunch. Notice the nice carved wooden figure of the oriental guy riding the water buffalo behind the tube of crap. I keep that on my desk so my co-workers will know that I am frivolous and light-hearted.

Where are my handlers?

Sunday we skied at Vail. I was happy because it snowed the night before and I skied the first half a dozen or so runs as if I were a young man, with the soft, forgiving powder fueling my delusions of superior physical ability and virility.

Reality set in around 12:30, when I started whining and feeling sorry for myself. My skinny little legs were no longer responding to directions from my brain. I won't lie to you: I was cranky and tired.

When we returned to the bottom of the hill, I remembered it was lunch time. I bought a piece of lemon pound cake and a can of Dr. Pepper. That gave me a burst of energy for about 25 minutes, and I believe I was at my most charming and witty during that period. It wore off, though, and I quickly returned to being unpleasant and irascible.

No, that’s perfect. It matches my soul and my heart.

With age, I think I’m starting to get a little jowlly. Not like John Madden or anything. But I’ve noticed some jiggling.

I had a Battle Ax salad and some black bean soup for lunch today. I made the soup last weekend and it came out good. When it comes to cumin, I lose all sense of self control. What did I do before the immersion blender? I can’t recall.

Anyway, while I was eating, I looked down at my desk and noticed a theme. Black beans, black bowl, black spoon…even a black mouse. Then I noticed how well my mustard-colored desk pulled it all together. Check it out:

Figure 1. Ricky wore blue jeans today. Can you tell? Once, they were called dungarees.

Repressed lunch memories

When I was a wee boy, before I started school, there were no other kids in the neighborhood my age. Everyday my mom would stuff me into my undersized winter coat, buckle me into the back seat, and force me to go to every shopping mall on Long Island with her. In 1966, malls were at the apogee of their post-war suburban glory.

Mom was thrifty, so she would shop for hours and never, ever buy anything. This was brutal on a precocious, hyper-intelligent child like myself. You can only pull boogies out of your nose and flirt with the pretty-smelling cash register ladies for so long before your patience wanes.

However, if I behaved myself, mom would buy me a hot dog for lunch. And if was a really good boy and I didn’t smear snot all over my face, she’d buy me a Match Box car too, but that was rare because—even back then—my nose was large and hard to manage.

These days, when the Battle Ax forces me to go to the mall with her on the weekends, I always bring my Kindle. I’m content to camp-out in the asshole chair, read, and drink coffee. When I look up and see her approaching, beaming with swollen shopping bags, I immediately crave a hotdog, and I instinctively check the tip of my index finger.

Did you notice how I used the word apogee in the first paragraph? How pretentious.