pretzel fever
Made it through day two of the three-day Apple training. Today was rough going, covering issues that are of greatest interest to computer programmers and network administrators - two job descriptions that I'd be hard-pressed to fit into. The hard truth of the matter is that I'm not a natural when it comes to tech support. I enjoy working with computers, and I find it very gratifying to help others. I think that I have the patience and people skills to teach others what they don't know and not embarrass them if they make mistakes. But those are the limits. I have no mind for networking, or hardware repair. Which is why I'm probably ok in the role I have at school - it's technical, but not hard core.
Last night I grabbed a late dinner with a friend at the Cheesecake Factory, which was delicious if excessive and over-the-top as usual. While we sat there gorging ourselves on entrees fit for the Brady Bunch, our conversation slowly turned from how good we have it to God and religion. My friend, who was raised in the Catholic church, told me that she's lost her faith. She wants to believe, she told me, but just doesn't have the unquestioning faith in her church that she once had, and feels guilty as a result (insert de rigeur aside about Catholics and guilt here). As we talked and she shared her frustrations with me, I found myself in a very strange position: I became the believer. I urged her not to lose faith. I suggested that that most people have doubts from time to time, and I even threw in the old chestnut that faith is a choice freely made, not something that must be proven (like a formula) or that you just accept because that's what Mom and Dad tell you to do. In short, I sounded like a full-blooded Christian bent on trying to save a soul! It was odd, to say the least, and I didn't even realize it until we were halfway through the conversation. It really bothered me that she was losing something that was clearly important to her, and I wanted to reassure her the best way I could. Pretty funny, coming from me, the poster child for agnostics.
No blog entry would be complete without some mention of food, and this, dear readers, leads me to tonight's dinner. Molly and I went downtown - I wanted to show her Millenium Park, and we both wanted to get out of Villa Park for a litle while. Her reaction to "the bean" surprised me - she thought it was wierd! I, of course, love it to death, and immediately labeled her as "anti-bean" and "bean-prejudiced." We didn't really come to any agreement about it, but we did decide, on a whim, to stop in Potbelly's (aka "Potbelly Sandwich Works") for dinner. It was perfect. It's essentially a sub shop, so the eats were cheap. Cheap but good. The toasted sandwiches reminded me of my old favorites at Yellow Sub in Lawrence, Kansas. The atmosphere is relaxed, too - call it "flea shop funky". The restaurant occupies the corner of a large office building but feels more like a comfortable, worn-in shoe - Mother Hubbard, perhaps? - with old paintings, vintage sofas, and light fixtures fashioned out of ships' steering wheels. There are a few balconies with odds and ends, but unfortunately no seating.
The icing on the cake were the potato chips. I'm not a big fan of chips in general, but for some reason I'm fascinated by local varieties whenever I'm in a new town. It's not unlike picking up the local newspaper. Potbelly's, as it turns out, sells Vitner's. The mascot, featured prominently on the front of each bag, is a bag of potato chips that also happens to be a saxiphonist. He wears a big pair of red Ray Bans, and "Vinnie" is emblazoned across his forhead. But the greatest detail? The potato chips that are flying willy-nilly out of his sax. It's inspired, I tell ya. Imagine my surprise when I turned the bag over and found out that they're made in Freeport, Illinois, the town I called home between the ages of six and ten! The bag mentions that Vitner's is also famous for popcorn (cheddar cheese flavored), corn chips, and...pretzels, which also just happen to be the mascot for the Freeport High School! Yes, I too could've been a pretzel if my parents had not re-located to Dubuque in 1979. *sigh* A great end to the day.
Last night I grabbed a late dinner with a friend at the Cheesecake Factory, which was delicious if excessive and over-the-top as usual. While we sat there gorging ourselves on entrees fit for the Brady Bunch, our conversation slowly turned from how good we have it to God and religion. My friend, who was raised in the Catholic church, told me that she's lost her faith. She wants to believe, she told me, but just doesn't have the unquestioning faith in her church that she once had, and feels guilty as a result (insert de rigeur aside about Catholics and guilt here). As we talked and she shared her frustrations with me, I found myself in a very strange position: I became the believer. I urged her not to lose faith. I suggested that that most people have doubts from time to time, and I even threw in the old chestnut that faith is a choice freely made, not something that must be proven (like a formula) or that you just accept because that's what Mom and Dad tell you to do. In short, I sounded like a full-blooded Christian bent on trying to save a soul! It was odd, to say the least, and I didn't even realize it until we were halfway through the conversation. It really bothered me that she was losing something that was clearly important to her, and I wanted to reassure her the best way I could. Pretty funny, coming from me, the poster child for agnostics.
No blog entry would be complete without some mention of food, and this, dear readers, leads me to tonight's dinner. Molly and I went downtown - I wanted to show her Millenium Park, and we both wanted to get out of Villa Park for a litle while. Her reaction to "the bean" surprised me - she thought it was wierd! I, of course, love it to death, and immediately labeled her as "anti-bean" and "bean-prejudiced." We didn't really come to any agreement about it, but we did decide, on a whim, to stop in Potbelly's (aka "Potbelly Sandwich Works") for dinner. It was perfect. It's essentially a sub shop, so the eats were cheap. Cheap but good. The toasted sandwiches reminded me of my old favorites at Yellow Sub in Lawrence, Kansas. The atmosphere is relaxed, too - call it "flea shop funky". The restaurant occupies the corner of a large office building but feels more like a comfortable, worn-in shoe - Mother Hubbard, perhaps? - with old paintings, vintage sofas, and light fixtures fashioned out of ships' steering wheels. There are a few balconies with odds and ends, but unfortunately no seating.
The icing on the cake were the potato chips. I'm not a big fan of chips in general, but for some reason I'm fascinated by local varieties whenever I'm in a new town. It's not unlike picking up the local newspaper. Potbelly's, as it turns out, sells Vitner's. The mascot, featured prominently on the front of each bag, is a bag of potato chips that also happens to be a saxiphonist. He wears a big pair of red Ray Bans, and "Vinnie" is emblazoned across his forhead. But the greatest detail? The potato chips that are flying willy-nilly out of his sax. It's inspired, I tell ya. Imagine my surprise when I turned the bag over and found out that they're made in Freeport, Illinois, the town I called home between the ages of six and ten! The bag mentions that Vitner's is also famous for popcorn (cheddar cheese flavored), corn chips, and...pretzels, which also just happen to be the mascot for the Freeport High School! Yes, I too could've been a pretzel if my parents had not re-located to Dubuque in 1979. *sigh* A great end to the day.
posted by Mike Willis @ 9:17 PM
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