I should state right off that people who insist on everything in their lives being store bought piss me off. I'm talking about those folks who don't trust anything that comes from a small crafts shop, or is hand made instead of production made, or who thinks nobody but a large company is capable of producing a quality product. Yeah, they piss me off big time, and I work hard at avoiding these people. That's pretty much impossible because folks like me, someone who'd much rather have the home made version of something than a production run article, are a rare breed. "Did you make that yourself?" I've often asked. And it the answer is yes, I'm all the more interested in it. Well, unless we're talking something like medicine or a surgical tool. If we're talking pie, on the other hand, you can take most of that store bought stuff and stuff it.
Nobody in the production business ever made a pecan pie like my mother made, or like my wife makes. And if you're one of those creepy make-mine-store-bought folks who buy all their Thanksgiving or Christmas sweets at a grocery store, a big poo on you. What's the matter with you, after all? Did you grow up in Walmart or something? Store bought cakes and pies are for shallow, culturally deprived people, not real people. It's almost like going to a prostitute for sex. Yeah, you can get laid, but you sure didn't get made love to. Good sex is home made, not store bought. Food is fuel, what makes us go, and already prepared food, that crack open a box and heat it up stuff, is fuel for dullards . . . or lazy people. You know, the dimwits of society, and as it turns out, that's the way most folks are these days.
You are what you eat, so goes the saying, and if that's true, America has become an enormous garbage dump. Eat garbage, end up garbage . . . that's the standard. My house was a healthy place to live, until my grandson moved in with us. Yup, I'm living with a garbage gobbler, a 21 year old who lives on Big Macs, fries, and soft drinks . . . and lots of cookies . . . all store bought. Look into his eyes, and it's like staring into a couple of monkey assholes. The kid is zonked out on junk; that's my take on it. Then again, it could be because he's 21, and most kids that age have eyes like a couple of monkey assholes. I know this from experience because I'm a retired college professor. I've looked at lots of kids, too many kids. The neat thing about them is, they grow up someday, and maybe when they do, they'll eat real food - home made food. You are what you eat, and that's a fact.
OK, with that said, I've got an admission to make. Everything that comes from a store isn't bad, and that includes food. Some things we like to eat are almost impossible to make at home. Yeah, I watch those shows on television that show you how to make your own peanut butter, but that's silly. Grocery stores sell a big variety of good peanut butter, all kinds, and most of it is good. I like the natural kind, but I don't really care how healthy it is. I'm going to eat it anyway . . . with grape jelly on wheat bread. The wheat bread is my little touch of healthy stuff there, and peanut butter isn't bad for you. I love key lime pie too, and I buy it store bought, and I also buy my blackberry cobbler at the store. I don't know anybody who can make a key lime pie, and there's no way my wife could ever come up with a blackberry cobbler. Even if I had access to home made, I'd still buy the store bought stuff. Some production line companies do a pretty damn good job of turning out fun to eat stuff. I must also admit to loving MacDonald's fish fillet sandwiches.
But I'm not backing off the your are what you eat thing. If I hadn't eaten so much junk food in the past, so much store bought stuff, I wouldn't be in the shape I'm in. I am what I ate . . . and drank, but we won't go into that. My first love in food is still home made, always will be. My first love in lots of other things is what comes from the small shop of a craftsman, not from some factory. Hand me a guitar from a small shop builder, one that still has the little flaws craftsmen without expensive precision machinery turn out, and I'm in love. I'm in love with the guitar itself, with those little imperfections, and most of all with the fact that it didn't come from some big factory. Give me home made first, in most cases, and I'm a more contented man. And oh, by the way. I didn't make this Apple computer I wrote this on, but that's OK. I don't even like computers.
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