A Spoonful of Cinnamon

This past weekend began somewhat uneventfully, as I found myself sitting home with nothing to do on Friday night. Having been inside for most of the day, I decided that I had to get out of the house, regardless of where. I made a few phone calls in an attempt to find some form of entertainment, but none of those calls resulted in anything that was even slightly appealing. So, I decided to just strike out on my own.

My first stop was my Post Office box that is inconveniently located in Burbank, about 15 minutes from my house. I'm sure I've explained how I ended up with this post office box, so I would bore you with the story once again. If you are not familiar with that story, then this is the perfect opportunity for you to browse through my archives... assuming that you are interested.

At any rate, after picking up my mail, I drove over to Mervyn's in order to purchase a new pair of shoes, and a new dress shirt for last Saturday's wedding. I found a decent pair of shoes and then went over to pick out a shirt. Only after returning home did I notice that I had accidentally purchased the wrong size...so I ended up wearing a slightly older shirt to the wedding. The shirt I bought actually fit everywhere except for the neck. I don't know why I have such a huge neck, but I do.

After leaving Mervyn's, I spent a good hour or so driving around Burbank looking for something to eat that struck my fancy. I eventually drove over to this place called Frontier Wok near Studio City, only to find that it had gone out of business sometime in the last couple of months. After taking a moment to weep for the passing of this fine independent Chinese eatery, I sighed and entered the Baja Fresh next door. As you may know, I actually hate Baja Fresh, but was tired of driving around looking for something to eat.

Saturday was, of course, the wedding of my friends Steve and Carol, held at Lake Avenue in Pasadena. This wedding was, by far, one of the best I have been to in a long time. The ceremony was a truly moving experience, and the reception was the party of the summer. And, much to my great surprise, my friends Peter and Jessica McWilliams (whom I had met in Kosovo in 2001) had flown all the way from Minnesota just for the occasion. Granted, they weren't specifically here to see me, but that's a minor technicality.

The reception was held at the Chateau Bradbury in Duarte. It's a quaint little mansion nestled amongst a grove of trees in a residential area. I'd never heard of it, but then I tend not to run in circles in which those types of things are known about. I'm uncomfortable with such upscale concepts as valet parking (why should I pay some schmuck to dent my car when I'm perfectly capable of denting it on my own?), restroom attendants and plates that aren't purchased at Target. Yes, I am quite firmly entrenched amongst the Third Estate.

Sunday was an equally busy day...but I was spared the necessity of having to once again wear a necktie. I arose bright and early on Sunday morning (about 9:30) and drove down to Fullerton to meet Ashwin and Charis at their church. Ashwin became a Christian about a year ago and was baptized this Sunday. Sometimes it's a little surreal to hear him talk about his new beliefs, considering that when we were in college, he was a rabid atheist and mocked my faith quite regularly. Now, I'm pleased to say, he is quite the opposite.

After the service, I had lunch with Ashwin, Charis and several of their friends at the Buca di Beppo in Fullerton. If you've never eaten there, I recommend you try them out sometime. The food is quite good, and you also end up being quite full. I think they are located all over the country so those of you from far-off exotic places like Nashville might be able to find one.

I got back home at about 5:00 that evening, just in time to head off to my own church service, which begins at 6:00. Peter and Jessica (see above) were there, as well as this one girl whom I think is really cute. I'll not divulge her name, for fear that she might somehow stumble across this. Stranger things have happened.

So, after leaving church, I drove out to Michael Jung's house in Glendora, where Pete and Jessica were staying. There we had a kind of reunion party for a few members of the 2001 Kosovo team. Granted, the numbers were far from being complete, as it was more of a last minute thing and we just grabbed all those whom we could find.

While we were there, Pete happened to mention an occasion on which he had been dared to eat a tablespoon of cinnamon. Naturally, my curiosity was piqued, and it didn't take much cajoling for me to agree to give it a try. Michael's wife, Amy, filled a spoon with cinnamon and handed it to me. Initially, I assumed that it would be similar to eating a spoonful of sugar. You know...sweet, but grainy or something like that. The effect, however, was just the opposite. The cinnamon instantly absorbed all of the moisture around it, making the inside of my mouth, my tongue and my throat completely dry. As I tried to swallow the cursed powder, my air passage rebelled violently. I coughed and sent a cloud of cinnamon floating out over the sink. I tried desperately to restore moisture to my mouth. Yet every glass of water I drank seemed to have no effect. To make matters worse, I had quite a bit of the harsh spice in my nasal passage. Yet any attempt to clear said nasal passage only resulted in more pain. I ate a bowl of vanilla ice cream, which helped a little bit, but my throat wasn't back to normal until the next day.

I've often felt that a good way to earn some money would be to go around to different bars and tell drunk people, "Hey...I'll eat [insert gross thing to eat here] for $200." If they were drunk enough, I'm sure they'd pay. After my experience on Sunday, however, I have reconsidered such a career.