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The Daily Cardinal Est. 1892
Thursday, June 13, 2024

Food secrets finally revealed

Now that Easter and Lent are over, I feel the need to get a few confessions off my chest. First of all, I forgot to give something up for Lent. Oops. Well, that's minor. I can be forgiven for that.  

 

I also must confess that I borrow a handful of trail mix from those classy, plastic bins every time I go grocery shopping. I say borrow because it's definitely not stealing. They just leave boxes of chocolate open all day long. They're just asking for some to disappear.  

 

I also must confess a secret hobby of mine.  

Now, don't judge me once I admit this. It's really not that weird, but I can see how some might find it odd. So, here it goes: I love watching people eat. There, I said it. Are you happy now? Before you label me as a freak, let me explain myself.  

 

First, there are many people in this world whom I thoroughly do not enjoy watching eat. For example, I have watched far too many people shove deep-fried, fatty goodness into their pie-holes while working at a family amusement park for five summers.  

 

If you never want to enjoy mini-doughnuts again, find a summer job at a state fair or amusement park. It will scare you straight. This actually gave me a novel idea for helping meth addicts, but the details are still in the works.  

 

Also, let me state that I don't enjoy watching messy eaters eat. I swear some mothers missed the passage in the book What to Tell Your Kids So They Don't Turn Out to be Losers"" about teaching your kids table manners. As long as you keep your face clean, elbows in and mouth closed while you chew, I can watch you eat all day.  

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This infatuation probably began in high school. Since then, I have seen some phenomenal eaters. I once watched a 16-year-old boy eat an apple with more vigor and dedication than it takes to win an Olympic Gold medal. He's the gold medalist of apple eating. He tore into the red skin like a Tyrannosaurus Rex chasing down lunch and then proceeded to speak as apple chunks spewed from his mouth, landing on my cheek and sophisticated peanut butter sandwich. It didn't even faze him. He just kept on going, opening his mouth as wide as possible and munching down with all his might.  

I loved watching that kid eat. It showed all the intensity of his personality.  

 

Now imagine this kid in a talent show. He jumped on stage and shook his booty to ""Footloose"" in a fashion that put Kevin Bacon to shame. Just imagine his apple eating energy transferred to the stage, shaking his bum to trashy '80s music.  

 

To be fair, the dancing styles of Kevin Bacon are more like distraught tantrums of white-boy rage and confusion than anything resembling skill or practice. It can't be that hard to do, but it does take a lot of guts and determination. Zac Efron tried, which I found when researching this topic on YouTube. He failed miserably. I guess Efron doesn't have the intense white-boy dancing skills that made Bacon and my acquaintance so successful.  

 

Also, while researching this column, I noticed my acquaintance is engaged. I will die a happy woman if I can attend that wedding, watch him eat an apple and perform an encore dance recital.  

 

If you are also secretly obsessed with Zac Efron, give Emily some suggestions of where she can find him by e-mailing her at bisek@wisc.edu.

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