You are a grilled cheese sandwich
The other night I made myself some grilled cheese for dinner, and I can tell you'without exaggeration or hyperbole'that it was the finest grilled cheese sandwich that has ever existed on Earth.
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The other night I made myself some grilled cheese for dinner, and I can tell you'without exaggeration or hyperbole'that it was the finest grilled cheese sandwich that has ever existed on Earth.
I can't tell you how many e-mails I've received from readers asking, 'Justin, what do you think of the Elvehjem Museum of Art having changed its name to the Chazen earlier this year'? Well, actually, I suppose I CAN tell you how many: zero. But if you can think of a more economical way to introduce this column, I would bloody well like to hear it.
So I've been reading in the newspapers that our fair city has seen an increase in the number of male flashings occurring on or around campus.
Anyone who has stepped outside on a Saturday morning, only to be swept away by an unrelenting tide of red and white-clad Badger fans with an unholy thirst for blood and Miller High Life, can attest to the popularity of college football here in Madison.
As a UW-Madison senior and man-about-town millionaire playboy, I sometimes have new students ask me where the best places to meet someone of the opposite sex on campus are.
I look in the mirror and see my face, covered in a mossy five-day growth of facial hair. At first this is very comforting. The appearance of a reflection means I'm not a vampire, and I can therefore be reasonably sure that neither Hugh Jackman nor Wesley Snipes are coming to kill me. But then the tranquility passes and I remember the matter at hand: What am I going to do about this damn beard?
My past few days have been spent in a daze. The world around me seems to spin slowly, kaleidoscopically, as I stagger about. My head aches with thunder and I have begun to mutter indecipherable musings to persons around me both real and imagined. My nose is Rudolph-red and my eyes water uncontrollably-invisible onions seemingly everywhere. Passersby on the streets look at me and shake their heads, convinced I was wrecked on drinks or drugs-or both.
The other day I was talking with a friend about the apartment I recently moved into. The new place needed a few things before it truly felt like home, I said: a few area rugs, some light fixtures and perhaps some manner of pirate flag to fly from the front porch. Most importantly, I told her, I needed to have a phone line installed.
The university has played a cruel trick on the unfortunate souls who leave Madison for the summer months after classes have ended. This trick, of course, is having built the Wisconsin Union Terrace on campus.
A pair of pianos emerged from beneath the stage. On the overhead screens, the Stars and Stripes and a Union Jack appeared and patriotic fanfare erupted as Billy Joel and Elton John walked out onto stage, saluted each other, and began a duet of John's \Your Song,"" in which the pair traded off verses. They continued with Joel's ""Just The Way You Are"" and John's ""Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me,"" where the backing band made its first powerful apperance.