L'histoire de sa vie

“Speaking of cancer,” the TV news anchor shouted, “studies have now shown that bladder cancer can be prevented in individuals with high levels of selenium. Selenium can be found in breakfast cereals…”

At this point I stopped listening, not because I was uninterested (which I was), but because I had knocked over my glass of water and had to clean up the mess. However, the message still stuck in my head, largely because I was at least partially interested in where else to find selenium.

But only partially; I’ve eaten enough breakfast cereals in my life to know that any mineral I need is included in the cereal. When I was younger, it seemed to me like cereals were in a competition to have the highest number next to the words “essential vitamins and minerals,” followed by a requisite exclamation mark.

Even “unhealthy” cereals are healthy by this measure: Cinnamon Toast Crunch (twelve) Cookie Crisp (twelve), Count Chocula (eight), Lucky Charms (twelve), Trix (twelve). The list goes on.

Of course, it seems to me that most of these (“essential”) minerals are things like Boron, Manganese, and Gallium. They don’t seem that essential to me, and the box always explains that the included one microgram is 6700% of your recommended daily value. One box of cereal I ate once had Gold listed, which I thought was awesome.

Anyway, apparently Selenium is good for you. So who knows? Soon, I’ll find out that the essential Manganese prevents spleen cancer! Now pardon me while I pour myself a bowl of cereal.

You know the scene from many movies you’ve seen: some terrible plot is about to go down, and someone has to be debriefed. In order to give the second party the information he or she needs, they duck into the restroom. But because our hero may be in the same restroom (in fact he or she is), the villains first check under the stall doors for legs.

Invariably, our hero has tucked his or her legs up and is sitting or crouching on the toilet so that no legs are dangling below. The villain then spills the plot, and the hero has all the information necessary to foil it.

Recently, I realized just how ridiculous this action is. See, stalls only lock from the inside. So it doesn’t make sense to look under stalls, when instead the villains should just push open each stall door. If it’s locked, there’s someone inside. If it’s unlocked, there either isn’t, or you’ll find that person.

So, the next time you’re discussing a nefarious caper inside the bathroom, follow my advice: push open each stall door rather than craning your head to look for legs. You’ll thank me when your plans are not ruined by a pesky eavesdropper.

Last night I met up with Tani, a friend from my year in Israel, to have dinner at Barnaby’s, a Houston favorite. Tani is living in Houston for two years as part of the Teach for America program, and he got in touch with me as soon as he was moving here. We were able to finally get together last night and catch up.

The concept of catching up with old friends is an interesting one. I can recall last year’s New Year’s party in which a lot of my high school friends appeared, many of whom I hadn’t seen since high school ended. Yet, and the same is true with Tani, it was as if we had never parted ways; it was simple to pick up conversation “where we left off” and continue the friendship.

This is no great breakthrough, it’s really just something that amazes me. Tani and I are in two completely different stages of our lives than we were when we last saw each other. We’ve also both completely changed our attitudes toward different things, yet I found that none of that mattered. First, there was the lucky streak that we’ve both changed in similar ways, but in addition to that, it was like catching up was more interesting because of it.

I used to be a little worried about “losing” friends, especially as my middle school friends and I drifted apart. Eventually I got over it, realizing that it’s simple to just make new friends in new places. Nonetheless, it’s really nice to recapture a friendship that was thought to have been “lost.”

On Friday, my mom and I took a trip to North Houston to check out a burger recommendation from the Chronicle at a place called the Petrol Station. Before I get into the full explanation, let me just say that if you’re in the mood for a burger and fries, this is it. Amazing.

The burger was delicious. My mom’s and mine got switched up, but nonetheless, we were both amazed with how delicious the half-pound juicy burger tasted. This was the kind of burger you dream of, the kind of burger that says “these people know what they’re doing.”

And the fries reinforced that case. They were fresh-cut (as is obvious by the taste and texture) and seasoned just right to be amazing. In combination, this burger and fries are a combination beyond belief and certainly delicious.

In addition, the Petrol Station has a bunch of taps filled with delicious craft brews. I had a Dogfish Head Theobroma and my mom had a Southern Star Buried Hatchet. Delicious. If you’re in Houston and you need a burger, fries, and a beer, the Petrol Station is worth the drive. You will not be disappointed.

I’m constantly buying new hard drives, and my most recent acquisition was for the purpose of replacing an old, monstrous clunker. In doing so though, I had to transfer all my files from the old drive to the new one. The process was far from flawless.

Actually it wasn’t too bad, in that it only took two days. However, during the process, I learned that three of my files are corrupt. One, a meaningless word document, I don’t care much about. However, the other two, videos I made for high school, are a lot more meaningful and I’m disappointed that they are gone.

I’m working on getting replacements from the other members of the groups, but it remains to be seen whether I will be successful. The two videos are as follows:

• “Le Lit de Mort de Vie” – This was a two part film that Sarah and Nick and I made for French class. Part one, the trailer, is fine, but part two, the movie itself, is broken. It breaks 25 seconds from the end, though, so I’ve kept what I could get in case I can’t replace it. The film was billed as “Avant-Garde,” which really just meant we filmed a bunch of nonsense and dubbed over it in French.
• “QQQQ” – This was a film created for ToK, an IB-required class. Basically our group had to fill a film with logical fallacies to sell a product. Our product turned time backwards, and if I recall correctly, we made a lot of enemies among the more sensitive of the student body when we played the Zapruder footage in reverse.

Hopefully these videos will be saved. They were truly works of art.

Yesterday, I called Target in the Bronx, to see if they had some sheets available. When the phone picked up, an automated voice welcomed me to Target and then said, in a very strongly-American accent, “para Español, oprime dos.” It then continued with the various department listings, and I eventually spoke to an operator.

There’s nothing wrong with the scenario I just presented. The Spanish part was pretty funny because it was such a non-Hispanic accent, but everything else about it was just fine. You may be thinking, “what could be wrong with any similar situation?” Or, if you’ve read the title of this post, you may have already determined what my complaint is.

The issue is when the automated voice tells me “For English, press one” and then waits for me to take the phone away from my ear, press the button, and only then will it continue with the options. This is highly inefficient and stupid.

There should always be a default option, and as long as I’m calling some place in America, where English is still the primary language, that default option should be English. Offer as many different languages as you want, but for one default, don’t make me press anything. If I were calling a phone in China, I would expect the same behavior: For English, press two. No mention of Chinese, in which case, one should just stay on the line.

Enough of this inefficiency. I suggest that everyone complain to the operator each time you reach a “for English, press one” prompt. Maybe with enough complaints, this will change.

Last night, John and I went to see The Expendables, which was a ridiculously stupid movie that shall get no more discussion here. Afterwards, around 12:20, we were driving back toward our houses, when I noticed, on a random, sparsely-populated street corner, a fully lit and open taco truck.

I thought this was ridiculous, though John didn’t seem to mind. The concept, that there was a taco truck set up and doing business past midnight on a remote corner far from any discernable nightlife on a Tuesday, confused me. Yet there was this taco truck, operating in exactly those conditions.

In New York, I’m used to food carts being open late at night. Usually around bars or other places that the nightlife calls home, and usually only on weekends. These are the night-owl Halal carts of the city, dispensing Chicken over Rice and Lamb over Rice to the hungry drunken masses. They do a booming business, I’m sure.

If a taco truck were to open up in New York, it too would do booming business under such circumstances, and I would welcome it due to my love of tacos. However, I still can’t get over the idea that somewhere in a remote Houston neighborhood, someone’s Tuesday midnight taco desires can be quenched.