The Horrors of cafeteria food at Oberlin College

Oh my… How are these poor, poor little snowflakes supposed to cope with life when it is this freaking hard?

Let’s all gather in close, clasp hands, and have a moment of quiet… oh hell NO! And I mean NO! with an accompanied ‘quit yer moaning and whining, you sniveling little cry-babies, and grow the (fill in the blank) UP!!’

It seems that the simpering student (‘scholars’ as they are referred to) populace have figured out a new offence du jour – the cafeteria food!

Wait, wait… it’s not what you are thinking. I mean, has there ever been a student (“scholar “) who has not complained about the food at school cafeterias?
It’s de rigueur! It’s part of the whole school experience. It’s, it’s, un-Amer’can not to… I would go so far to purpose that everyone who has ever attended any institution (educational or otherwise) where food is served has complained about it.

So… we all thought we had it bad… nope, not in the slightest!

Let me tell you about the poor, poor little panty-waste whining cupcakes at Oberlin College and just how bad these little snotty-nosed babies have it.

It seems that the college’s food management company (Bon Appétit) has committed the egregious crimes of ‘insensitivity’ and ‘cultural appropriation’ or mis-appropriation over some of its offerings to these indignant ‘I’m so offended’ “scholars”.

What the **** am I talking about you ask…

It seems that undercooked sushi rice is offensive. Oh, as is serving cooked fish on the sushi instead of raw fish. Yeah, let’s serve these folks uncooked fish at a school cafeteria and see how long it goes before someone gets a rip-roaring case of food poisoning. As for me, I’m talking all the first day time slots on the betting board.

These “scholars” are whining because the General Tso’s Chicken is steamed, not fried! Last I heard, fried food is bad for you. According to all the hysteria that is thrown at us, it’s so bad that just thinking about frying something causes your arteries to harden a bit and shortens your life. Don’t sue me because your lifespan just decreased because I mentioned frying something (good thing I didn’t talk about frying a pound of bacon, then frying a couple of eggs in the rendered grease isn’t it?).

Anyway, back to the poor little thin-skins at Oberlin College…

Another of the ‘cultural (mis)appropriations’ they have to endure is when it comes to their order of Vietnamese banh mi. According to some one of the expert “scholars”, banh mi is not culturally correct if the meat is not grilled. ‘I’m so offended’ that Bon Appétit would offend these little cupcakes with something that was so inauthentic! The horror of it!

Now, in the interest of disclosure, I have only had banh mi a few times. Each, and everyone of those times it was at eateries where I was the only one who spoke English and I had to point to the pictures of what I wanted to order. On two of those occasions I’m not completely certain that the meat was pork… Should I have been offended and handed those back, saying that they were not authentic or that I felt a ‘cultural mis-appropriation’?

I’m not going to go into whether the Vietnamese people ‘appropriated’ this from the French – although banh mi does generally come on French bread…

I’m almost afraid to bring up the spector of the German community rising up in righteous indignation over hamburgers, frankfurters, and brats.

And what of the bastardization of Mexican food and fears for the health of any Italians who might question the cultural correctness of the ‘pizza’.

Along with pizza, burgers, and tacos, every food out there gets adapted – look at what Bobby Flay does to perfectly good food and everyone raves about his “adaptions”.

And if these whining little perpetually offended “scholars” wanted food to complain about, there were the hotdogs at ENMU-R’s SUB. By midday those things had swum around enough that they usually lost their lustrous red color and turned a zombi-esk grey. That’s where I found that wavey potato chips dipped in yellow mustard wasn’t a bad lunch…

West Virginia Mountaineers and Kentucky Wildcats WIN!

A good way to start my football season!
Both the West Virginia Mountaineers and Kentucky Wildcats win their opening games!

Locks of Love_______________________________ Guest blog by David Black Sr.

It has been several years now, since the last time I was given such a check on my emotional heartstrings in regards to the effect of childhood cancer.

My wife, who ensures that we give to a number of charities, provided transportation to take an eight-year-old daughter of one of her friends to donate her hair to Locks-of-Love. The charity group takes the virgin hair, donated by children, to make wigs for other children who are battling cancer.

“That’s really nice.” I told my wife as she relayed the experience to me.

Meanwhile, my thoughts roamed through the recesses of my mind and found a very specific memory.

“I need help posting the pictures…” She was explaining.

“Uh… Yeah.” I responded deftly, my thoughts still swirling, attempting to clarify the fuzzy picture of an old memory. “Maybe I’ll write a little piece you can post with the pictures, or I can post it on my friends blog.”

“Oh… OK.” She said thoughtfully, not sure of the idea. “Well. I have to get back to work. Love you.”

“OK… Love you, Baby.” I replied, the full force of that distant memory flooding into my consciousness.

As I said, it was several years ago. I was a local truck driver in the Los Angeles area. There I was; listening to the radio as I worked my way through the heavy L.A. traffic, which happened to be a daily event, when something different happened.

On this particular day, between the music sets, I was half-heartedly listening to the DJ interview people as they were promoting a fundraiser for St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. Suddenly however, the interviewee captured my full attention.

“What would you do?” He began to relate his story.

You are walking down the street, and like any other day, being accosted by beggars, looking for a spare buck so they can get their next beer. Of course, you habitually decline. Then you feel someone tugging at your shirt, to get your attention.

When you turn, you have to look down to see the small, bald child who is summoning your assistance. You cannot help but give her your full attention.

“Excuse me, Sir.” She begins. “Can you afford to help me buy my next dose of medicine?”

“What?” You exclaim, astounded.

“Please, Sir?” The little girl pleads. “I have been diagnosed with cancer and without my next dose of medicine to fight it… Well, I will lose the fight.”

I had no choice. I pulled over to the side of the road and sat there, crying like a baby. I sat there thinking how brutal the guy’s message was. Then realized, his message was nowhere near as brutal as the daily life and death struggle of the little girl he described.

When I finished working that day, I stopped by an ATM and went to the remote broadcast location to make a cash donation. After all, it was the least I could do.

“Thank you, Sir.” I heard someone say shyly, as I purposefully dropped the money into the donation basket.

I looked to the voice and viewed a little girl, maybe ten years old, thin, gaunt, and wearing a ball cap to hide her bald head.

“You’re a St. Jude’s patient?” Was all my stunned brain could muster. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?

“Yes, I am.” She stated, cringing back slightly at my recognition of her condition, then added. “This is a good day though. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I returned, flatly.

I abruptly turned and left. The impression of that day will, I believe, remain with me the rest of my life. The sight of that little girl, after having heard the story on the radio, seeing the easily fractured confidence, and her painfully high level of self-consciousness regarding her appearance, touched my heart. I hope I never lose the compassion I feel, whenever I think of that day.

Now, all these years later, I am grateful to hear that someone is trying to help these children regain their self-esteem. It makes me proud, that my wife took time to be a part of it. But mostly, I am touched at the thought of an eight-year-old little girl, along with a bunch of other children, selflessly donating their Locks-of-Love to other children they do not know.

God bless you all.

When i was asked if i would post this, i felt honoured to have the opportunity. Dave, thank you.