If I knew how to do a cartwheel, I would have done one...

As of Sunday morning Sydney time, the University of Kansas Jayhawks defeated the University of North Carolina and are on their way to the NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP!

Memphis Tigers - Watch yo back. You don't even know the shit storm that is approaching.

ROCK CHALK JAYHAWK!

Final Four!

Today, the Kansas Jayhawks defeated Davidson which sealed their Final
Four position. I'm cheering for you all the way from the other side of
the planet - ROCK CHALK JAYHAWK - GO KU! Now sing this fight song
and tell me it doesn't bring a tear to your eye. I dare you.



Talk about the Sooners, the Cowboys and the Buffs,
Talk about the Tiger and his tail,
Talk about the Wildcat, and those Cornhuskin' boys,
But I'm the bird to make 'em weep and wail.

Chorus:
'Cause I'm a Jay, Jay, Jay, Jay Jayhawk
Up at Lawrence on the Kaw
'Cause I'm a Jay, Jay, Jay, Jay Jayhawk
With a sis-boom, hip hoorah.
Got a bill that's big enough to twist the Tiger's tail,
Husk some corn and listen to the Cornhusker's wail,
'Cause I'm a Jay, Jay, Jay, Jay Jayhawk,
Riding on a Kansas gale.

Bacterialism.

I used to think that homesickness was a passing ailment, something that could be overcome if you "stuck with it" or "just hung in there." Basically, that's what everyone tells you when you admit to the disease - and homesickness is just that, a disease - albeit more of the bacterial than the viral kind as homesickness can be cured. For me, I've reached a certain point in my bout with the illness. I've reached the stage where almost anything triggers a memory and the thought that homesickness is something that everyone can get past becomes implausible based on the fact that some are just happier where they came from rather than where they end up. The final destination is not always the best. It just sometimes takes new surroundings to realize that.

A jar of Nutella reminds me of a past lover from college, the smell of pancakes reminds me of breakfast at the Village Inn with my family as a child, sirens remind me of night in New York, and any long stretch of highway takes me back from the stretch of America between Oklahoma City and Lawrence, Kansas. Just a couple of days ago, I saw a canister of parmesan cheese at the grocery store and immediately flashed back to eating lunch with my best friend when we we were still in high school and every Wednesday was "Spaghetti Wednesday" in the cafeteria. We would never get sauce - just massive plates of plain, public school-grade pasta with parmesan cheese. How we survived off of that type of diet, I'll never know, but even eight years later, I still crave the stuff. Music is another inflammation of this disease, the pattern making no sense to anyone but me. Brazilian music reminds me of Scotland, French music brings back memories of New York while New York jazz takes me back to college, and lastly, just the mention of Johnny Cash makes me long for my parents - even th0ough I have no memories of ever hearing Johnny Cash before the age of nineteen.

And much like the flu, homesickness is a constant struggle of waiting for the fever to breakk, waiting for things to go back to normal. In this case, the cold wash cloth on my forehead is instead a plane ticket and the thermometer in my mouth is not measuring my temperature as much as it is my pride and not wanting to disappoint anyone back home.

Rock Chalk Jayhawk!

My alma mater, the University of Kansas, is currently gearing up to win the NCAA Basketball Tournament, so if anyone wants to start celebratin' early, I'm willing to come back to America for this. ROCK CHALK JAYHAWK! GO KU!

A brief history of how I came to where I am (earlier entitled "Anne Geddes can go fuck herself")

I think I can pin point the exact moment that put me on the path that has left me where I am today. It was September 2003, and I was a senior at the University of Kansas. Bud Hirsch (R.I.P.) was my advisor in the English department at KU. He had worked there for ages, and he was probably one of the most well-respected men at the University. How he became my advisor, I have no idea. On this day, I was sitting in Bud's office trying to figure out how to graduate on time without having to put in much effort.

Bud suggested that I apply for an internship, and as luck would have it, he knew of an opening and could call in a few favors and get me the job. It was unpaid, but I didn't really care. I really just needed the course credit I would be awarded for completion of the internship, and that was my only concern. Bud then proceeded to make a few phone calls, and BAM! I was the newest publicity intern at Andrew's McMeel Publishing. I remember not being excited. I had interest in neither publicity nor publishing. I figured that my love of literature and reading would be enough to make it doable.

Wellllllllllllllllllllllll..."literature" is a bit of a stretch. Andrews McMeel is known for their comics publishing, such as the Far Side and Dilbert. However, they also publish the type of books you see while waiting in the check-out line at Barnes & Noble. You know what I'm talking about - those books entitled "10 Life Lessons You'll Learn From Your Dog" and "How a Kitten can Put a Smile on Your Face." They also published the work of Anne Geddes, which might be the only person to successfully turn the idea of having a baby into something I would liken to the film Rosemary's Baby.

If you aren't familar with Anne Geddes' work, I think you might be the smartest person alive. Hell, you might be part of a human sub-species that has evovled faster than the rest of us due to your ability to block out the Anne Geddes onslaught you'll experience from walking into any Hallmark Cards store in the world. For the rest of us that haven't developed a tail or an extra set of fingers, Anne Geddes is the woman that puts babies in pea pods, flower pots, coconuts, gigantic flowers and various other usually normal objects. Some people might say that she is responsible for the creepiest cheap art work in the world. And when I write "some people," I mean me. I would also go one step further than describing her as "creepy" and say that the baby that we never actually get to see in the Roman Polanski classic "Rosmary's Baby" is less scary than a group of babies dressed up in a giant pea pod. And keep in mind that Rosemary's baby is a result of Satan raping Mia Farrow. I'll take the Satan baby any day versus a newborn dressed up like a sunflower.

Luckily, my interaction with the Geddes' material was kept to managing my dry heaves as I entered the stock room for other less notable books. And it was for these books that I was tasked with writing news releases for.

Let me set the scene: Me sitting at a Dell computer doing my best to dress "office casual." Now imagine someone telling me that I have to include words like "precious" and "snuggly" in my news release. Now imagine someone reciting the National Anthem to me in Spanish. Yeah, you're right - I would have the same blank stare on my face. Now imagine someone saying "You could really take this to the next level by adding paw print graphics along the top of this release." What was that reader? You don't believe anyone could say such a thing? What? You think paw print graphics are retarded? What was that? You want to blow your brains out just knowing that someone would suggest the addition of puppy footprints to a professional document? All I have to say is this: Welcome to my hell.

Reader, your next question may be, if you are still thinking logically after the Anne Geddes info, is this: So why did you pursue a career in public relations/publicity if learned how weird a profession it could be?

My answer? I don't have one. Maybe it was the constant lecture of an English major never being able to get a job, so I double majored and chose Strategic Communications as the "degree that make me some money. The practical degree!" Perhaps PR had a vendetta and wanted to take me down. But right now, I'm homeless in a foreign country and I can just hear that damn paw print graphic laughing at me. Not long ago, I saw the book "10 Life Lessons You'll Learn From Your Dog" in the bargain section at Barnes & Noble. I pointed it out to my friend that had joined me for the afternoon and made an off the cuff remark about how I did the publicity for that particular book i.e. the paw print press release. I believe my exact words were "I think this book has a seat right next to Satan in hell." And now I realize that an inanimate object does in fact have the ability to perform voo doo and completely fuck up your life.

Homesick for wheat fields... (originally posted January 29, 2006)

This morning I woke up at 9:30 a.m. I'm pissed for several reasons, but mainly because it's Sunday and I have to work tomorrow. I relish by weekend sleep schedule must like Ethiopians relish...hmm...lets say food. But at 9:30 a.m. on the dot, the sound of drums filled my apartment. I thought to myself that if some asshole construction worker downstairs, working on one of the numerous new eateries or shops that is set to open on my beloved Orchard Street, is banging on the wall to a break beat, I'm going to be in court charged with murder before Monday dawns. Peaking out my window, I observed my street was abandoned with only a few random families and young Chinese children running. Where was this drumming?

Remembering that at some point this weekend, according to my good friend Damien, the Chinese New Year was to be celebrated. With a hazy Sunday morning conclusion, I guessed that the drumming must be related to this festivity, so I threw on a zip up hoodie and a scarf and set out. Hey, at least I would get my full day's worth of doing nothing important i.e. actually ENJOYING a day in New York City, instead of having to go into the office.

About a block from my apartment, I spotted a group of teenagers outside the Chinese Tao Association office. They were dressed in red hooded sweatshirts with a Chinese emblem emblazoned on the back. A red sash hung from their individual hips, revealing just enough to show that elaborate costumes were hidden underneath the hoodies to keep these kids warm. A small group of them were playing a mix of instruments. I did not recognize most of them, so it's safe to guess that they could possiblly be allocated to Chinese culture: something I find utterly fascinating. Maybe because it's a mystery to me and I've never been farther than Germany, but something about this music was alluring. I joined a very small group of three to four Westerners on the other side of the street, watching a display of culture that we literally live on the fringe of. And by literally,I mean it in the truest since of the word: My street is considered a border of China Town. so on some days when I'm certain that I'm an unidentified genius, I'm surprised I haven't picked up on one of the numerous Asian languages I hear on a daily basis.

As the music went on, two dragons danced on the sidewalk. The red fringe of the dragons matched perfectly to the sashes of the band, so no one can say that the Chinese don't know the importance of color coordination. The dancing and music went on for another ten minutes or so, and the conclusion was a tiny explosion of paper and streamers. It was not a grandiose ending like Americans are used to, but for a girl who was raised smack dab in the middle of midwestern culture, waking up at 9:30 in the morning to see a trifecta of chinese kids playing drums, dancing dragons, and streamers was something I was pretty amazed by.

Deciding that since I was up, it would be a good morning to check out the new coffee houseon the corner of Delancey and Orchard. It was bound to be cheaper than the cafe two doors down from my apartment, so the extra crosswalk had the highly probable chance of pleasing my dwindling checking account. Also, those bastards on the corner don't accept debit cards, and I believe that 2004 was the last year I regularly carried cash on me.

The new coffee house turned out to be the sibling of my favorite coffee house in New York, Kudos Beans. The owners wanted to branch out from the East Village, so alas, The Bean blessed my neighborhood in the Lower East Side. Not only can I buy my favorite apple cinnamon bread and small coffee for $4, I don't have to walk eight blocks to do it. Waking up early on Sunday morning isn't so bad after all. It was only 9:55 a.m., and I had been to the far East and then back to the Lower East Side.

As of late, I have become somewhat obsessed with Myspace.com. I blame this primarilly on the fact that I work in a cubicle, and anyone who has experienced this professional work environment, you know on most days you'd rather dick around than look at one more Microsoft Office Excel sheet. Instead, you dick around on the Internet. It's like a little oasis trapped inside a box. A little oasis that helps you forget for a few hours that you are trapped in an office, something that almost two years ago while still in college, you never imagined that THIS would happen to you. I'm going to be a writer. I'm going to travel. Fuck Corporate America. Then you recieve your diploma the same day your first rent check is due, along with your cell phone bill, electricity bill, and possibly a massive credit card bill, and the realization that a cubicle might not be so bad finally inches its way into your conscious. It's only after you are sitting in said cubicle in above mentioned office space that you realize that you have been going down the wrong path: the horribly wrong path lined with time sheets, bitching bosses, CEOs, and human resource managers. The road cluttered with pay stubs raped by taxes. Essentially, you look back and try to sort out what happened,and this morning I found out where I, as my dad likes to say, screwed the pooch.

In the summer of 2003, I participated in a study abroad trip, sponsored by my school. And to make a long story short, I not only fell in love with Edinburgh, Scotland, I fell in love with a boy. This boy and I decided that love at first sight wasn't quite as absurd as most people liked to believe, and we decided that we could make things work. And we were right: Things did work, and the day after I graduated (literally the very next day) I was on a plane moving to Edinburgh to be with him. He still had a year or two of university left, so it made sense for me to be the one that packed up and travel across the Atlantic. When the time came, we would come back to the U.S. and settle in New York, at least for a bit. Well, shit happens, and anyone that knows me knows that I settled in New York eventually, but I was alone. Not technically alone because said boy was still very present in the tears and late night phone calls and text messages, but if you were to peak into my apartment on any given moment, I was the only person there.

One would think it would have struck me then that I had perhaps not thought things through, but it was this morning, this early Sunday morning where drums from China woke me up to find a friend request from an old friend. An old friend who I had been very close to. And with this friend request, I was reminded of my old life in Lawrence, KS. Although I didn't grow up in Lawrence, and in truth, I only lived there for four years, I consider that brilliant city my home. Everything I love, with the exception of my family, is sandwiched between The Kansas Turnpike and 23rd Street. Almost every fond memory from the past six years of my life revolves around early breakfast at Milton's, late night parties in the Student Ghetto, where people will not only give you free beer, they'll loan you a smoke without even batting an eyelash (something completely unheard of in New York City). Every joke, laugh, and frienship wrapped up in the Replay Loung, the patio and bar stools of the Bourgeios Pig, the giant pitchers at Louise's Downtown, and the endless, endless stackes of vinyls at The Love Garden. The point where I fucked up was the day I left Lawrence without looking back. Although I don't regret moving to Edinburgh, because the love I felt for E was real, I still miss every day I skipped in Lawrence. I miss the all night coffee houses and the late night mexican food at La Parilla. I miss the summer afternoons spent in the park downtown, followed by spontaneous front lawn barbeques with frisbies, pot, and soundtracks that ran the gammut of Hendrix to the Gorillaz. I miss the ever present Lawrence music scene, and all the snobs and bands that went with it. I miss the jazz band in the basement of the Taproom, and the red light bulbs that lit the mood perfectly. I miss 1960s soul dance parties on the patio of the Replay, and truth be told, not one of those dance parties either before or since beat the dance party started by myself, Brian Anderson, and a Ms. Laurel Woodhouse. Lawrence is a city where everyone from hipsters to engineering students like University of Kansas basketball; A city where everyone owns at least one album from The Love Garden and everyone has at least one friend who has played at The Bottleneck.

I find it funny that I had to travel to Scotland, then to New York, then to the East (at least in the non-literal sense), and then back to New York to realize that I missed a small city in north east Kansas. I'm sure the intellectuals at the Pig would find this hilarious....

Does Tom Cruise have strong feelings towards cheese pizza like he does antidepressants? (originally posted on August 8, 2006)

Today at work, the Senior Vice President of our company ordered pizza for the participants of a meeting, and I was lucky enough to be one of those participants.

I've begun to think that when you live in New York, it's somewhat of an obligation to talk about the best pizza you've ever eaten while eating pizza. Everyone talks of Grimaldi's in DUMBO, Brooklyn and then the various other pizza eateries throughout the city. And it never fails to raise a few eyebrows and conjure some doubtful glances when I say that the best pizza I've ever eaten was in Lawrence, Kansas.

Most people have no opinion of Kansas, which is both a good and bad thing. Outsiders see it as boring, a place where nothing happens. Some see it as the Bible Belt of America, while others think the entire population is made up of farmers. Considering that the state is smack dab in the middle of the United States, it's essentially a foreign territory, much like the rest of the Midwest to people not born and raised there, but I digress...

Lawrence, Kansas was my home for four of the greatest years of my life thus far. The University of Kansas is there, my leap from teenager to adult was made there, and more importantly, it's the city where I first started to figure out who I was, or at least who I wanted to be in the future. And in the middle of all of this was Rudy's Pizza.

Rudy's was this little hole in the wall eatery off of Mass. and 7th Street. You had to walk downstairs to get to the place, and it was very easy to walk by without noticing. However, it had a sort of local legend behind it, and on Wednesday nights the place was packed wall to wall with a line all the way to the front door. On Wednesdays, the management marked down the prices to $3 for a small pizza, $5 for medium pizza, and $7 for a large. It was a great deal, and have I mentioned how good that pizza is?

I'm a fan of simple pizza. By this I mean I like plain old cheese pizza. No frills. But Rudy's had the ability to make no frills pizza deliciously "frilly." They had almost anything you could imagine putting on pizza on the toppings menu, and the front counter staff was always pleasant when people requested weird orders. I believe it was mandatory to be an avid fan of marijuana in order to work in the kitchen at Rudy's. I think this stemmed from the fact that the owner was a devoted Grateful Dead fan, adoring the walls of the restaurant with his Grateful Dead ticket stubs and other memorabilia. There was a wall that ALWAYS had the fliers for the best shows coming to Lawrence (which arguably has one of the best music scenes in the United States), as well as various posters for debut albums, yoga classes, and art gallery openings. It was warm in the winter and cool in the summer, and quite honestly, you couldn't say anything bad about the place.

For me, Rudy's was a social outlet. I briefly dated one of the cooks there (Hi Aaron...hope you are still enjoying China). I had a Wednesday night dinner date there with my good friend Bryan Anderson (Hi Bryan, hope married life is treating you well), and every week or so, I would meet up with my long time friend Wood for an after-class late lunch. Diane and I would occasionally pick up some pizza for dinner, and if someone was visiting me from out of town, I made sure they always got to try Rudy's.

Rudy's was the site that Diane and reconciled after a two month long fight, and it was the site where we agreed that dancing on stage in animal costumes at a Flaming Lips show was actually a good idea. Rudy's was the place we went to cry over break ups, and it was the restaurant of choice to cure hang overs.

In that tiny restaurant, I moaned about relationships, about college life, not having any money, hoping to graduate in four years, why I liked summer school, how I missed Scotland and how I missed someone there, and what waited for me and all of my friends after May of 2004: The day we all knew meant we would no longer have our close knit friends, our romanticized downtown life that took place essentially between New Hampshire Street to Iowa Street, from 23rd Street to 6th Street. Rudy's was a safe haven, a place we were guaranteed good music, good times, and really fucking good pizza.

My last day in Lawrence was May 22, 2004. I had graduated the day before, and I was leaving for Edinburgh, Scotland with a one-way ticket at 4:12 p.m. My parents were still in town and were planning on driving me to the airport, and one of my best friends, Laurel, wanted to have one last lunch together. Obviously, I chose Rudy's. It had been the site of so many good times during my life in Lawrence that it only seemed fitting to wrap everything up there. But Rudy's was closed that day. I guess that "Closed for repairs" sign hung in their window was pretty prolific in regards to what was to become of the next almost two years of my life. My entire being was "closed for repairs" for the next two years. It was the time where I realized how hard it was to be that far away from home and growing up in ways I wasn't quite ready to. It was a time period where I learned how much I needed my friends and family, and a time where I realized just how much I love those two groups of people in my life. It was a time where I realized what I wanted and what I was capable of giving. And it was a time where I learned how it felt to have a broken heart. I had to repair the confidence I had lost, the space left in my heart, and it was the beginning of me having to find myself again.

I was back in Lawrence, Kansas for the first time this past June. It was just over two years since I had left, and I have to say I had mixed feelings about the visit. Most of my close friends had moved on, scattered across the country, keeping in touch at times, others disappearing for good. My usual haunts were still there and hadn't changed one bit. The Replay was still the Replay, just with a bigger beer garden. The Bourgeois Pig was still the Pig, and it's still my most favorite bar in Lawrence. But the highlight of my trip was my dinner at Rudy's. Four of my closest friends came out to see me, and it was as if we had never split up in the first place. We talked about what each of us was up to, how we were adjusting to working life, who was dating who, and other usual stuff. We continued the reunion down to the Pig where we sat out front all night, smoking cigarettes, drinking Boulevard Wheat, and talking about how each of us has changed in the past two years. Diane had moved to Kansas City and had a new job, Mike B. was getting ready to move to Minneapolis to pursue his dream of working in the recording industry, Jeff was in Kansas City trying to make a difference in the world, and Wood was a few weeks shy of moving to Brooklyn, New York. Out of all of us, I think I had the most hodge podge story: Moved to Scotland, had my whole plan fall apart in front of me, moved to New York, floundered for a year, and am now on track again, happy with where I am and with what I'm doing for the first time in almost two years.

So when people raise their eyebrows about the best pizza in the world being in Lawrence, Kansas, I just remember that I was one of the lucky ones that got to experience that life for four years in a hidden city in northeast Kansas, downstairs in a hole in the wall pizza joint.

So I heard Hitler liked Philly cheesesteaks. (originally posted on September 18, 2006)

I've been meaning to write about this for a while, and I honestly thought I would forget about the topic. However, the idea keeps popping up in my mind, so I've decided to purge these thoughts into an electronic forum. So here it goes: I hate Phlly cheesesteaks.

Up until 2004, I didn't have an opinion of Philly cheesesteaks. My knowledge of the sandwich came from the hit television show "Fresh Prince Of Bel Aire" where Will Smith portrayed a character from Philadelphia. The subject of Philly cheesesteaks came up often enough for me to remember. I'm guessing it was attempt to give Will Smith some Philadelphia street cred, but I think we can all agree that any street cred Mr. Smith may have had went out the window with such hits as "MIB: Men in Black," "MIB II: Men in Black II," and "I, Robot." Does anyone else remember that crap video for the "Men in Black" movie theme song? God, someone stick a fork in that guy. Is he even really from Philadelphia? Ah fuck it. I don't care.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah. Phillly cheesesteaks.

It was February of 2004. I needed a part time job to fund an adventure I was planning to take just after I graduated from college, and it just so happened that a restaurant was opening up in the building I lived in. "How convenient would it be to take an elevator three floors down and be at work," I thought. I'm guessing this was the laziness in me. Why should I walk more than ten feet to a job I didn't want any way? If it's not by elevator, I didn't want any part of it. So luckily for me, PepperJax Grill was opening up on the ground floor of my building, and more importantly, they were willing to hire me.

Now let me explain a few things:

1. I was desperate for money. I had credit card debt to pay off (note: I still have credit card debt to pay off). I needed to make a fair sum of money to not only save for my trip but to pay off money I owed Capital One, Bank of America, etc.

2. I knew I only had roughly around four months left in Lawrence, Kansas, so I wasn't really concerned with my image.

3. I didn't realize that i was this close to working in fast food until one day I realized I was standing over a fry machine wearing a sun visor, which matched my polo shirt, both emblazoned with the PepperJax Grill logo. Friends, It was a defnining moment in my life. I believe anyone about to graduate from college who finds themselves standing over a massive vat of boiling grease has the same thought: "OHMYFUCKINGODI'MMAKINGFRENCHFRIES!" It's a humbing experience. You never really forget that feeling.

So it was at this job that I learned to hate Philly cheesesteaks. The cheesesteak was the main item on the menu, which i found funny for multiple reasons.

A. The man who started the restaurant chain was from Nebraska, and his name is Gary Rohwer. He was a cowboy to be exact. He had invented a certain way to cut a piece of meat that allowed it to cook faster, thereby revolutionizing the meat cooking industry (and yes, that is a real industry. Go take an aspirin, I understand completely). I can't remember the guy's name, but he was a millionaire. (I've learned from the website that Gary has "several well-established sandwich shops in Philadelphia." Funny they never mentioned this to their employees...To see the full story behind PepperJax Grill, visit http://www.pepperjaxgrill.com/story.htm)

The cheesesteaks served at PepperJax Grill had no tie what so ever to Philadelphia. I don't even know if this Gary Rohwer had ever been to Philadelphia. The meat came from the midwest, the buns from another random state, and the vegetables from Mexico I'm guessing. So our philly cheesesteaks were actually bastard cheesesteaks. No one really knew who their father was or where they came from. And this thought makes me happy.

Upon doing a Google search this evening, I learned that PepperJax Grill now has a website. On this website, they refer to Gary Rohwer as a "legend." All I have to say about this is that the man wore skin tight jeans and cowboy boots every day, and he had no idea how to make his own product. Legend? John Lennon was a legend. The Knights of the Round Table were legends. The man who revolutionized the partnership between the Philly cheesesteak and "casual-quick dining" a legend? Gag. Me. With. A. Spoon.

Instead of describing what the rest of the menu consisted of, I've taken the liberty of just posting it below. The online version of this menu can also be found here: http://www.pepperjaxgrill.com/menu.htm

Famous PhillyWhat legends are made of grilled to order and perfectly seasoned steak, chicken or veggies with loads of sautéed red or green peppers, onions and mushrooms taken right off the grill and piled over fresh cheese lining the inside of a hearth baked Italian roll. And if youre into messing with perfection, try any of our 40 additional fresh toppings to make it your own famous recipe.

Giant WrapOur wraps are made fresh to order starting with your choice of the finest steak, chicken, shrimp or veggies, seasoned and grilled to perfection with sautéed onions, peppers or mushrooms. Top that with vegetarian black or pinto beans, rice, fresh vegetables, salsa, sour cream, or any of our 40 different toppings. We wrap it up neatly in a jumbo flour tortilla, but thats where the neatness ends, because this is truly a knife and fork monstrosity.

Gourmet Rice BowlOur gourmet rice bowls start with a generous bowl of freshly steamed long grain rice, seasoned, then topped with grilled to order steak, chicken, shrimp or veggies, perfectly seasoned and sautéed with onions, peppers or mushrooms. Top that with vegetarian black or pinto beans, fresh vegetables, salsa, sour cream, or any of PepperJax special sauces for that extra kick you are looking for.

Fresh SaladFor the health and carb conscious, try our perfectly seasoned and grilled to order steak, chicken, shrimp or veggies over a generous bed of mixed greens. Top it off with any or our 40 different fresh toppings, sauces and dressings for a meal that is much more than just a salad.

First off, I feel that any claim to any of the food at this restaurant being healthy is ridiculous, and even Helen Keller would notice how outrageous this claim was...and I'm talking Helen Keller without her helper.

For instance, the rice bowl comes with a pound of rice. Yeah, you heard me. A FUCKING POUND OF RICE! Who needs that? Who needs a pound of rice?! Then add on top of that a huge portion of the meat of your choice, vegetables, and then all the unhealthy condiments, and not only do you have a meal big enough to feed a family of four, but you've got a meal that is only being consumed by one PepperJax Grill customer!

After spending four months as a PepperJax employee, I jumped ship. I had a month left until graduation, I had moved out of my loft by then, and was now living with my good friend Diane, sleeping on her couch. I no longer could rely on the elevator to take me to work. Instead, i was expected to walk six blocks to get there. So I stopped going. I hated that job more than any other job I've ever had. Having to seriously ask "Would you like fries with that?" is single handedly the most humiliating experience of my entire life. Call me a snob, but I didn't go to college to serve up this shit.

Philly cheesesteaks remind me of my lowest point. Philly cheesesteaks remind of how much I gave up to achieve a goal that I was never going to obtain. Philly cheesesteaks are the modern day Holocaust. They make people fat, they cause heart attacks...ok...maybe not the modern day Holocaust, but they are pretty close. Give them a few more years, and they'll wipe enough people for someone to start noticing.

To wrap this all up, and just in case you are as irritated with the Philly cheesesteak as much as I am, PepperJax Grill has actually posted a testimonials section on their website. Now lets all sit down together...and imagine the kind of people who submit testiomonials to a pseudo-Philly cheesesteak restaurant's website. Have you barfed on your keyboard yet? I have. Enjoy!

Testimonials (http://www.pepperjaxgrill.com/testimonials.htm)
"How fun! I enjoyed watching my food being grilled right in front of me!"
- Mary

"You won't leave hungry, the portions are HUGE!!"
- Bill

"The rice bowls and salads are a healthy alternative to sandwiches."
- Diane

"Probably the most overstuffed Phillies I have ever seen. Quite delicious mixture of meat and spices. If you get a double meat, get a lot of napkins, it can be a bit messy. It's worth a visit!"
- Michael

"The food is phenomenal! If you are in the mood to be impressed, stop in and let the guys behind the counter wow you."
- B.W.

"Great place for lunch. The Steak Phillies are awesome. Try the variety of sauces, offered both at the condiment bar and on the table."
- J.K.

"My family and I are absolutely addicted to this place. We all have different favorites and I haven't tried anything here that I didn't love. Besides great food, I love that its a smoke-free environment."
- Lesley