Health and Workout Plan

True story: right after I finished editing this, I got snacky and bought a thing of frosted oatmeal cookies, a bag of corn chips and some graham crackers. The plan is working like aces.

Lost Dog

LOST DOG

Name: Sparks
Color: Brown
Description: Foofy ears, medium tail. Stands three foot five on two paws, one foot one on three or four paws. Cannot stand on one paw, despite repeated attempts. Rugged sideburns that would have seemed out of character if you'd have known him a few years ago, but now totally work since he's lost all that weight. Enjoys the outdoors. Also, rain. Also, political satire with a Republican slant. Will respond to any of the following names: Robert, Rob, Bob, Robert Myers. Will not respond to voicemails. All limbs intact at time of losing. Do not rule out cripple dogs, though, as a lot can happen in a day, and we wouldn't want to presume anything, even positive things. In the right light, face looks eerily similar to Bertolt Brecht. Creative output, unfortunately, shares no similarities.

Significant reward offered, to be paid in full at time of return unless I don't have cash on me, at which point reward will be forfeited to dog's owner (e.g. myself). My children, who I do not have, thank you.

Panera's Smoked Ham and Swiss

I remember when my grandpa, Papa Agapito, first taught me what a sandwich was.

The year was 1912, and my family was fresh off the boat at Ellis Island. I was a mere eight years old, a wide-eyed doe ready to learn everything about this new land of “America.”

We were waiting in line to have our names shortened (we were originally the Nicholsezzoviovanni family) when Papa Agapito knelt down beside me and laid his kind, wrinkled hand upon my shoulder. “Alexino,” he asked warmly, “do you know what they eat in America?”

I answered “Bowls full of noodles, of course! Doesn't everybody?”

Papa Agapito slapped me upside the head. “Stupid boy!” he spat. “Americans do not eat noodles! If we hope to live in America, we must eat as the Americans do. We must eat sandwiches.”

“What strange people,” I said, “that eat sand for food. It must taste awful and dry!”

Papa slapped me upside the head once again. “Scassacazzo! No! They do not eat sand. I will show you what I mean.”

He proceeded to open his knapsack and pull out two pieces of white bread.

“Do you know what these are?” he asked.

“Bread, of course!” I responded.

Papa grinned. “Do you know what Americans put between these two pieces of bread?”

I thought it over for a second.

“Noodles, Papa?”

He punched me directly in the nose.

“Fessacchione finocchio! No, you foolish child!” he shouted. He reached into his knapsack again and pulled out a fistful of smoked ham, two slices of swiss cheese, a leaf of lettuce, a section of tomato, a diced onion and a glob of yellow mustard. He stacked them high on one piece of bread, one ingredient after another, until it scraped the sky just like the Met Life Tower. I was in awe, partly at the sheer height of the sandwich, and partly at the fact that Papa had all this food in his knapsack on the voyage and shared none with my cousin Enzo, who died of hunger two hours before landfall.

He topped it off with the other slice of bread and, with all the flair of a magician, presented me with the second-greatest tower I had seen that day (after the Met Life Tower).

“This,” he said, beaming, “is a sandwich. This is what they eat in America. Go on, have a bite.”

I eagerly attempted to wrap my tiny hands around the behemoth of meat, cheese and bread that Papa Agapito had so skillfully constructed. I peered up at him, suddenly made nervous by the evident difficulty of the task.

“It's awful big, Papa,” I whispered.

“Stronzo! Leccacazzi! Faccia di culo! Just take a fucking bite already!” he slobbered.

I closed my eyes and struggled to lift the sandwich to my mouth. I unhinged my jaw like a snake swallowing a small woodland creature and slowly stuffed it in.

What I tasted in that moment was the most wonderful taste I had ever tasted. I opened my eyes and looked up at Papa Agapito, smiling wide as I chewed, tears of joy mixing with the blood that was still flowing out of my newly broken nose.

“Papa,” I exclaimed through a full mouth, “I love you!”

“I love you too, Alexino,” he said.

It was the greatest event of my childhood.

Immediately afterward, the Ellis Island medical staff chalked Papa Agapito's shirt with a circled “X” and quickly sent him back to Italy. I never saw him again.

I found myself reliving this experience recently as I went to Panera on my first Sandwich: Approved assignment last week. I sought to taste their version of Papa Agapito's smoked ham and swiss masterpiece that I had savored 96 years prior.

Though Panera's smoked ham and swiss is usually served on rye, I requested sourdough in order to relive that day as accurately as possible. (For that same reason, I also had a Nativist spit on me and tell me to go back where I came from.) I placed my order, and not three minutes later, it was ready and waiting to be eaten.

I took my tray to a corner booth in the back of the cafe/bakery. On first sight, Panera's sandwich is not nearly as large as the one I ate on Ellis Island: at about an inch-and-a-half tall, no jaw-unhinging is necessary.

But don't be fooled: the sandwich is dense with flavor. I picked up the sandwich and weighed it in my hands. It was heavy with my grandpa's distant legacy. I trembled a little bit. I was afraid, I think, to confront the past. I was afraid that the sandwich would be sub-par, that it would tarnish my perception of that happy day. But the fear was unfounded. As I took a bite, all those long-dormant emotions rushed back to me. My nose instantly started bleeding. I closed my eyes and savored the delicious combination of those perfect ingredients. I mean it in the most positive way possible when I say that Panera's sandwiches taste like they have been in an old man's knapsack for twelve days.

I may be biased because of my past, but it's safe to say that anybody will enjoy Panera's smoked ham and swiss sandwich, if not with the same dramatic vigor as a 104-year-old Italian immigrant like myself.

This is setting a high standard, certainly, but I can't help but give this sandwich FIVE OUT OF FIVE SANDWICHES.

Sandwich: APPROVED.

The Day Blogging Changed... FOREVER

SHAWN
Hi, I’m Shawn Bowers.

ALEX
And I’m Alex Nichols. Welcome to Sandwich Approved.

SHAWN
Alex and I were talking the other day about how much we hate when people do things better than we do.

ALEX
As a way of playing catch-up with the rest of the Internet, we’ve created a blog.

SHAWN
Now what is a blog, you ask? Blog is short for weblog, which is what you get when you cut down a webtree and chop it into smaller pieces.

ALEX
The blog is going to be filled with lots of "fun" "content" delivered on what we intend to be a consistent basis. Such as Joke Off, where Shawn and I challenge one another to come up with the best one-liners based off current news stories.

SHAWN
Or Sandwich: Approved, where we review sandwiches using our patented sandwich-ometer. Patent pending.

ALEX
Sandwich: Approved shouldn’t be confused with Sandwich-Approved, though, which is an entirely different feature and an entirely different sandwich-ometer, which doesn’t judge sandwiches at all. It judges everything, but still using sandwiches as a grading system. Does that make sense?

SHAWN
No.

ALEX
Perfect.

SHAWN
Before we can blog, though, it’s important that you know who we are. To do this, we’ve both written a couple of questions to ask one another which we hope will give you a better idea of us as people. Ready Alex?

ALEX
Ready!

SHAWN
Question one. What are your hobbies?

ALEX
Well, I enjoy a good Segway tour here and there. And there’s nothing more relaxing than whittling. You?

SHAWN
Birdwatching. But only at night.

ALEX
How’s that going?

SHAWN
I’ve seen two owls and a bush that looked like an owl.

ALEX
Exciting. Question two. Who are your heroes?

SHAWN
I’m going to reciprocate Bette Midler on this one.

ALEX
I always wanted to be an astronaut, so you can guess who my hero is.

SHAWN
Neil Armstrong?

ALEX
Pshh. He’s so mainstream. No, I go for Gus Grissom.

SHAWN
Who the fuck is that?

ALEX
Sigh. Typical.

SHAWN
Question three. Time for the big leagues. What are your thoughts on genocide?

ALEX
No THANK YOU. You?

SHAWN
Ugggggggggghhhhhh. Nooooooooo.

ALEX
Question four. Who is the most handsome actor?

SHAWN
Duh. Hugh Jackman. He’s the sexiest man alive for a reason, and that reason is that he’s actually the sexiest man alive. People has spoken and the people have spoken. Question five--

ALEX
I didn’t get to answer.

SHAWN
Answer what?

ALEX
Question four.

SHAWN
What’s question four?

ALEX
Who is the most handsome actor?

SHAWN
Hugh Jackman, I already answered that. Okay, question five. In a perfect world, is there still murder? Is murder necessary for a balanced human experience or would you prefer utopia?

ALEX
George Clooney.

SHAWN
What?

ALEX
Most handsome actor. George Clooney.

SHAWN
We moved ON from that.

ALEX
I stepped back.

SHAWN
You can’t step back, it’s a linear progression model. You’re ruining the whole thing.

ALEX
Question six. What’s your favorite food?

SHAWN
You didn’t answer question five! You’re ruining the whole system!

ALEX
Dinner roll. Question nineteen. Boxers or kickboxers?

SHAWN
What happened to questions six through eighteen?!

ALEX
The Nuremberg trials.

SHAWN
What was that?

ALEX
The answer to question fifty two.

SHAWN
You didn’t even ASK that question.

ALEX
Or did I ask it and you just weren’t listening?

SHAWN
I am a professional listener, don’t you dare bring my listening into this. You’re fucking it all up, go back to question three about murder in a utopian society.

ALEX
Question negative seven--

SHAWN
Negative questions don’t exist, that’s not a real question realm! Ugh! You make me want to stab you!

ALEX
Impossible, I have stabbing force fields. It was the answer to question twenty two, “do you have force fields and if so, what kind?”

SHAWN
Fine. You want to play this game?

ALEX
Is that a numbered question? Because if not, I can’t answer it.

SHAWN
GAME ON.

ALEX
Shawn?
...
Shawn?
Where’d you go?

SHAWN
There. Take THAT.

ALEX
What did you do?

SHAWN
I just went to the past and had sex with your mom right before she had sex with your dad, which means you’re probably my son now.

ALEX
(speechless)

SHAWN
Anyway, welcome to Sandwich Approved! Thanks for stopping by and we’ll see you soon! Anything you'd like to add, Alex?

ALEX
(speechless)

SHAWN
He gets the shyness from his mother!