The Moon Hits Her Eye Like A Big Pizza Pie

      I come from New Jersey.  That may not mean much to you, but it means something to me.  It means that since I am transplanted certain things that I have gotten used to are denied to me.  That’s right, I said “denied.”

     When you live in New Jersey you’re never more than 20 feet from a pizzeria.  Austinites may be thinking, “So what?  We have plenty of pizza places here, too.”  But that’s a lie. 

     Pizza Hut, Dominos, Papa Johns, Cici’s, Little Ceaser’s, and all those places that sell frozen pizza that they shove in the microwave for three minutes are not pizza places.  Real pizza’s do not have pineapple, or eggplant, or other weird and exotic ingredients. 

     A real pizza has a somewhat thin crust, but not thin and crispy like a cracker.  It’s thin and floppy.  You fold the slice so you can eat it, but first you hold it over your paper plate and let the grease just drip off, but make sure the molten cheese doesn’t slide off with it.  If you don’t get that grease drip, it isn’t a real pizza.  And if it ain’t floppy and foldable then you’re not holding a real pizza.

     I found another pizza place in Austin that makes pizza similar to what I’m used to.  The only downside is that it’s New York style pizza, not New Jersey.  There is a difference.  However, Nikki’s Pizza is quite passable.  I don’t care for the crust at the edge because it’s too thin for me, but the sauce is spot on.  It’s not made with a ton of sugar and way too sweet to eat.  And that’s important to me.  I’m so sick of this sugary crap that all these other places throw on their pizza.  I hate sweet tomato sauce.

     The only other problem I found was that their sausage pizza used some crumbled sausage meat.  That’s a shame, but I can live with it.  

     So now I have to pizza places I can order from and get an almost authentic NJ pizza.  Nikki’s Pizza and The Original Brooklyn Pie Company.

     By the way, size does matter.  Most of the chain places have small pizzas and they try and make it look like they’re normal by calling them “large.”  They’re not. 

     For instance, Dominos sizes are thus: Small (10”), Medium (12”), Large (14”), and Extra-Large (16”). 

     Nikki’s sizes go this way: Individual (10”), Small (12”), Medium (14”), Large (16”).

     Brooklyn Pie Company? They are: Small (10”), Medium (14”), and Large (18”).

     See that?  Domino’s (and probably Papa John’s and the rest of them) “large” is the East Coast equivalent of “medium.”  Brooklyn’s 18” large makes Domino’s Extra-Large look like a Personal Pan Pizza. 

     And finally, price.  A Domino’s X-Large (16”) Cheese pizza with the “Brooklyn” crust?  $17.99.  This is according to their website, by the way.  Which is a major pain in the ass to use when you just want to find out the cost and size of a pizza.

     A large cheese pie from Nikki’s?  $9.25.  And their large is 16”, the same as Domino’s extra-large.  And Brooklyn Pie Company?  The largest large with 18” will cost you $14.95. 

     I’m not sure what the point of all this is anymore, but I feel better for ranting.

The Big Four-Oh

     So, you’re sitting around one day with your friends, maybe.  Then some old clunker goes driving by.  Maybe it’s an old Cadillac.  One of those tan ones, with the rusted panels.  The trunk lock is missing, along with a headlight.  It bangs down the street past you, backfiring and spitting out brown exhaust. 

     You and your friends watch it, amused by the sight of such an old, dilapidated piece of crap rumbling along and you wonder how it manages to keep running because, let’s be honest, it’s almost 40 years old now.  Forty years old.  Wait, a minute, you think, I’m 40 years old!

     And your mind casts back to the things that are breaking down in your house.  The toaster is dead, at five years.  The curtains are ten years old and your wife is sure it’s time to replace them.  You have a 20 year old computer that your kids routinely laugh at.  All these things are crap now, garbage.  And the oldest thing is half your age!  And it’s considered ancient!  A car is generally considered a “classic” at 25 years.  Oh, me oh my!  Time for you to putter around the house shooting out exhaust.

     Today, November 2nd, is my birthday.  I was born in the year 1968, 40 years ago.  Four decades ago, I was brought forth unto the world.  Ten years shy of half a century.

     The world has gone through a lot of changes in forty years.  Computers have gone from the size of a warehouse building, completing calculations in days or weeks, down to being in tiny MP3 players and decompressing Britney Spears songs on the fly.  Televisions have become to dump the tube and gone LCD or plasma.  Cars have gone from being complex mechanical objects to hyper-complex mechanical objects with computer controlled bits.  Airplane travel has turned from a semi-enjoyable experience to the worst method of travel next to the bus.

     But, that’s all right, people tell me.  40 is the new 30!  According to who?  And how does that make much of a difference?

     Although, to be frank, I don’t feel forty.  I make goofy sounds to my bird.  I talk to my cats and believe they understand me.  I like most of the music my kids listen to.  And, in a little while, I’ll be booting the kids off my computer so I can play Fallout 3 (which I got as a gift from my mom; thanks mom!).  I don’t have aches and pains when I get up in the morning.  I could run down the street if I were chased by a dog.  Meh.  I don’t see much of a difference yet.  Inside, I’m still the young guy who wants to do a lot of stupid stuff.  The only difference is that I’ve been on this planet going around the sun 40 times.

     So, maybe it’s not so bad.