I was hungry, so I swung by the mall food court but walked right past the Chick-fil-A. Normally I crave their spicy chicken sandwiches but not when I am at the mall. They always have the longest line, and I am never far away from a pack of chicken nuggets anywhere in the continental United States. Going to Chick-fil-A when at the food court is like eating at McDonald’s while on vacation. Instead, I go get some cajun food.
Famous Cajun Grill has no line. I order double bourbon chicken and double potatoes. No way am I getting any steamed vegetables; that’s for suckers. A cute girl comes up in line behind me. Her otherwise brunette hair has some streaks of purple through it. Continue reading The Fat Kid Chronicles: 290 Pounds
I fucked up my life. Since I was young, my parents and teachers told me I was smart. In high school, I was a straight A student and graduated sixth in my class of eight hundred. I was accepted to the University of Texas at Austin as an honors biomedical engineering student with a full scholarship. My first semester GPA was a 4.0.
Then everything went to hell. I failed classes and lost my scholarship. Engineering turned into philosophy, bringing constant questions of, “Philosophy? What on earth are you going to do with that?” After five unsuccessful years, I dropped out. (Technically, I failed out, but breaking up with someone sounds better than being broken up with.) I moved back to Houston to live with my parents and became a cashier at the same grocery store I worked at in high school. Continue reading The Prodigal Programmer
Soccer is usually only a passing interest of mine. I will catch a Premier League match if I am up early on the weekend or a Champions League one if I have a random day off in the middle of the week. However, soccer is not an obsession of mine like college football or professional basketball.
Except when the World Cup comes around. Every four years my social life gets put on hold as I try to catch every game. I will quickly form passionate opinions on players like Neymar and Mo Salah. I will support a team based solely on how good their uniforms look.
As an immigrant from the UK, football is in my blood, and I am forced to support both the England and USA international teams. Yet my love for the World Cup is more than genetic; several reasons make it the world’s greatest sporting competition: Continue reading My Worst World Cup Losses