slice of plain

guy gets pizza.

[sliceofplain]

I’ve remained pretty sober most of my time in Ireland, but on this day I was drunk. I was bar hopping after I got my tattoo and someone mentioned Orchard Thieves cider to me and I started drinking a lot of it. As I was walking past The Giddy Dolphin I saw the “Pizza by the slice” sign in the window and I floated in like a cartoon character sniffing a pie. In this case, it was pizza pie.

For a counter slide this thing was more than decent. A lot of the pizza I’ve had in Ireland is super thing, but this was a thicc slice. The cheese was good and you could tell by it and the crust that it had been reheated. Exactly the way I like it!

Dublin has been a strange experience. Every once in a while my heart starts racing and I have to battle my anxiety when I think about being so far from home totally on my own. Then I get to thinking something that I’ve thought while writing Slice of Plain many times - what is home? Especially now that my mom is gone. Is home where my friends are? I barely see them anyway we just play games online. Is home where I work? I love my kids and I enjoy my job but should my home be defined by my profession?

This trip has changed my perspective on some things. I said when my mom passed away that I would start trying to live more and live better. Traveling, I think, is living more, but what is living better?

When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.

‘til the next slice. ( I’m going to spam posts since I’ve eaten so much pizza for this sole purpose )

[sliceofplain]

Hi. My name is Ken and it’s been like four years since I wrote one of these. Don’t get it twisted, though, I’ve eaten a shit ton of pizza.

A lot has happened since the last slice I wrote about. My mom died. That fucking sucked. There would be times where her meds or her depression, or both, kept her from answering my texts and calls. Usually never longer than a day. I’d always get worried but she always ended up being fine so I kind of got desensitized. Her physical and mental health were both getting worse. I’d come by every week or so to take out some of her things trash or drop off meds. Her hoarding got to making her place nearly unlivable. Anyway, like two days went by and I got a bad feeling. I ended up going over there in the morning and…yeah. She was gone. I found cigarette packs and apparently despite being on a breathing machine she was still smoking. Doordash drivers or neighbors were getting them for her I guess. Official cause of death ended up being “complications from COPD exacerbation.”

Part of my grieving process has been travel. Once to Martha’s Vineyard with my friends. She used to tell me how much she loved a vacation she had there. It’s part of, if not the, reason she loved lighthouses. I feel like there’s so much about her I never got to know. Our relationship was rocky to say the least. When our dynamic became me worrying about her and taking care of her I got resentful. I think she did too.

The next place I traveled is where I am now - Ireland. She was so proud of her Irishness. Growing up she’d talk to me in her silly attempt at an Irish accent to make me laugh. The last few years she was an active member of Irish Facebook groups. She never got to actually travel here, though. Her anxiety about travel was so bad I’d doubt she would have been able to handle a plane. Anyway, I never left the country before so I got my passport and decided I’d see it in her honor. That’s how I ended up at Coke Lane Pizza @ Lucky’s in Dublin.

I should have anticipated that counter sliced would be rare to nonexistent. I can devour a pie of this size easily, though. And I did. I think I cost like €10. How many US dollars is that? Hell if I know. I can barely do simple math or tell which way is left and which way is right as it is. I’m constantly trying to do conversions and navigate in a backwards ass car on backwards ass roads. It’s been complicated to say the least.

Focus, Ken. Pizza. The pizza was fine. I liked the slightly charred crust. The cheese was good. There were directions on the side of the box about how you’re supposed to eat it. Like folding the slice and all that. They clearly don’t know who the fuck I am.

While consuming it I came to the bizarre realization that I’m alone. Not just like alone in another country, alone in the universe. I’m trying to work through what that means. How that makes me feel.

I’m getting tattooed right now and can only type with one hand and it’s frustrating and I’m in pain, so I’m gonna stop now.

‘til the next slice. (or whole pie)

[sliceofplain]

I've probably come to Luigi's Family Restaurant Pizza like 23 times with plans to write an SOP and it just never happened.

Until now.

The virus prevented me from being able to eat this slice at Luigi's, so I took it home and ate it instead. Not the typical experience for writing one of these but change is good, right?

I mask up and walk in, unsure as to whether or not I can even get a slice at the counter anymore. I can. I order and stand around looking at the empty place. There's a sign that says "IF YOU SHOPLIFT FROM HERE YOU WIN A FREE RIDE IN A POLICE CAR!" Strange sign. At a pizza place? What could I shoplift?

They hand me the little box with my pizza and if I didn't already pay for it I might have tried to snatch it and run. Not really, though.

I get home and go upstairs to gobble it up. It's got a thin crust that's a little burnt but that actually is nice every once in a while. It's a pretty big slice, oddly wide. It's not too hot by the time I get to my room so I'm able to bite into it without pain. It's the crunch heard 'round the world. Good flavor, nice seasoning, but it is a little greasy. No pizza is bad, but no pizza is perfect. It's meh.

Life is also meh right now.

That's about all I got for this one.

'til the next slice.

[sliceofplain]

It’s been a long time. Over a year, actually, since I’ve written a Slice of Plain. Let’s be honest, there has been a lot of pizza in that time - a hell of a lot. Plenty of self-reflecting too. I’ve just lost a lot of the inspiration to keep this thing up. 

Not that anyone reads it, but it’s just the commitment to it that I’ve lost. I like doing it, too. Anyway, I’m at another crossroads, and when that happens it usually leads me to pizza. 

This time, it led me to Temple II Pizza in Camden. This place has been on my radar for the last four years. I see it every day because it’s right across the street from my current school. I parked at the school and as I walked up I immediately recognized some parents. Not of my kids, but of some kids. They seem to recognize me as well. They say “Hey!” and I say, “Hi, how are you!?” We seem to both force an unnatural level of pep and positivity in our greetings. (Tumblr says that word ‘positivity’ is spelled wrong. It’s not.) The woman behind the counter is dressed nice and she’s very kind. It’s not what I was expecting and I think that indicates a prejudice I wasn’t aware of. Teachable moment.

“What do you need, honey?”

“Hm. Just a slice of plain.” (I act like I had to think about it.)

“Just one?”

“Nah, make it two.” (It’s hard to just get one slice of pizza.)

I don’t see any pizza on the counter. There seems to be a bunch of uncooked, breaded meat - chicken and fish, on metal trays. I assume there’s a couple pies already made in the back somewhere. I wonder if any place ever has pre-cut dough into triangle slices and then slap cheese and sauce on them to toss into the oven as ordered, instead of having a whole pie already made and sitting out. As my mind is wandering about ways to prep pizza, I snap back to reality as a man orders a fish hoagie. This sounds like a really weird food item. “Fish Hoagie.” I get goosebumps just saying it. I scan the menu that’s both posted up above the counter and stapled to the wall on printed, but laminated, paper. I don’t see “Fish Hoagie” anywhere. He seems excited for his order and they aren’t surprised, so it must be something people get pretty regularly. I find this oddly interesting, and if I ate fish I might have tried one because it is probably a local favorite.

The pizza comes out in a small box. It’s one of those generic pizza boxes, but there’s a stamp on it that says Temple II Pizza and Seafood. The ink is faded, but I’ve never seen this simple way of branding an otherwise generic box. Interesting. I open it up and, because it’s so small, one slice is actually on top of the other. When I pick up the top slice the cheese from the bottom slice miraculously doesn’t come off. This seems like wizardry. The slice is very greasy, maybe to prevent them from sticking together. It is good, though. Very good. There isn’t too much sauce and the cheese is just right. The crust is what really gets me. It’s a little thicker than thin crust, but thinner than normal. It is perfectly crunchy. Don’t get me wrong, I always eat the crust. If I didn’t, though, I definitely would have eaten this crust. 

It’s crazy that I’ve never come here before. I think that’s for two reasons. My fear of change and my loyalty to places that I started with. I’ve seen a lot of pretty looking pizza shops from all over the country. At the end of the day I just end up at one of the same three places I’ve always gone. I know the pizza. I know the vibe. It’s safe. 

Sure, I could go somewhere else but the pizza might not be as good. It may cost more. The shop itself may be weird. I might hate the owner. I may not like the other customers. But this fear could keep me from really finding the best slice out there. The slice meant for me. I’ve tried to get the pizza places I love to make the pizza I want, but the system is much larger than me. They might add a little more cheese if I ask enough or maybe leave it in the oven a little longer for a crispier crust. At the end of the day, though, they are going to make it how they want and how they’ve been making it. 

I also feel guilty going to other pizza places because I’m loyal. The pizza shops I love won’t go out of business if I leave, but they recognize me there. The small talk isn’t as forced. They know, no matter what, I’m going to show up every now and then and get some pizza. Who am I to do that to them? Who am I to leave?

I’m probably heroizing myself. (Tumblr says that’s not a word, but it definitely is.) These pizza shops that I’m used to and are used to me are not going to go out of business without me. They may even have better customers start showing up in my place. 

Plus, the other pizza shops, the new ones, might actually have better pizza. And, if not, they may listen to me on how to make pizza better. I’ve been eating pizza for a long time, I know a little bit about it. It would definitely be economically beneficial, I know they have cheaper slices than the place I currently go. Isn’t that important, too? I’m going to be eating pizza no matter what, so shouldn’t I do it at the place that ends up with me having the most money in my wallet?

I’m old. I can’t keep going to the same old pizza shops, eating the same old pizza, for the same low price. 

I mean high price.

I’m too deep in the metaphor. 

I have to get out now, or I may be stuck here forever. I think I'm going to go to a new pizza shop. It's a big move, but it's time. Assuming they want me, anyway. Tune in next time.

‘til the next slice. 

[sliceofplain]

Bad decisions are just bad decisions. I wish I was always as wise as I was this day, when I passed Branco's Pizza. There's no picture of a slice because I, for once, made a good decision and chose not to go in. Too often I've been invited into pizza places that acted like they were open but really weren't. Pizza places I had no business going into. I was fooled by a pretty storefront. Not every shitty pizza place looks like this one.

I'm weak, though, and I love pizza. Greasy pizza, thin crust pizza, sicilian pizza, burnt pizza, pineapple pizza. I can't help it. But, my love for pizza has really gotten me fucked up this time around. Way more than I could have anticipated. Maybe because I thought a broken oven meant something.

It doesn't. Sometimes you just get used to the broken oven. It's a hassle ordering a whole new oven, closing down to have the old one removed and the new one installed. Without really knowing the quality of the new oven, how could you reasonably get rid of the old one, even though it is broken, because the new one might be a piece of shit too. Then you got rid of the broken oven you were used to for just a newer broken one.

At least you know what the pizza is like that comes out of the old broken oven. You've had it for like four years. No one blames you. It's fine.

But you really wanted me as a customer. And I fell for it.

But not this time.

Enjoy the oven, I hope pretending it's not broken works for the rest of your life.

I'm pretty sure I said all this oven stuff before.

Oh well...

'til the next slice.

[sliceofplain]

The boardwalk slice. A staple in the pizza game. I don’t often go to the beach, though. I don’t love sand. I don’t love sun.

However, my core group of work friends…or friends from work?…decided on a beach day, so I couldn’t refuse.

We laid in the sun. Swam in the water. Drank alcohol. Threw around a football. And before it was time to leave, we stopped at Jersey Shore Pizza & Grille.

The slices were big. Not like novelty size big, just hearty. Heavy. For a moment we all sat in silence, chewing, enjoying the pizza and the company.

Next year is bringing changes. My one friend is leaving the school and moving closer to home to work. There’s only a few guys at my job to begin with, and he was my friend from day one. Our paths split pretty early on, with year one us working with the youngest and oldest kids in the school. Year two he changed roles entirely, but still worked with the youngest kids in the school while I work with the oldest.

Currently he’s sleeping next to me on a bus headed to Maine.

In some ways I envy him. I need to get away.

As for the rest of the group, they all work at the elementary school while I’m with middle. That didn’t used to be that big of a deal. This past year the divide was definitely felt, but next year it will be even more separate. We’re even having separate “Returner’s BBQs.”

We’ll stay close. Ish. I mean, we have a group chat.

But what I’m realizing is that I need to accept the fact that I’m going to be on my own.

Well, not on my own. I have my own team. Plus, there will be new hires that are going to need attention and support. They’ll need to feel that sense of community to keep them going.

It won’t be bad.

Just different.

I’ll get used to it.

I’ll have to.

‘til the next slice.

[sliceofplain]

“Don’t get me in it!”

This is another instance where the pizza place just happened to be next to a different destination. When a pizza place is this close to somewhere I was already going, especially if it is like a significant moment, I’m going to get to get a Slice of Plain™.

Talk about significant moments. This was equal parts a reuinion and a farewell - or at least the first (hopefully) of a few farewells.

It was intense, as I knew it would be. I’m working hard on not ruining small, good moments because of the discouraging, shitty bigger picture. I got too drunk off of not that many beers, but after stumbling out of the bar I saw Goody’s Philly Style Pizza & Grill. I went in to get a slice, which was actually painful because it was time apart. Whatever. I digress.

I no sooner get the slice out of Goody’s before it’s snatched from my hands. I struggle to get a picture before it starts getting devoured. I don’t remember what I did have of the slice tasted like. Fine, I’m sure.

But I didn’t care about the pizza. I’ve only cared about one thing. For a while now. Drives me crazy.

The car was instense before I left but it’s what I needed. I’m not sure if she remembers some of the things she said, but it was what I needed to hear. Some of it, anyway.

This was last night. Technically made it within the 24 hour limit.

I had pizza earlier tonight. Pineapple pizza. Not posting that, though.

Drives me crazy.

‘til the next slice.

[sliceofplain]

Same as before, I have time to kill and things to be distracted from. Because of this, I decide to visit the mall I worked at for like 8 years. The security team is almost entirely different. The passcode to the security office is still the same. 

It’s weird because I barely ate at Brooklyn Pizza when I worked there because it’s relatrively new. I think it was only there for the last year or so that I was. Before that it was Sbarro’s. 

The pizza isn’t that great, but who would expect it to be? It’s mall pizza. You know what you’re going to get when you go to a mall pizza place. Mall pizza is a viable option when you want pizza, but it’s never anyone’s first choice. 

I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s first choice, either. Well, at least not anyone that was my choice. What? What am I saying? Mall pizza. First choices. 

I get why someone would dabble with mall pizza, eat it when it’s convenient and in secret because mall pizza has so much of what anyone could need…but also why, ultimately, they don’t choose mall pizza. Brooklyn PIzza is fine once in a while and in secret, but the safer bet is Greek Pizza. Even though black olives are pretty harsh. 

Why am I here? Why am I typing all of these? What was I hoping to get out of this experience. I don’t know. 

I know that I’m bored. That I’m lonely. I know that this ending will help in some ways, especially in the long run, but it’s going to be hard.

I was happier back when I worked security, in some ways. More frends, more women. A lot of other things sucked, though. 

I don’t think, like cosmically, I’m allowed to be totally happy. Totally content. I feel like experienced bits and pieces of it, but not all at once. 

‘til the next slice. 

[sliceofplain]

This one wasn’t that long ago. 

Work is over, at least until camp, so I’ve had a lot of time. I don’t have any problems with summer, and I like having time off. I just really love the work. I don’t always feel like I’m a contributing member of society, but while I’m working I feel like I’m actually doing something. 

Anyway, one way I decided to kill some time is get a tattoo. My friend’s sister is a tattoo artist, and I figure it’s a better idea to go to someone I at least sort of know. I didn’t realize it was almost an hour away! I should have done that research before making the appointment, but oh well. I haven’t really been eating and when I show up to get tattooed I see that right next door is Papi’s Pizza. 

I’m in the tattoo place for a while. I wasn’t certain of the design I wanted so she didn’t have anything drawn up. There’s a lot of small talk going on that sounds like the small talk of every tattoo shop I’ve ever been to. As I’m laying awkwardly the artist can reach the back of my arm, I’m staring at my phone waiting for someone’s reply. I’ve spent way too much time these past few months staring at my phone for this same reason. It’s agonizing. Nauseating. I barely noticed the needle rapidly drilling ink into my skin. 

When it was over I was hungry and went right to Papi’s. As I’m walking in, a guy in an apron with an unlit cigarette in his mouth is walking out front. When he sees me coming in, he turns around and goes behind the counter.

“What can I get you?”

“Slice of plain.”

“To go?”

“No. Here.”

He hands it to me on a metal plate and I realize that’s never happened before. So many pizza, so many pizza places, I don’t think they’ve ever handed it to me on a metal plate.

Wait, maybe one other time…

The pizza is not good. When I go to make a fold the crust cracks and falls towards the plate. As if this rogue part of the pizza wasn’t satisfied with just seceding from the slice-as-a-whole, it rips the entire sheet of cheese down to the steel plate with it. I’m not proud of what I must have looked like stuffing that mess into my face. 

I’ve eaten one more slice of pizza and gotten one more tattoo. 

And I drive home alone.

‘til the next slice.

[sliceofplain]

If Antonino’s is the gem of Blackwood, then Taormina Pizza is just a dirty rock. 

This place has lasted, though, and that has to count for something. It is in a dying strip mall, that actually still has a video rental store (complete with a curtained off porn section) and Sam’s Bar and Grill. That place is a dive, but it’s got a charm. I can’t really say the same for this place.

The slice comes out looking like it fell down the seat of a car and someone stuck a fat and down into the crack clawing around to get a hold of it. And they did. And they pulled up. Peeled the Starbuck’s receipt off of it. Pulled off the grimey penny and nickle. And slapped it onto this paper plate.

There was a whole family in there eating and having a good time. Mom, dad, four kids. One was a baby. It was in a stroller and didn’t say much. Because it was a baby.

The other three kids were running around sceaming and climbing on top of shit. The mom and dad, both heavy and sweaty and tired looking, ignored their chaotic children and ate their pizza in peaceful silence. They stared into eachother’s eyes as they ate. I wondered if I would ever get to have this same experience, sharing love for another person and love for pizza at the same time.

It’s been a while and it hasn’t happened yet. 

This place is a shithole, but maybe I’m just a dick. That familly, that couple, had a great time there. Maybe who is more important than where.

I won’t likely go back to Taormina Pizza, but I remember this time fondly.

‘til the next slice.

[sliceofplain]

Aside from being a teacher and pizza eater, I also drive for Lyft. Or rather, I used to. I could again if I wanted. That’s the cool thing about driving for Uber and Lyft - assuming you have a car and a decent driving record you don’t ever need to be broke! If you put the work in, you can make money.

I remember how I ended up all the way out there. I was preparing for a trip to Seattle, so I figured if I could make $200/day for a week until I left, I would have plenty of money. I usually made this in about five or six hours of driving around. 

So anyway, I pick up a dude from 30th street station. He was coming back from New York and missed his train, so he arrived in Philadelphia way later than anticipated. He was going to take public trans back to his place, but he figured Uber was faster.

No problem.

I remember this dude was super chill. He said I was the best driver he ever had because I knew how to “really shoot the shit.” Thanks, guy. You were okay too. So long story short, I drop him off far as fuck away and need to drive like 45 minutes to get back to Philly proper.

I need to stop somewhere because I have to pee and I am hungry. That’s when I come across.Swarthmore Pizza & Restaurant.

I remember the pizza being not great. It was left in the oven too long, the cheese was rubbery, the crust thin. But, even bad pizza is still pizza. Even though the pizza wasn’t that special, this is a good memory.

‘til the next slice. 

[sliceofplain]

So, I’ve got a shitload of pizza shop/slice-on-a-plate pics in my phone for SoPs that never made the cut. 

It doesn’t mean the experience wasn’t memorable or that the pizza was bad, but if 24 hours pass before I get the SoP written and uploaded, it just usually fizzles. 

It doesn’t have to fizzle, though. 

Anyway, Lorenzo’s, in my opinion, is like the Philly slice. There might be better out there, I’m not going to war over it. However, these slices are huge. It’s cheesy and hot and fine tasting, but it’s HUGE. That’s the most important part. It’s kind of like a novelty, though. Maybe that’s why I like it so much. 

The first time I ate here I was at my friend’s show across the street at a place called The Legendary Dobbs. That place is closed now. Good memories, though. My friends were playing a real show at a real venue with real people. There’s a picture I have of this night with like, all of my friends in it. There are very few pictures like that, very few moments. 

I miss my friends. Oh well. Shit happens.

The pizza place is still there. Still selling slices. It doesn’t need Dobbs. 

No one does. 

‘til the next slice. 

[sliceofplain]

This was the first time I’ve sobbed over pizza. I don’t recommend it.

It’s been a fast end to a long year. Things are changing. Things have changed. Other’s haven’t. I’ve made new friends - or at least have become actual friends with people I used to just work with. Some of those friendships will last into next year, others can’t. I’ll be teaching a new grade next year and have new responsibilities. However, just because that’s changing doesn’t mean my salary will be. This year I've felt both successful and inadequate. I've felt both loved and insignificant. I've been so tired but have barely slept. Either way, to close out the year everybody from my job got drunk together, like adults do. I ended up getting into a fight with one of those new friends. Okay, the new friend. Kind of my best friend? But not for long. I'm still upset. I’m not sure it matters.

On my way home from the work thing I realized that, even though I had just drank a bunch of beer and eaten some food, there was an emptiness inside me I needed to try and fill. I thought pizza could do it.

I was wrong.

Speaking of change, I decide to try out a new place super close to where I live. Viola’s Pizza is located in one of those strip malls that is constantly closing down and reopening. It’s only been there for about three months and I don’t anticipate it lasting. I walk in and I am intrigued at the staff wearing Muslim garb. They also have a little heating shelf they keep their slices in, rather than just a windowed counter. I wonder if they do that for religious reasons. I realize wondering that makes me ignorant.

I hesitate before I order. I expect this place to suck, and there’s like four other respectable pizza places within 2 minute drive in any direction. Why take this risk? I’m just to it for some reason. Maybe it’s the cheap banner that’s hanging up. Maybe it’s because I love a good hole-in-the-wall pizza place. I'm not sure, I’ve been thinking about coming here from the moment it opened. It opened around March.

There’s a scarier scenario. What if the pizza doesn’t suck? What if it’s amazing? That will be disappointing because no matter how unique this place is or how delicious or how much I love it, nothing in this location lasts. I could be head over heels for this pizza. I could want this to be the only pizza I eat for the rest of my life. Doesn’t matter.

I get the slice and sit down. I stare at it for a while. I feel like every eye in the pizza joint is on me, from the woman in the hijab making pizza in the back, to the young kid at the counter, to the bored looking delivery driver sitting across from me waiting for a call.

There’s an emptiness inside me but I know this pizza won’t fill it.

You can’t lose something you never had.

Everyone in Viola’s looks equal parts shocked and angry when I take the plate and the uneaten slice and throw it in the trash. I walk out without looking back.

Change.

‘til the next slice.

[sliceofplain]

How many slices, vone, two, tree.

Hi. Hey. Let’s start off by saying. I am not the writer or editor or the pizza conisour who usually writes these metaphorical reviews. I am however his pizza-eating, work bff who is way more into giving reviews of bagels friend. Anyway, I made a dumb joke about writing one of these, but I’m not the greatest writer, so I’ll do my best. He's also a metaphor guy. As mentioned before, in fact when he writes these he’s swimming in them. It’s almost like a river of metaphors. I hate to disappoint his following, but I can’t cross that river just yet. The river of metaphors, that is. We have a mutual friend that we visited this weekend in Jersey City. What a small world, BUT.. not a small piece of pizza. The place we drunkenly walked in was called Two Boots Pizza. We waited for a good what felt like 10 million minutes for our slices, but luckily I found the coloring pages. That’s right, this place had coloring pages! (first picture with the count) (also the first line in the review) (although if you have to explain your joke it’s not really a good joke, says the metaphorical pizza guy)

But I digress…the pizza, yes! So when it came out I was amazed at the size of each slice. The pizza had a “I was stuck in the oven too long kind of look” to it, and the raised parts of the cheese were browned. Some would call it “burnt pizza”. He mentions that a lot right? Anyways. I actually love pizza. I’m originally from Northern New Jersey, so I feel like we do a lot of things wrong up there in Bumbletown but PIZZA and BAGELS are something we don’t mess around with.

Yikes, this isn’t the "Friend of pizza metaphorical guy Show" (although that would be pretty sick) ANYWAYS. So when I folded the pizza it cracked, right in half!  Can you believe it? It’s over cooked, or over baked? I’m not so sure. I just know that it’s cracked and to be honest after eating half of the piece of pizza I actually gave it to him because I had wings before we went to Two Boots. They were delicious. Much better than the pizza. I feel like what this blog doesn’t tell you is the many different types of food people (meaning him) consume before the pizza. It’s very clear that sometimes pizza isn’t even our first choice. We would rather go with something we haven’t had in a while. Something exciting. I mean pizza is pizza, but like Asian BBQ or something wings.

Now, that’s what I call some good food. But this isn’t wing of a chicken (sorry for all the veggies out there) This pizza was thin, burnt and flaky…like some people I know. Haha. Until the next time in JC. Or until the next time we hang out with a mutual friend, or…

til the next slice.  

[sliceofplain]

Let me start off by saying I Googled this image of daVinci’s. I’m sure it’s great in there, I’ve just actually never been.

My work orders from there regularly when they try to make us feel better about staying there for 13 hours.

It’s late. Or early, at this point. I don’t know anymore. Like, anything.

Something about pizza? The pizza is good. It’s fine. I get to it late so it’s like room temperature, which to me is actually preferable in most cases to the too-hot, fresh-from-the-oven counter slices I normally eat.

I don’t care about pizza. I don’t feel like writing about pizza. This is just a good outlet and prevents me from blowing up phones that can’t, or shouldn’t, be blown up.

What was the theme of this one? The metaphor?

Oh, the Googled image. Pictures from daVinci’s aren’t the only pictures I’ve been looking through tonight. I’ve been looking at, and reading the captions of, burnt pizza and the oven that’s responsible for the burning for far too long tonight.

What changed? Did it change? I want to say fuck that oven but it seems to have been baking pizza just fine for a while.

You bake pizza, right? Or cook it? I don’t know. This blog is a sham. I don’t know shit about pizza except how to stuff it down my face.

I need silly putty.

I want to say how much better of an oven I could be. How I won’t burn pizza. Why would you want to open up a brand new pizza place with a shitty, burning oven?!

It doesn’t make sense. You at least need to call a repair man or something first, just to see if the oven can be fixed. I get wanting to fix the oven, but it won’t get fixed if it doesn’t know it is broken. And opening up a pizza place is such a final thing. There’s no turning back once it opens. Not without way more complications.

Wait, wait. I’m not an oven. I’ve lost track of what I was saying.

I eat cold pizza for breakfast.

I don’t pay tickets.

Seriously, the ticket I got from the Blackbird SoP is still unpaid. I don’t have my shit together.

I’m no good.

But like…we could be good.

I know it. I want a chance.

But, you can’t always get what you want.

Might delete this one.

‘til the next slice.

[sliceofplain]

It was a long week filled with ups and downs. It’s hard to really say which there was more of.

Work has not been making me as happy as it should. As it has in the past. I’m not sure I want to pursue a different opportunity but I’m over feeling just lucky to have a job. It’s frustrating.

Everything is frustrating. Lots of downs.

So after a long week and a long day of being pretty self-destructive I figured I may as well end it on a high note at Fratelli’s Pizzeria.

I’ve been here plenty of times since I started SoP but it never earned an entry. I don’t think I really understood how great it was. Not until like March anyway.

I always drive by here on my way home, I’ve known about this place for a couple years now. They went from just like a pizza place I knew was pretty cool to being like MY pizza place. There’s nowhere else I want to go and I think about it constantly.

IendedupsittinginmycarforawhilebeforeIwentinbecauseIwastalkingtoafriendonthephone.

I'vebeentalkingtothisfriendawholelotactually.

Seeingthisfriendawholelot.

There'sactuallynooneelseiwanttosee.

Ithinkaboutherconstantly.

I like going to Fratelli’s but it’s a small place and there’s always a chance it’s going to close one day. Maybe soon. There won’t be anything I can do about it, and I’ll just have to deal with the fact that the only place I get happiness from has decided to close up shop.

Either way, I order a slice of plain which comes to $1.90. It’s got a supportive crust that can handle a fold. It’s got a good golden brown color, but some people might say its burnt. No oil drip.

I pick it up and put it down a few times. I just look at it. I don’t taste it. I want to taste it, though. I’m not sure how to handle coming here all the time and not getting to taste the pizza. It makes me so happy just being with it but I haven’t really eaten all day. Just a few beers. I'm hungry.

I drive away from the place and I’m already thinking about going back again.

It’s so bad.

But, so good.

Anyway, all of the ups of my week were because one person decided to try and make me happy and they succeeded.

I have no idea what will happen next. #8.

ButIknowwhatIwanttohappen.

she'sjustapeach. she’sapeach. scone.

[sliceofplain]

About to fly across the country to see an old friend. Last time I visited him he was married. Not anymore. It will be a much better trip for me this time, but probably a worse one for him. Sorry bud. I'm excited to spend some time with him in a new place, though. Also excited to get away. Work has been a lot. We had some unexpected snow days, which were cool, but testing got pushed back and now I have a bunch of analysis to do over the break. Plus, I have a bunch of regular life stuff to take care of too. Not really that much of a break. How am I a teacher? How am I an adult? I managed to get a lot of stuff done before leaving by dividing up my tasks categorically based on their importance. Or rather, someone else did that for me. A small gesture, but it meant a lot. It's nice to know someone wants to help. I didn't get everything done because I'm not disciplined, but I tried. Kind of. I'm not totally sure how to accept help, or at least utilize it. It's not offered very often. The last thing that I needed to do before hopping on a plane was eat food - and there's no better food than pizza. Luckily my ride to the airport enjoys pizza too, so we went to Coppola's Restaurant and Pizza. The company was great. There was giggling and cheese spitting and water drinking. But, the slice of plain was only decent. A traditional fold revealed a droopy front end. Too much grease. A pretty burnt crust. I'm a crust guy, I typically use all parts of the pizza. Not this time. I don't know why I always do this to myself. I know how the pizza is here. I've been here too many times before to expect anything different. I know the disappointment it can bring. It's not just like a little blackened crust, it's like really burnt. Uneatable. Unavailable. I like to think that I'm data-driven, that I learn from my past mistakes so I make wiser decisions in the present and future. Fake news. I never learn. I should just try a brand new pizza place and see what they have to offer. Hell, I just had pizza at a new place not that long ago that I should have enjoyed. I didn't, though. Not like I should have. Maybe I just shouldn't be eating pizza anymore. It's good, but do I need it? In the end I feel like it always does me more harm than good. But I really like this pizza. More than I should. I'd be lucky to get this pizza again. Maybe, deep down, I prefer burnt pizza because I know I won't get to really enjoy it. I'm definitely thinking about it too much. And this pizza metaphor got a little out control. Maybe I need to switch things up. Change the theme. No more pizza. Maybe I'll change it to Bowl of Noodles. Nahhh. 'til the next slice.