"The ABC's of Choosing a Good Husband" by Stephen Wood

Anyone who says that young people today are out of touch with traditional Catholic values has simply not met enough young Catholics! While the temptations of the world are the same as they've ever been, the will to resist them is stronger than ever. I hereby commend the Kitchen Sink Cafe here in Chicago for including in their lending library "The ABC's of Choosing a Good Husband" by Stephen Wood.

                                                         courtesy inhisname.com

The young women who patronize Kitchen Sink to indulge in a good ol' cup of joe may not look like they're there to drink from the lessons of St. Joseph. Their questionable hair length and unfathomable fashion choices will throw you off. But it's clear from the coffee stains on the pages of Stephen Wood's book that they care about the sanctity of marriage.

The easy-to-follow format of the book leads the reader through the alphabetized chapters- one for each letter. It frankly discusses diverse topics; "marriage-busters" such as pornography, masturbation, alcoholism, and contraception, and the perils of interfaith marriage. There are also helpful tips for the hopeful bride to follow to ensure the financial security necessary for starting a large family.

Though some of the more liberal of our Catholic sisters may hem and haw, I'll come right out and say it: I appreciate that this book was written by a man. All the better for the ladies to get a look inside a man's head, and know how to weed out the lesser of us. And Lord knows they do romanticize marriage. This book gives some valuable, level-headed perspective that will hopefully keep the reader from falling in with the first Romeo with a rock.

There's nothing my wife of 15 years, Clarice, and I enjoy more than inviting a young couple over to our house to counsel them over dinner on their path to the sacrament of marriage. They come to us nearly boiling over with mortal passion. However, we soon make our way the living room, my wife snuggling close to me, still flushed from the hearth of the kitchen. We enjoy good wine in moderation and they find release in revealing to us their struggles. My wife and I, thus reaffirmed in our own previous commitment to chastity, find all the more spiritual fulfillment in our marital embrace after they leave.

I wish we could keep the copy of "The ABC's of Choosing a Good Husband" from the lending library to inform our counseling, but good conscience dictates that I return it and get my own.

A+

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 ©2013 The Revioozy.  All rights reserved.

McRib Combo

                                 Since I forgot to take a picture, I drew an exploded view of my lunch.

The McRib sandwich is something of an anomaly. Each year, and you never know quite when, McDonald's opens some secret compartment in the back of the meat freezer and brings them out. It's a cult institution within a very much non-cult establishment. Most people either love the McRib or refuse to try it.

I have not been to a McDonald's in several months, and I can't remember the last time I went there for anything other than a quick coffee stop on a road trip. It's not that I don't eat fast food, it's just that the way McDonald's presents their food seems particularly manipulative, like they've discovered a massive quantity of ground beef at the bottom of the ocean and have to sell it all before it reaches its half-life and fossilizes. I'd rather that not happen in my large intestine.

The newest tactic in McDonalds' campaign is to sell not their burgers, but the idea that their burgers are good for you. The décor suggests a coffee shop, with tile walls, wood panels, and black surfaces. The pictures on the menu now have white backgrounds and green highlights. Though the food is the same, it looks healthier. Notice the difference in the drawing below.

                                                                                 It's practically a salad.

I get my McRib combo and sit down. I pull off the bun top and notice something I haven't before: the bun halves appear to have been manufactured separately and dyed to appear perfectly toasted. I replace it and bite into the sandwich.

The barbecue sauce has been flavored by committee; I can taste traces of its rough drafts, this one with a little too much high fructose corn syrup, this one with a little too much sodium benzoate, until finally, gentlemen, THIS is what the average American imagines barbecue sauce tastes like.

The patriotism doesn't end at the sauce. The boneless pork patty tastes like a hot dog and appears to have been shaped by the gears of Benjamin Franklin's own printing press. I pause to chew and I put the sandwich down on the paper covering the plastic tray. It is printed with a history of Thanksgiving as it relates to McDonald's. On the other side of the paper is nutrition information about the food available at McDonald's. I have to wait until I've already eaten my sandwich to learn more about it, as I don't want to set it down on the crumbs and stains of those who ate before me to turn the paper over. I find out that since this is a seasonal sandwich, the information is not included.

As I leave, I fill my drink cup halfway with orange Hi-C. I remember being 5 years old, laying on a mat on the floor of my house, throwing up the same thing I'm now drinking. That's the McRib combo in a nutshell: a not-unpleasant childhood memory of vomiting. The taste and memory linger unnaturally for hours afterward.

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©2013 The Revioozy.  All rights reserved.