COLUMN: My Two Cents on Child Hunger

Winston Churchill once said, "We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give."

There's truth there, and that's just one of a kajillion famous quotes on charity. There's even meaner ones, like the old English proverb, "He who has no charity deserves no mercy." I'm in no hurry to go mercy-judging stingy people, but it's true that charity and kindness should be a cornerstone to a life well lived.

I'd even wager that charity and kindness should be a cornerstone to a life wasted on fast food, pop culture, and silly newspaper columns, too. I found that out this week.

There's a business I frequent that's in the midst of their annual charity drive. It's one of those fundraisers that goes after you aggressively in the checkout line. Just when you're ready to pay and be on your way, the cash register asks for a donation and then there's a whole submenu full of different ways you can contribute to help end child hunger. That's a worthy cause if there ever was one.

I'd been in the store twice earlier this month, and each time I'd been in a HUGE hurry. Not an "I'm-running-a-bit-late" sort of hurry. No, these were full throttle "I-should-have-been-somewhere-ten-minutes-ago" hurries where I was in total panic mode. And each time, when I hit the counter and the donation menu popped up, I quickly and shamelessly drilled the "NO" button as many times as it took to make a fast exit. Not my finest hour, I know.

In fact, on one occasion, I avoided taking a moment for child hunger was because I was late... for dinner. I'm pretty sure this makes me a terrible human being destined for Selfish Hell. (Selfish Hell, by the way, is just an empty room where Sarah McLachlan sings to you about neglected animals for eternity.)

Thankfully and deservedly, it ate at my conscience. The other day, I returned to the store. This time I wasn't in a hurry. This time, I would make it right.

I got to the counter, made my purchase, and the cash register asked if I'd like to make a donation to fight child hunger. "Yes, Mr. Cash Register," I silently replied via the keypad. "I would very much like to donate."

"Great!" said the screen. "Can I round up your purchase in the form of a donation?"

"YES!" my thumb triumphantly agreed.

"Would you like to round up to the nearest whole dollar? Or would you like to round up to the nearest five dollar increment?"

"FIVE DOLLARS," I proudly chose with my index finger. 

In that moment, I was filled with the smug satisfaction of unbridled generosity. That's me -- Shane Brown: Friend To Humanity. Thoughtless Giver. Humanitarian of the Year. Maybe they'll throw a parade in my honor.

"Thank you for your donation," the clerk said with what strangely seemed like an eyeroll. 

"Happy to help!" I cheerily replied, beaming with saintly pride as I strolled out the door, head held high. Had it NOT been held high, it might have noticed the receipt. You see, my purchase that day had come to $14.98. By agreeing to a charitable donation to the nearest five-dollar increment, my great act of kindness and personal sacrifice that afternoon came to, precisely, $.02.

That's right -- if you want my two cents on the child hunger epidemic, you're officially too late. You're welcome, children of the world. Enjoy the bounty I hath bestowed upon you all. I didn't even notice until I'd made it home. I'm starting to think there might not be a parade in my honor after all. Suddenly I understood the cashier's eyeroll. It probably cost more to print "thank you for your contribution" on my receipt than the entirety of my contribution itself. 

Who knows, maybe countless tiny donations like that can add up to a serious impact. Hopefully I'll get a few more opportunities to make amends. If not, I'm finding a way to donate online. I guess it's simple: There's a ton of great organizations out there that always need help -- but don't do it just to make yourself feel better about giving. Trust me, it's a fleeting high. Do it for others. If you're in a fortunate enough position to lend a hand now, you never know when you might just need one back someday.

That's MY two cents, at least.

COLUMN: Cowpocalypse

I've got bad news, people. I'd say "don't have a cow" -- but in this case, it may be too late.

Our reporters are the hardest-working superheroes of our company. At least, I think they are. Honestly, I never see them. They're mostly just blurs running in and out of the office on their way to cover the news. How they could've missed THIS gem of a story is beyond me. It's a good thing they have me around to bat clean-up and do the hard investigating. And by that, I mean sitting around and Googling "weird news."

Dateline: Africa. Multiple East African news sources this week are claiming to have video evidence of a man... turning into a cow. Not kidding. You can look it up.

The fuzzy 30-second clip purports to show a fellow lying on the ground in a state of mid-bovine transformation. He has the head and torso of a man, but the hooves and tail of a cow. And yes, if you were wondering, he's mooing. Well, sort of half-mooing and half-weeping, which seems justifiable given the situation. When you wake up with hooves and a tail, I think it's perfectly acceptable to show a certain degree of (cough) cow-ardice.

I cannot stress enough that these articles are presenting the event as hard news. It's not "Cow Hoax Video Goes Viral" or "Local Man Really Good at Photoshop." It's not even "Man ALLEGEDLY turning into a cow." Rather, on the websites I visited, it's presented as fact, just hanging out alongside other news. Stocks are down, there's a 30% chance of rain this weekend -- oh, and a man turned into a cow. Film at 11, I'd reckon.

But even MORE fascinating is the headline most of these news sites are going with: "Man sleeps with married woman, turns into cow."

So this appears NOT to be a random case of spontaneous bovination. Instead, this is some kind of "real" life morality tail -- err, tale. A guy stepped out with someone else's lady, and woke up a mooing half-cow. I don't remember much from those awkward 8th-grade sex-ed classes, but I'm pretty sure we never touched on THAT particular STD. 

Let's suspend disbelief for a second and assume some poor soul has, in fact, turned into a cow. How does one immediately and knowingly connect this to his purported infidelity? How does "Kevin appears to be turning into a cow" immediately lead one to ponder who Kevin's been shacking up with?

This is, after all, the 2020s -- if this decade had a mascot, it'd be a hot dumpster fire. If I saw someone wake up on the wrong side of biology with sudden hooves and a tail, I don't think I'd immediately assume divine retribution for some sinful transgression. I'd probably just run away screaming, convinced I'd just been exposed to some new horrifying Cow-vid-19 or something.

If a cowpocalypse were to reach our shores, I'm sure we as a people would quickly figure out a way to both politicize and monetize it. In no time, cattle would be stampeding over "Don't Tread On Me" flags, the news channels would be full of people angrily mooing at one another, and someone somewhere would be getting rich off "Make America Beefy Again" hats. Simply on the off-chance this African news story is correct, Elon Musk's probably making plans to purchase Burger King as we speak.

Good thing it appears the cowpocalypse is NOT close at hand. You see, the original video comes with narration at the end. After watching our poor victim sad-moo for a few seconds, a voice comes on that one site thankfully translated:

"This man was bewitched and turned into a cow after sleeping with someone's wife. I feel sorry for this man, but let this serve as a lesson to all men who like to sleep with people's wives. There are a lot of single women out there."

So rest easy, dear reader. There's no virus turning us into cattle (yet). This isn't even a vengeful deity gone a-smiting. No, it's just a simple run-of-the-mill bewitching. The moral of the story seems pretty clear: Fellas, don't sleep with married women. Or, at the very least, you should probably check first and make sure their hubbies aren't warlocks. 

Message received. I'm in no hurry to transform into a cow. While I'm pretty sure I've already made signifigant headway towards growing three stomachs, chewing cud sounds unpleasant. I guess I'll just have to focus my attention on those "lots of single women out there." Ladies...? Umm, hello? Is this thing on?

Eh, forget it. I'm hungry. Anyone know a good burger place?  

COLUMN: Bez 'n' Beth

For someone like me who normally likes to dwell on the silly side of life, I've spent a lot of time lately dealing with a considerably less silly side of death -- and I've gotta say, I'm not a fan.

Unless your name is Dorian Gray, Vlad Dracula, or Keith Richards, death is tough to avoid. That's a bum deal, but I guess it's the price we all get to pay for the privilege of living. If I could say anything to make it better, I'd probably have a lucrative career writing for Hallmark. Death sucks and it's sad, whether it happens to you, me, someone you care about... or even your favorite cat.

Bez was my sidekick for 16 years. She's the one who ran the house and kept my other cats in check. She's the one who was constantly at my side. She's the one whose hairs are still clinging to this laptop, likely a result of the many times she impatiently slammed it shut on my hands when I wasn't paying enough attention. I'm sure everybody thinks their cats are the best -- they're all wrong. Bez was the best, and losing her has left a giant cat-sized hole in my heart. The house is quiet and empty in a way I can barely wrap my head around. I've never been especially pro-ghost, but I hope she haunts my home forever.

It didn't help that I lost her in the midst of another morbid project I've been focused on for the past few weeks.

When I arrived at college a naive freshman, I fell in quickly with the drama crowd. The theater scene at Augie was full of larger-than-life characters whose acceptance I desperately craved. Nothing was ordinary, everyone was a superstar, and life alongside them was a constant adventure.

At the center of it all were three girls who ruled the clique -- Kim, Beth, and Beth -- each perfect in their own way.

Beth L. was an adorably manic pixie; Kim was funny and fabulous; and Beth R. was smart as a whip with a dry wit that could calmly destroy a room. Seeing any of them smile was the best part of my day. I wasn't the only one with a massive crush on all three. 

I'm certain they were never as smitten with me as I was with them, but I can't blame them. I was an immature geek yearning for approval, and they were two years older and thirteen times cooler than I could ever pretend to be. All I could do was rely on the only skill in my back pocket: those folks loved a party, and I knew how to DJ. After awkwardly wallflowering at a couple of their gatherings, I bravely approached the seniors in charge and said, "Here, give this a shot," handing over a mixtape I'd painstakingly crafted in my dorm room. Within minutes, I had the whole house stomping and my role suddenly became clear.

It was the first of many theater parties I soundtracked in college. While I eventually found close friends in different arenas, I've always kept that gang close to my heart. That's why it was a HUGE bummer to open Facebook and learn that Beth R. had recently passed away after a long and brave fight with cancer. I hadn't spoken to her since college, but I can still see her strolling out of the backstage green room like it was yesterday. I hope she knew how much she was adored by everyone fortunate enough to share her rarified air. Based on the photos I've seen of her life since college, it looked like she was surrounded by joy.

They're holding a Celebration of Life for Beth in Chicago at the end of this month, and Kim reached out hoping I'd be willing to help with music. So just like 1988 all over again, I've spent the last month in my basement putting together mixes for the event.

It's not been easy. The only other memorial service I've soundtracked was for a drag queen where I essentially just blared Madonna for four hours straight. It's challenging to find music that's comforting without being maudlin. I'm pretty sure Beth would haunt my dreams if I tried to play sappy schlock like "Seasons in the Sun."

I've been moonlighting as an amateur DJ for over 30 years, and there's nothing more exciting than finding the perfect song you just KNOW will make people lose their minds and set the dancefloor ablaze. But I've spent the last week in my basement trying to find the perfect song that I just KNOW will make people cry and be super sad, and that's a weird thing to get excited about.   

These mixes and writing this column could have been heartbreaking. Instead, it's sent me down a rabbithole of old memories, old pics, and warm fuzzies. It's terribly sad, sure, but it's also a reminder of just how lucky I am to have shared time and space with amazing friends, family, and felines. Life may be fleeting, but love is infinite.

Miss you, Beezers. Miss you, Beth.   

COLUMN: Mexican Pizza

So, let's recap: It's 2022, and everything's still going to heck in a handbag.

Political discord continues to run amok. War ravages parts of Europe. Our old nostalgic fear of a nuclear apocalypse is back for an encore. Women's rights are under attack. Inflation soars. Crime runs rampant. COVID hasn't exactly disappeared. Division and anger is the new normal. Got it.

Good thing that's all about to change. That's right, people -- our long national nightmare is over: On May 19th, Taco Bell is bringing back Mexican Pizza. Yes, on that magic day, mankind will unite in spirit and harmony to come together as one -- well, one drive-thru lane, at the very least. 

Personally? I don't get it. I never thought Mexican Pizza was all that, but man, people sure threw a hissy-fit when Taco Bell removed it from their menu in 2020. Petitions were signed. Protests were held. I was confused. To me, the Mexican Pizza just seemed like another way for Taco Bell to recycle and present their same five basic ingredients in a new and exciting geometric shape. Isn't it basically just a taco, but flat?

But to each their own. If you've been missing Mexican Pizza, I feel your pain. This whole saga got me thinking about MY favorite dearly departed fast food menu items that I'd love to see make a comeback:

* At the same time Taco Bell abandoned Mexican Pizza, they also removed MY favorite item: the shredded chicken burrito. Not only were those little buggers tasty, but when compared to most of their menu, you could ALMOST convince yourself you were eating healthy. You people are complaining about the wrong item. Let's start a shredded chicken petition. Who's with me?

* We've already established that the Bell has delicious soft, crunchy, and flat items. But remember when they used to have BIG items? When I was a kid, you could order the Taco Bellgrande, a beast of a taco about 2.5 times the size of a normal one. You opened one of those bad boys and felt like a king. I distinctly remember a slumber party that involved a huge bag of those suckers, a 12-pack of Jolt Cola, and the movie "C.H.U.D." That, friends, is living the 8th grade dream.

* Remember that short period when McDonalds sold salad in soda cups? The McSalad Shaker was a ridiculous concept, but I bought into it full-throttle. You'd get your cup-o'- salad, pop open the lid, squeeze in an unhealthy amount of dressing, replace the lid, and then hold your own little salad maraca jam session. When you were done shaking, the dressing would be evenly distributed across the entire salad and you could dig in -- either with a fork or, as I was more prone to doing, horse-style. It was a glorious era. Of course, if you weren't careful, the lid could pop off mid-shake and the dressing would instead be evenly distributed across your entire car, but it was a small price to pay for the privilege of driving around drinking a salad.

* Popeye's and Chick-fil-A can fight over who makes the best chicken sandwich all they want, but in MY book, the winner will always be the original 1980s-era chicken fillet from Hardee's. I'm talking the chicken with the weird artificial reddish-brown hue that almost tasted burnt. It's my favorite chicken sandwich ever. If I ever time-travelled back to the 1980's, hitting the Hardee's drive-thru would be a serious priority. 

* Never look a gift Runza in the mouth. When Southpark Mall first opened their food court, one of the first restaurants to open was Runza, the Nebraska-based fast-food mainstay. It was also one of the first to close. Maybe the idea of loose meat and cabbage stuffed into a bread roll was too radical for our fragile Illinois palates. I never tried Runza when it here, despite the pleadings of my Nebraska-born best friend. But when I found myself out west last year, I drove past a Runza and gave it a shot. Turns out those weird little sandwiches are delicious and I never knew it.

* But just thinking of the late great food court at Southpark makes me roll a tear for my most-missed Quad City fast food of all: Steak Escape. I can't tell you how many times I made Southpark runs just as an excuse to swing by their tiny piece of food court real estate. Their sandwiches were great (it's tough to screw up a Philly cheesesteak,) but they weren't the stars of the show. I will stand atop ANY soapbox and proclaim to the world that Steak Escape has the best fries in the business. Fresh-cut Idaho potatoes obliterated in peanut oil to a golden crisp that probably shortens life spans but lengthens human joy. Man, I miss those fries. Like Runza, Steak Escapes still exist out there somewhere, just not the Quad Cities. Maybe I need a fast food break -- as in, let me take a break from work so I can travel the country eating fast food.

So thank you, Taco Bell, for returning your glorious Mexican Pizza and healing our broken nation. It may be the only thing keeping us from full-on anarchy (at least, until the next time the McRib returns.)