Pizza Fusion = Wallet Transfusion
Last week, I had lunch at the organic, earth friendly new pizza place, Pizza Fusion, located on 5th Avenue. I was there once before, lured in by the enticing window advertisement of gluten free (and organic wheat) pizza, organic ingredients, and being voted “Best Organic Pizza” by New Times and Citylink. I love pizza, and I try to eat gluten and wheat free as often as I can remember to, even though I do not have any allergies to them. I just do it for the sake of being health conscious. And yes, the pizza here is as good as they make it sound! However, it doesn’t come cheap, at least not the gluten free variety, which I had on my last visit.
Pizza Fusion does not have personal sized gluten free pizzas, only personal sized wheat crusted ones. One size fits all when you’re trying to void out gluten, and that size is colossal. The starting price for large in the wheat variety was $14, add an extra $5 for gluten free, then each topping, an additional cost. By the time the total is added up for the cost of the pizza alone, I was looking at $33. “And would you like a soda or small side salad with that?”
This time I decided to go the cheaper route. Luckily, the lunch special, and the friendly, tattooed waitress wanted to make this easy on me. You could get the personal sized pizza, with any topping you wanted, for only $10.99, and that low price included a small side salad and natural soda. Luckily, my stomach could handle the wheat, because my wallet couldn’t handle the down-payment for another gluten free pizza.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Uncomfortable Silence
Published in Revolve
It is about noon and the heat is unbearable. Looking down at her arms, she sees that her skin is now a darker shade of brown. Her young legs take her everywhere in this small town and they too are darker. She wishes to put her long, black hair up.
With glistening brow and perspiring underarms, she makes her way through an apartment complex with white walls and chipped paint. She has entered the domain of several boys with shaved heads, some of whom she recognizes from school and a few that she hasn’t seen before. They stop their conversation abruptly as she approaches. Their silence makes her uncomfortable. Some of them look at her and then look away.
A rapid pulse is accompanied by fear. It subsides when she tells herself they are not really skinheads. Just young high school boys who think they are. She knew one of them, or had known one of them when she briefly dated his younger brother, who had briefly dated a girl everyone called Pocahontas. He hardly came around after he moved out of his mother’s house. Once, he grinned and handed her a joint, but now he says nothing to her. Just slouches against one of the walls, glancing casually at one of the other boys.
Her legs carry her passed the boys to the other end of the complex. When she is far enough away that she cannot see them but can still hear them, one of them lets out a whistle. The others laugh and their conversation resumes. She keeps on walking.
Uncomfortable Silence
It is about noon and the heat is unbearable. Looking down at her arms, she sees that her skin is now a darker shade of brown. Her young legs take her everywhere in this small town and they too are darker. She wishes to put her long, black hair up.
With glistening brow and perspiring underarms, she makes her way through an apartment complex with white walls and chipped paint. She has entered the domain of several boys with shaved heads, some of whom she recognizes from school and a few that she hasn’t seen before. They stop their conversation abruptly as she approaches. Their silence makes her uncomfortable. Some of them look at her and then look away.
A rapid pulse is accompanied by fear. It subsides when she tells herself they are not really skinheads. Just young high school boys who think they are. She knew one of them, or had known one of them when she briefly dated his younger brother, who had briefly dated a girl everyone called Pocahontas. He hardly came around after he moved out of his mother’s house. Once, he grinned and handed her a joint, but now he says nothing to her. Just slouches against one of the walls, glancing casually at one of the other boys.
Her legs carry her passed the boys to the other end of the complex. When she is far enough away that she cannot see them but can still hear them, one of them lets out a whistle. The others laugh and their conversation resumes. She keeps on walking.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Poetry in a Crowded Room
Poetry is aware
the moment, alive
illuminated by cherry red
and sky blue lights,
the clinking of glasses,
Chatter pervades
every crevice
every ear
of a crowded room.
Curly haired, glittery hat man
with thick, Italian mustache
strums his guitar,
sings boisterously,
"All I Need is Glue."
the moment, alive
illuminated by cherry red
and sky blue lights,
the clinking of glasses,
Chatter pervades
every crevice
every ear
of a crowded room.
Curly haired, glittery hat man
with thick, Italian mustache
strums his guitar,
sings boisterously,
"All I Need is Glue."
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