No Offense to the Lunch Ladies, (SSR)

I don't buy my lunch at school.  From kindergarten to present day I have toted a lunch pail on the bus to bring into the lunch room.  The magnificent lure of the 'just popped out of the greasy oven after being frozen for two years' chicken nuggets has never quite appealed to me, despite an avid and widespread fan base.  Maybe it's because I read an environmentally aware nutrition book when I was a little sapling, so I knew that chicken was made in factory farms and was fed slaughterhouse scraps, (other chicken).  Or maybe it's because if you read the nutrition label on those chicken nuggets, you would find ingredients such as tertiary butylhydroquinone, dimethylpolysiloxane, and chicken flavoring.  Ya know, because the chicken is so processed and sickly that it doesn't even taste like chicken.  I'm getting a little ahead of myself.  Basically, I don't like school lunches because they are unhealthy, taste like you know what, and cost money, which I don't have.  So I pack. 

 

I recently stumbled upon an article concerning school lunches.  I was drawn in by the colorful and tasteful pictures of school meals on trays from different sites around the world.  As I went down the list, every single one drew me in.  They looked like meals that you might find in a nice restaurant.  For example, the tray from Greece had a piece of baked chicken over orzo, stuffed grape leaves, tomato and cucumber salad, fresh oranges, and Greek yogurt with pomegranate seeds.  That beats even my little peanut butter sandwich with applesauce and a granola bar.  I scrolled down, drinking in each meal with interest, until I finally reached the last.  It looked pathetic.  As you may have guessed, it was a picture of the average American school lunch.  This extravagant meal featured fried 'popcorn' chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, a fruit cup, and a chocolate chip cookie. 

 

I was absolutely appalled.  I had always known that the US had sort of given the education system the short end of the stick with meal plans.  I watched Food Inc.  I know what goes on behind closed doors.  The big food corporations that specialize in frozen and more frozen are what give the schools the cheapest option, which everyone knows is the best, right?  So then those companies get rich, the schools are able to fund the art program one more year, kids get fatter, more health care money is spent, and we go in a circle.  I know that.  But seeing how good other kids have it made me angry.  Why should I have to eat what we all know is quality crap, probably ninety percent of which is somehow made with a corn byproduct?  Why should our school have to sell us lukewarm greens beans that look like they never saw the sun?  Why should I have to pay for a white bread, limp PBJ?  I want steak.  I want fresh berries.  I want food that doesn't look like it came from a can.   I want food I know I can trust, that will help me feel good about myself, that isn't stocked up with sugar or cholesterol, or some otherworldly unknown chemical.  I want to not feel the need to pack my lunch, because hey, there's homemade whole grain mac and cheese being served up today, and I want to get in on that.  Is that too much to ask?

Luna (PB)

In my opinion, Luna Lovegood is the best character out of the entire Harry Potter series.  Huh?  Oh, yeah, don't worry about that noise, it's probably just the sound of five hundred billion nerd spirits throwing their squirmy plasma bodies at my bedroom door in a panicked and angry attempt to argue that of course it's Dobby, it's McGonagall, or even beloved, misunderstood Snape. 

 

Yes, I realize that there are merits to each and every personality within the widely celebrated books.  Yes, I understand that maybe Luna isn't the most multidimensional or complex character of her time.  Or one of the stronger witches.  Or even, I guess, necessarily important to the plot of the novels.  But for me, Luna represents an idea that I have always struggled with.  You see, ever since reading the books, seeing the films, admiring her profile, I've envied how completely stunningly dreamy she is.  How she watches over everyone else the entire time, just observing with her huge eyes, taking everything in.  Aware, yet not quite completely in the physical world.  A little ghost.  And her hair is flippin' awesome.  I mean, look at those locks. 

 

Ever since I was about twelve,  I've wanted to be someone else.  It's not like I'm unaccepting of my own personality, quite the opposite.  99% of the time, I think I'm the best one out there.  It's more that I just can't help but sort of fall in love with the idea of everyone else.  And by that, I mean I notice all of these seemingly trivial, yet completely, wildly, unbelievably attractive parts of a person, no matter who they are.  Films, books, figments of my imagination, real live people.  Even ones I can't stand.  Even they usually have one or two quirks about them that I know and memorize and catalogue.  It's like the soft feeling you get when it's 8:00 on a balmy summer night and you're laying on the grass on your side lawn and you're watching the sky and your hair splayed and your best friend's face turned and you think, you know I could kiss you, but you don't because that would make it weird but maybe that's okay, so you lay and lay and lay.  Or when you leave the tears on your face because it feels right and makes your face feel like plaster cracking and your brain is lighter somehow and you yawn and wipe the snot all over your arm even though it's supposed to be gross because you want to feel like the mess you truly are. 

 

Maybe you get it, probably not. 

 

Those feelings.  The emotions that start to fill up your brain.  It's when every piece of your dumb puzzle life falls away and you become the real you.  All of everything is so trivial and you're disgusted with how you've been living, but in a totally passive way.  So let it wash over you. 

 

Then maybe you're in class doing the things you do in class.  And you look at him, that one you've known for a long time, and you see him, but now you really see him.  So the summer night aftermath cry gets to you and you begin the list. 

 

• He always has that one chestnut lock of his long hair laying on his neck in the same exact position and it never moves.  You wanna pull it. 
• The sound of his teeth slowly biting into an apple.  It's golden delicious.  You see a tiny juice drop fly and hit his paper.  He leaves it and laughs. 
• He's staring at his phone, his mind gears are working, his winky face is ready at attention.  He is prepped for the female nation. 

 

And that's it.  The transformation.  From now on, you will remember his small smirk executed perfectly whenever he says something cheeky.  And you will try to replicate it, to steal a bit of the magic for yourself.  But it won't ever be quite right.  It won't have the effect and you know it, so you stop.  Another attribute observed, another attribute admired, another failed attempt to be someone else, even in the smallest of ways. 

 

But sometimes when I'm being stupid, I think, what if I have my own special bits that pull at another me's heart strings?  What if it's my fingers drumming a little pattern on the desk, completely unaware of the secret spy, taking notes on me, wishing that they could have the same appeal.  How groovy.