On Top of Spaghetti

I'm turning into a meatball.

And not a lean, lightly breaded baked kind, but the full fat juicy type, rolled with veal sauteed in hot olive oil, served with greasy sauce on top of gooey cheesy buttered roll.

This visual transformation is happening gradually like a slow home cooked meal simmering with a huge helping of burning love.

Now, eating three catered meals (secret ingredient, oil) a day, plus a myriad of snacks equaling enough food to make up the entire caloric count of two chubby kids is a ridiculous perk. One that saves me an obscene amount of money. Especially in a city where deviled eggs have become the next it food and run you a trendy $20 bill.

And there's more...

In addition to exercising that excessive perk of working 65 hour weeks and wolfing my rising body weight in food, I also took advantage of flexing the minor muscle tone I have left and visited our friendly on set casting office, introduced myself, explained my experienced reporter's bckground, and asked if I could play one on T.V.

I hope it pays in exponential dividends like my food consumption...