Pizza My Mind

It isn’t “like” a slice of heaven; no it literally is a slice of heaven. And I don’t even believe in heaven. Eight slices of heaven to be exact. Some friends of mine, one of which I’ve known since before I could walk, were just back in New York and were nice enough to bring me back some pizza from Anthony’s. Just so happens, Anthony’s in Huntington is the best pizza on the planet. There is a lot of great pizza in New York, and I haven’t tasted most if it, but there is simply no way you can improve on perfection. See Jessica Alba’s ass? There’s just no way it can be any better. It could be in my apartment, which would make the location better, but that wouldn’t actually improve the ass in question.

Just about anytime these friends go back east, or his parents come out to visit, I end up not only with some pie but some childhood memories. And I totally love those little time portals. It could be a song that suddenly snaps you back to a particular time in your life, or the smell of mom cooking your favorite meal and you get slapped upside your head with deja vu. You get slapped upside your head with deja vu. Sorry, really thought that preview for the Denzel Washington movie was clever, even if the movie didn’t appear to be at all interesting.

Simon and Garfunkle, Neil Diamond and Olivia Newton-John aren’t likely to be found on my iPod but hearing any of their songs will take me back to being 7 years old and I can smell the Windex on Sunday Morning as mom cleans the house with to the aforementioned artists records play. That’s right, I said records. Couldn’t get rowdy around the record player or they’d skip, which could result in a scratch and that brings out un-happy dad. He wasn’t that much fun, well till I got a little older and now he’s pure entertainment.

There’s something funny about childhood memories, the ones that stay with us the longer aren’t usually the ones you’d expect. At least for me anyway, it’s more often the memory of something as boring as the road trips from New York to Cleveland. At the time I dreaded spending 8 hours in an ’83 Honda Accord with my brother, sister and parents. Logistically I can’t even see how we were ever comfortable, but I don’t remember at all being cramped.

So I know that there is maybe a snowballs chance in hell that there could be pizza that could actually taste better than Anthony’s, but as sure as I am that I’m sitting here avoiding work, I know that no pizza will ever come close. You think that statement made no sense, but I promise it makes perfect sense. Now, if I just wish that I could leave work and go home to organize my baseball cards while eating a slice as I listen to Mr. Neil Diamond, then all would be right with the world again.