As Princess Superstar once said: "I've got a dichotomy inside of me like sodomy." Here's the thing - I'm pretty hawkish when it comes to military action in Iraq, but I really enjoy hummus. Those two things just don't go together, and when I think about it I get the same uncomfortable feeling I have when I drive my SUV while wearing a pair of Birkenstocks.

Speaking of driving an SUV and wearing Birks - I'm psyched because this weekend (one day of which is my birthday; yes, I appreciate birthday wishes of any sort - emails or cash contributions) I'm heading up to Ithaca, the home of my alma mater. Stated reason for trip: 660 Stewart Co-op Valentines Day Drag Ball (traditionally held the day after Valentines Day). Normally I wouldn't take a 5 hour car ride to someplace cold just to go to a college party, but Agent Double O Zero is playing their first show in a long while at the party. As some of you may know, ADOZ is the band for which Ton plays bass, and they rawk with a capital R.

Actual reason for trip: Wegmans Subs. I don't know if you know about these things. Wegmans is a supermarket in Ithaca (all around the tri-state area, actually). It's one of those supermarkets that act as monuments to why America is a great nation. You know the ones I'm talking about; their design includes not only all of the usual supermarket stuff (aisles upon aisles of food and home products, great produce, a fabulous deli, etc), but they also for some reason have an area the size of a hockey rink that sells prepared foods. And among the prepared foods that they will sell you is (are?) submarines, made to order.

Now, I debated for a while whether to even try to explain how I feel about these subs. First of all, I think 'sub' is one of those words that falls into the 'inherently funny' category. Especially when you use the synonym 'grinder.' So I feared (still fear, as a matter of fact) that no matter how earnestly I tried to describe my take on the Wegmans Sub, I wouldn't (won't) be taken seriously. So before we get into it, do me a favor and realize that I'm COMPLETELY SERIOUS right now.

Throughout time, there have been legends that have some foodstuff as their primary or secondary focus. Apples, for instance, have at some point been regarded as sacred or magical in just about every country they grow, and their CV includes the dubious honor of being the fruit Eris threw in a fit of pique, as well as that which finally got Adam and Eve tossed out of the Garden of Earthly Delights. Ambrosia (the nectar of the gods) was once thought to confer grace and immortality on its consumers (such a power, I can truthfully attest, is not held by the far removed relative Ambrosia Salad, no matter how much you rub on).

It is with this ancestry that must be set in mind if you are to properly contemplate that pinnacle of three centuries of sandwich research that is the Wegmans Sub. Should I describe it's component parts? Well even starting there I run into a problem, because it's ingredients are as dynamic as ones imagination. Suffice to say the ingredients are of the highest quality, whether you are ordering a turkey sub, roast beef sub, or a vegetarian sub (the only vegetarian meal I will permit to be ordered in my presence without reviling the orderer). Should I now refer to the bread? An entire loaf of freshly baked italian bread, warm and soft like the bosom of a perfect 10 girl, and tastier than the manna which fell to the ground during Moses' trek through the desert (Incidentally, I think I'm going to hell for putting those analogies in the same sentence). Dare I mention the italian oil, the spicy mustard, the light layer of mayonaisse to make the swallowing process just a little smoother on the esophagus? Shall I expound upon the fresh cheese which could have had no loftier goal in life, even considering the make-up of the Lord Our Savior.

But just describing it's pieces is not sufficient; there is a strange synergy that takes place behind that marble counter that rockets the sandwich from mere 'good eats' to the status of a meal over which I would kill a man, even if I had just eaten and he was hungry. The experience of eating one of these subs is a completely overwhelming one, which is ably set off by the act of unwrapping the treasure - It's eighteen inches looks up at you from your trencher with proud, challenging stare, as if it knows that there is no way it could lose the battle which is about to commence. And it would be right - even if you were to complete the daunting task of eating the entire sandwich in one go (a feat which I have been able to do only once in my life), the sub would go to its acidic grave secure in the knowledge that it had provided you with the finest dining experience you are likely to have that week (not only because of the quality of the sandwich, but also because after eating 3 pounds of hero, you have taken in all the calories you need for the next seven days).

{sigh} Alright, I'm afraid I have to stop now. If I write about this anymore, I'm going to take off of work a week early and head up this afternoon, and I have some things that I want to do before I hop in the car on Saturday morning. I'll think of you all when I'm tearing into my sub, and I'll see what I can do to get an audio recording of the satified sigh I'll release when I unbuckle my belt after gorging myself on the Great Whitebread Hope - the Wegmans Sub.