I know many of you think taking pictures of food is at least as annoying as McDonald's commercials on your Pandora station, and at most as annoying as the car in front of you who completely misses the green arrow during rush hour.
But this is just a concept I don't understand. Why wouldn't people want to look at good food? Why do you have to feel shameful when you instagram your food? In fact, I think I would like instagram better if it were devoted solely to food. And puppies. Because, come on. Every picture is better with a puppy in it.
|Eating pizza faster, apparently, than the speed of light.|
That being said, there is some food that doesn't deserve the limelight as much as others. Like a half-eaten container of Arby's french fries. NOT the curly ones. They probably don't warrant a picture. But this crostini with pork confit, arugula, and whole grain mustard? I was this close to calling my wedding photographer.
Not only was the food supreme but we get to go with some of our favorite people -- the Hutchisons.
And when I'm so full of pizza that I delude myself into thinking I am some sort of art critic, I sit back and commentate on the local art Pizzeria 712 has for sale.
|"The fruit must represent the future that the girl/boy and the mother/father have in store... And the lack of modeling must mean that there is tension in the relationship."|
Like I said. Not an art critic. I can't even get the genders right. But if I eat enough pizza, I may critique in an Italian accent.
But we didn't just eat pizza. We also went to the BYU rugby game to watch Braden, my cousin's boyfriend, play full-grown men on the New York Athletic Club team. Semi-professionals! The medium-time!
Rugby is always fun/terrifying to watch. Seeing them launch each other up to catch the ball makes me wish that we could have stunted like that in cheer. Why mess with dirty shoes when you can just grab spandex and pull? I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that a wedgie was just as efficient as a fulcrum and a lever.
|Just in case you hadn't tired of booty shots.|
|Braden Bair himself!|
|That's Braden wrapped around the other man's leg.|
And as much fun as we were having talking, instagramming, gossipping, and intermittently cheering, I realized why I will never let Jason play rugby.
Seriously. One of our boys went down hard after getting hit by friendly fire. Already sad. And then everyone just left him lying there until one of the New York players went and checked on him and realized this kid was really not okay.
The commentator just kept saying that they were just taking precautions and that the player was "responsive" and is going to be fine. Responsive. That was the most positive adjective he could come up with.
I really hope he is fine. And that Jason will never play rugby. Ever.