I’m heading out of town this weekend for a friend’s bachelor party. I’ll have a more Mets-heavy Q&A post tomorrow, but I’m writing it today so if there’s any major breaking news between now and then it won’t be in there. Also, if you come to this site for major breaking news, you’re probably not still coming to this site.

Here we go. Apparently the Twitter/Wordpress thing is going to embed my one Tweet with all the responses:

Do you mean I have to choose between pizza and ice-cream cake and can never eat the other one again, or I have to pick which one I’d rather eat for every single meal for the rest of my life?

Either way, it’s pizza. For one thing, there’s way more variety. Ice cream cake is great, but it’s always primarily ice cream. There are so many possible options for pizza toppings, not to mention styles of pizza. I could eat a New York-style pepperoni slice for breakfast, then a Chicago-style sausage slice for lunch, then a brick-oven pizza with soppressata on it for dinner. That’s three different types of sausage in one day, my friend. And pizza is one of our best delivery systems for sausage.

And maybe now you’re saying, well there’s nothing in this hypothetical question that prevents you from eating sausage-topped ice-cream cake. Well how about propriety, bro? Until I taste it and determine otherwise, I’m going to assume any sausage-topped ice-cream cake is a gluttonous gimmick. Sausage-topped pizza is a delicious meaty meal. Also, most of the places that sell ice-cream cakes don’t even stock sausage, so I’m going to have to bring my own sausage to the Carvel and ask them to whip me up something fresh. Not only does it seem like that’d take a long time, but it also, I think, violates the spirit of the question.

Carlos Beltran is fit to be blamed for everything. Presumably your waitress was tired from staying up too late watching Beltran do awesome things on a baseball field somewhere.

There was a Comic-Con in Phoenix when I was there a couple of months ago. My friends alerted me to it on the trip from the airport to our hotel, and within five minutes we witnessed a parking-lot light-saber battle fit for George Michael Bluth.

Judge me if you must: I’m hardly a bully and really never was much of one even in high-school when I was a total football bro, but walking through herds of people in makeshift superhero costumes gave me an overwhelming urge to start dolling out spirited wedgies. Note that they would have been vaguely ironic wedgies, because, again, I’m a 31-year-old man and I’d be doing it more to celebrate the very silly concept of wedgying nerds than because I actually want to punish them for their hobbies of choice. But that’s a difficult distinction to elucidate when you’ve got a guy’s underwear up over his head.

My wife brought home a Rubik’s Cube from a med-school class a few weeks ago. I’m still not clear on what it has to do with medicine, but the thing has been sitting on the coffee table next to my recliner since. So inevitably I started messing with it, trying to figure it out without resorting to the instructions or the websites upon websites I assume exist that are dedicated to cracking it.

It’s so hard. After playing with it for a while you start seeing the cube differently, and you get to understand which moves you need to make to get each square where you want it. But I still haven’t gotten it. I can get a full face of one color pretty easily, but then I start working on a second face and screw up the first one, then eventually get really frustrated and just jumble it all up again. I assume I’m not going about it the right way, and that someone’s going to tell me that in the comments now. I know. I don’t want your help. I need to make this happen on my own.

I wouldn’t call that “my favorite” though. I think I actually hate it. But every so often I’m watching TV, a commercial comes on and I pick the thing up and can’t stop.

I think I’ll go with the Slinky. Slinkies are awesome. Total one-trick pony, but it’s a really neat trick.

When I was really young, I harassed my dad into taking me to an automat somewhere in Midtown while we were in the city for some reason or another (probably the car show or the Museum of Natural History). I remember him insisting that the food wouldn’t be very good, but the idea of vending-machine cheeseburgers was about the best thing five-year-old me had ever heard of. I can’t remember if I liked the food or not.

When Bamn! opened, I was in grad school at NYU and my band was playing fairly regularly at The Continental on St. Mark’s and 3rd. Bamn! offered cheap, quick, surprisingly fresh food in snack-sized portions, perfect greasy treats to follow a night of drinking or bass-slapping. And sometimes when it’s late and you’re spent the last thing you want to do is interact with an actual human being, so I appreciated that too. They had some sort of fried macaroni-and-cheese thing that I really liked.

I believe it’s closed now, though.