Allow me to go officially on record as adoring those wonderful people at Time Out NY.  As if they weren't already tapped deeply enough into Gotham to lead any lost Nebraskan to just the right underground-alternative-bossanova dance party, they just went ahead and gave New York's very own Peeled Snacks a review for the ages.  James Oliver Cury's Critics' Pick entitled "Nutty Logic" proved to me that Peeled Snacks' concept, its reason for being, is entirely "gettable"- Mr. Cury got us so perfectly, I wish I could shake his hand and kiss his grandma on the cheek.  Instead, I just think I'll send him some free snacks.  Write a good review of us in your super-distributed magazine and I'll send you some treats too!

That's just the latest dose of good news that we've endured here at Peeled Snacks' World Headquarters.  I imagine that there's more to come (gosh, I hope so), but with every dollop of press that we get, I always find myself wondering just why nobody thought of this sort of treat before, and if they did, why they aren't doing it.  Don't confuse this for second guessing Peeled Snacks- every time I eat them (which is frightfully rarely thanks to the maddening frugality of our wonderful president Ms. Waibsnaider) I'm SHOCKED by how tasty they are.  This is more of an epistemological quandary.  Like, did the Cheetoh exist before somebody invented it, or did it take shape only on the first assembly line to crank those dusty little nuggets out?

In this maddeningly marketing-driven world then, does an invention even matter?  Who cares if a product is invented if it isn't marketed?  And who cares about the marketing unless it actually causes the product to move like hotcakes?  When is a thing a thing- when the Big Bang (or G@d, if you go for that sort of thing) mixes up the first atomic ingredients, when some mad scientist (i.e. Ms. Waibsnaider) concocts the idea, or when Mr. James Oliver Cury touts the thing enough to make it profitable?

Poem for the day:

What's the nutritional content of sand

mixed with an apricot sadly fallen

from my slippery, salty, wave battered hand

onto the glistening eastern beach?

Do the gritty shavings of long lost seashells

add to the non-soluble fiber quantity

thus making my fallen apricot even more

of a hall monitor in the high school of my abdomen,

or does it go straight to the hips,

like the poly-unsaturated fat

caked into the pecan-chocolate fudge I ate

at the candy store late last night? 

Hope your Mondays are somehow better than your Sundays...

-Peeled Skinny