The inspiration for this morning’s post comes from “No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog,” by Margaret Mason. Face it, people: sometimes you’re stressed for content and the well’s run dry. Sure, you could, I don’t know, point out REALLY OBVIOUS stuff about other bloggers that everyone already knows … but let’s be above that.

Here’s Margaret’s idea, reprinted word-for-word. Consider this an ad for her superlative book — the t-shirt at that link is good, too.

#30 — Be Yourself

“Things I like — dogs, reading, movies, hanging out with friends.”

Honey, who doesn’t? As long as you’re writing one of those ubiquitous list de likes, at least make it worth reading. You readers don’t care about whether you love kittens, they care about the quirky things you love, the things only you love. Say something surprising.

Hot rotisserie chickens bring me closer in spirit to any dog that’s ever drooled on a lap at the dinner table. Once I have one in a filmy plastic shopping bag, I have to head straight for the nearest private place and immediately devour its limbs. The breast meat can wait. I’m talking here about leg and thigh meat hanging off the bone and that delicious wet sucking pop you hear when you pull the thigh from the body.

If I’m alone with a hot chicken, I get to hear that wet pop twice.

There’s this weird little triangly bit at the back end of the chicken, between the place where the legs are bound with that weird elasticy rubber band. I call it “the nut.” It’s delicious, whatever it is.

I love to find the oysters, those two tender little meaty ovals of chicken muscle that have never been exercised and savor them, but quickly. The chicken is cooling, you see. And cold rotisserie chicken is never as fun.

Here’s where my hot chicken lust gets weird: I like to eat the bones.

Bird bones are so soft and savory, and they’ve been marinating in chicken broth pretty much since the egg hatched. I love the gentle cracking you get from gnawing the cartilage off of the end and the calcium-rich broth that results from carefully, thoughtfully chewing chicken bones. It takes a little time, but man, it’s worth it.

I’ll eat the rest of the bird’s bones when I get around to seperating the breast meat for use in pasta, burritos, whatever. Cold chicken bones make for a decent appetizer, as long as nobody’s looking.

This whole exercise, gobbling chicken extremities, takes maybe half an hour, and is always conducted while standing over the kitchen sink.

Then I wash my hands and put the rest of my groceries away, taking a shower if necessary.

As a matter of fact, I am still single, ladies. How could you tell? Feel free to get in touch.