By Jed Stalker/The Voice
My grandfather tells stories of how, when he was in the navy, he went to Italy and ate a heaping pile of the greatest pasta on the globe. He always adds how all the New Yorkers on the carrier were excited about the prospect of eating real Italian pizza, and came back with horror stories: it seems in Italy, pizza is a last resort. Leftover dough of all sorts, whatever sauce was laying around, scraps from all the other projects as toppings: this is what pizza means to Italians. Normally after he tells this part of the story, the family all silently contemplates what life would be like with pizza as a grim afterthought, rather than the delicious staple of nourishment it is, and we all share a shudder. We usually play cards later, and bake up one of those frozen pizzas.
Pizza, let it be said, is the greatest excuse for a meal that was ever invented. It can carry anything from barbeque sauce and chicken to spinach and olive oil without incongruity. It is relatively cheap, can be consumed in vast quantities, never gets tiring, and makes a nifty breakfast the morning after a night of shindiggery.
This being said, I cannot begin to understand why the monthly Midnight Pizza happenings in the Kehr aren’t regarded as bastions of school pride: Bloomsburg University, where learning transpires and pizza is given away for free sometimes! Honestly, as college students, we are required by comedic convention to be both broke and starving. The Midnight Pizza, then, is nothing short of a godsend. And the music usually isn’t terrible. In any case, it’s a small price to pay for the twin delights of pizza and not paying for it. So come one, come all, and stuff your face with gladness. It’s the Bloomsburg way.