I do what I have to get done, stick pretty much to myself and try to draw as little attention to myself as possible. 

But there are other things I have in common with the squirrels. I spend most of my life looking for food to eat, and everyone knows that beneath my go-with-the-flow attitude, I'm really up to no good.

Think about the last time you spent a nice afternoon outside the Union, eating a sandwich, engaging in a staring contest with that innocent-looking squirrel. He seemed as though he was just enjoying sharing the common space of the world with his human brother or sister. But really, you knew he was sizing you up, weighing his chances to steal that meatball sub right out of your greasy fingers.

In my own subtle way, I'm always looking for ways to stick it to the Man. If you're like me, less of an outright rabble-rouser and more of a sneak-extra-packets-of-Splenda-into-you-coat-pockets type of corporate Erin Brockovich, you're going to love this week's recipe. 

You'll need:

Flour, water, meat, veggies, oil, seasonings and honey

Really. That's it.

Pour about a cup of flour (one cup yields enough to feed two comfortably) into a bowl and start to add water. In the end you should get a ball of dough that isn't hard or dry but isn't sticky either. Cover with a wet paper towel and let sit.

The filling is your canvas for creativity. I like to use leftover chicken or pork (you can get chopped up grilled chicken at Outtakes in Offenhauer that work just perfectly for this) diced and mixed with whatever veggies I can find. 

Put all your ingredients into a skillet, and sauté in butter and honey. If you like a little heat, now is the perfect time to add chili powder and pepper. Once cooked all the way through, put the filling onto a plate to cool.

In the same skillet, heat up about half an inch of oil. While the oil is heating, take tablespoon-sized pieces of dough, and flatten them into discs. You've got to make the dough as thin as possible, or you are going to have a thick and nasty failure on your hands. 

Onto the thin circle of dough goes a tablespoon of filling. Fold the dough so you have a half-moon shaped dumpling, and crimp the edges closed with a fork.

Carefully drop the dumpling in the oil. Keep a close eye on the cooking because it will be perfect and brown and delicious in no time. Drain onto a plate with a paper towel to wick up the extra oil.

This perfectly easy and tasty meal can be finished with any number of things that can be bought on campus -- Uncle Ben's rice, Ramen noodles or bagged salads make delicious choices.

Considering the horrific things going on in our world, I guess this little dilemma doesn't rank too high on the things-that-are-actually-important list. But similar to the way Main Street gets a little hazy when you're looking at it Saturday night through your beer goggles, my bedroom mirror seems to become the fun house mirror from hell any time my self-esteem is low and my pity-party-tolerance is high.

At times such as these, most would probably suggest I suck it up, wipe the snot off from under my pathetically dripping nose and make a trip down to the ol' Rec Center. 

My vegan friend advocates less processed foods; my meat-eating friend has been known to offer me a bite of the half-eaten burger in his book bag. I've tried everything from adding more fiber to using less carbs, drinking more water to eating less sugar. One time I tried to eat only fruit and protein shakes (and an entire bag of colored marshmallows when my roommate wasn't looking).

At this point I bet you think I'm going to give you a recipe for a healthy, and probably meal-plan-friendly, easy-peasy meal. Instead, let me introduce you to my new favorite guilty pleasure: deep-fried avocados. 

1 cup of beer

2 cups of flour

A pinch of garlic powder

A pinch of salt

A pinch of pepper

Vegetable oil (enough to get about 1/4 inch up the side of a pan)

2 avocados

Start by pouring your oil into a pan and heating it over medium-high heat. Mix together the beer, flour, garlic powder, salt and pepper. This is the most important time to make sure the taste is right. Once you like the taste, judge the consistency of the batter. If it's too runny, add more flour. If it's too gloppy, add more beer. In the end, you should have a batter that is thick enough to grip the avocado without becoming too heavy on the slices. Let this stand while you peel the avocados and cut each into six wedges. 

In general, the colder the avocado, the easier it will stay together during this whole process. Also, the cooler temps help the batter stick the best. You'll know your oil is ready to go when a splash of water dances on the surface.

Dredge each piece of avocado in the batter, shake off any excess and drop into the oil. These things cook up really fast, so keep a watchful eye on the level of brownness you've got going on. Flip each avocado once before fishing it out with a slotted spoon or a pair of tongs.

I'd suggest allowing each deep-fried gift from God to drain off a bit of that oil onto a piece of paper towel or recycled brown grocery bag. That way, you can tell your reflection in the mirror that it's not as bad for you as it seems.

Not all of us have the time (or the moolah) to hitch up our wagons and make a trip to the old country. So, when we start to pine for the things of Dukes and Danes, but don't have the plane ticket to make it happen, I suggest we do as the proverbial "Romans" do. We've got to fake it until we make it, my fellow Americans. And the first stop on our imaginary tour is, of course, the cuisine. Meal plan style.

he men who have impacted my life are as varied as the phases I went through in high school (the Capri pants and tall sock phase was by far the worst). My dad taught me not to take people's crap; my fiancé taught me that people really can be perverted all the time; Reggie Miller taught me to feign injuries to get what I want.

I learned to take on the man when Jimmy Stewart went to Washington, and I learned how to forgive and forget when Harry Potter named his son Severus. 

But the best lesson I ever learned was to laugh at myself (at least as much as I laugh at others). I owe this education to one giant, fiery-haired, spaghetti noodle of a man -- Mr. Conan O'Brien.

To honor the funny man turned corporate punching bag, I've compiled a menu of all of my favorite Conan-inspired things. Consider it a menu to be enjoyed at the funeral of late night.

In the Year 3000 Island Dressing: In the year 3000, this dressing will still look like the gagged-up combo of mayo, ketchup, Tobasco sauce and pickles that it is made of.