First off, the world didn't end. Our planet didn't fold in on itself to the point of singularity like I thought it would.
Now what am I going to do with all these "I survived the Mayan Apocalypse" t-shirts? Worst part is that I never was able to have my Mayan-themed party where I could sport my jaguar-print track suit.
Guy: Nice leopard print dork
DT: It's jaguar, learn the difference cretin.
Guy: Whatever nerd. Animal has spots.
~~~~~~~~~~~
We're approaching DefCon 3 in terms of holiday season. Just 3 days left in which we can load up on crap we shouldn't buy, crap we shouldn't eat and Mannheim (Cleveland) Steamroller songs that make me want to bludgeon a baby fur seal, skin it and use it for soft and fashionable ear plugs.
Protip: electronically garbled music and Silent Night don't mix.
Our family is done with Christmas shopping and we did it all from the comforts of our home. Honestly, if there is a Santa Claus, I bet he's a washed up hobo, staggering around Calgary right now drinking Schlitz and eating freeze dried Comet and Vixen. Mr. Amazon reigns supreme in this land of over indulgence bitches.
Do I miss fighting crowds, not getting what I set out to buy and muttering things about how much I hate humanity because some dillweed can't hold the door open for me as my hands are full with toddlers, bags and homemade fudge? No, not really.
But you literally cannot fail with Amazon. They make it so fecking easy. I can drink my eggnog, watch Nova on PBS and throw stuff in my basket until I either a) run out of eggnog or b) realize that, no, my nephew does not need a baby orangutan dressed as a cowboy.
The practical side of me says: Great, no more of the above and more time for guzzling eggnog!
The reminiscent side of me says: Bah humbug to Amazon.
My kids won't have the pleasure of snooping around the house trying to kind mom and dad's present stash.
They won't have the joy of both mom and dad frantically leaving the house on Dec. 23 trying to find that one Toys 'R Us store that still has Amazing-robo-saurus in stock while leaving the oldest sibling to watch over the rest of the family but fully knowing that the oldest sibling will decide to load up the kids in the suburban and drive around the neighborhood at the age of 14. (BTW: Hi Sarah!)
Most of all, I'm not sure it will give them the satisfaction of the actual giving when it comes their time to buy presents for their loved ones. It's easy to click twelve times and have our presents magically delivered by Amazon elves. I get that. However, I'm left with a certain hollow feeling when all is said and done. I poked around some sites, looked for some online discounts but never touched the items I purchased.
(This goes in the same vein as me wanting to have a printed book as opposed to an e-reader.)
I need the tangible gift in my hands to crystallize how gift will make Person A happy.
It's trite. It's silly. But it's real to me.
Sure, I'll make excuses that I don't have time with 3 boys to help take care or that it's too cold out or that it's cheaper online but I do miss the actual act of picking something out. I miss giving.
I am looking forward to Christmas and the New Year. I'm excited to see G's face when he tears through gifts and have the twins be more enthralled by the cardboard boxes that delivered said gifts.
I'm looking forward to listening to "Carol of the Bells" and listening to my wife change the words to "Ding, fries are done/ ding fries are done/would you like an apple pie with that?".
I'm looking forward to the holy peace of Christmas Eve once all the wrapping is complete, the Christmas morning prepping is done and the spiced eggnog begins to make me doze.
I'm looking forward to the New Year and the freshness that it somehow brings.
I'm mostly looking forward to a resolution of being able to give again.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Conjunctivitis, Party of 4
So here I am with a chest cold that makes the Spanish Influenza look like a sniffle and conjunctivitis in both eyes. The discharge coming from my eyes looks like it should be part of Behr's spring indoor color wheel. I have tried to trademark the color and name it Spring Mist. It pairs well with Warm Ivory and Lavender Field. Just see your Lowe's associates for ideas for application.
On top of my own self-pity, my wife and three kids are either sick or just getting over being sick with all three boys having pink eye. Final tally: 8 eyes with pink eye. 2 ear infections. 5 colds. 2 doctor visits. 3 fevers. Countless milligrams of acetaminophen and NSAID consumed. One weekend.
Ahhhhhhh yeaaahhhhhh boyyyyyyyy!
Our house has been categorized by the U.N. Security Council as a hotspot for biological warfare. Of course Russia abstained from voting, but I imagine the blue helmets are going to show up at our door any moment now. Move over Axis of Evil, here comes Turleykistan.
Maybe it's the massive amount of DayQuil and Robitussin that is coursing through my veins. Maybe it's the lack of sleep. Maybe it's the 3 constant days of gray drizzle we've had here in the Northeast.
But good god almighty, the collective "we" are one lucky group of people. Seriously. We have been doused in a metric ton of luck juice and then jammed full of serendipity until our jaw hurts to be born when and where we were. It's hard to see this through the recent events at Sandy Hook and Clackamas Town Center but it's there.
Think about it. Don't just wave your hands in some non-sensical way and mutter how bat shit crazy I am. Actually think about it.
Had we popped our heads up south of the 31 N degree parallel, we'd be born into a country primarily ruled by oligarchs, rife with systemic violence due to the drug trade and have little of the comforts we have here, namely Pinkberry and Five Guys.
Had we been graced this world by being born west of the 124 W degree line, well, we'd be born into an ocean but you get my drift.
Drift ... ocean ... get it? Get it?!?! Oh FFS. . . moving on.
We are lucky that we don't have to worry about polio or smallpox ravaging our population. We are blessed to have the freedom of press, religion and be in a progressive state (admittedly not as progressive as many as would like but progressive nonetheless). We are fortunate to be living where we can connect with friends, family and loved ones within mere seconds thousands of miles away. We're lucky to have a contentious political system, for all its failings, have given us generations of relative prosperity and peace.
But luck can only take us so far.
The United States is not perfect. I'm not naive enough to think that we are a peaceful nation. In fact, it's the opposite. Since November 11/21, 1620, the Pilgrims decided to use fists and guns as diplomacy. We rebelled against the mightiest European empire and rend our nation into two. Whether it's a predilection to violence or it is somewhere written in our DNA, the human race is a contentious lot and glaringly moreso here in good ole' Muricah.
I'm not going to ramble on how this is a watershed moment because frankly, nothing has changed. We are in no different place than we were when James Holmes went on his pre-meditated rampage. Columbine. Fort Hood. Seattle cafe. Thurston High School. Gabby Giffords. Nothing has changed.
Don't confuse my logic with emotion. I have shed my own private tears thinking about those affected. I have three children of my own and can barely stand to see them have a cold. I cannot fathom the grief these communities are facing. However, until we are honest with ourselves, nothing will change.
We embrace violence. We extol violence by calling people patriots, martyrs and heroes. We talk of warriors, being tough, fighting through the pain and shedding our blood on the proverbial battlefield, whether that battlefield is real, on the playing field or even in business.
^^^^^
This is us. This is you. This is me. This is our nation. Until we have our "moment of clarity" and see what is actually going on here, we will continue on our violent ways.
What comes from these events on a policy level, I cannot guess at. I hope it's a thoughtful and comprehensive approach and not a knee jerk reaction. Gun control. Mental health. Federal regulation of arms. 2nd amendment revisions. They're all prescriptions addressing symptoms and not the underlying cause.
I'm waiting for the day we can have a rational and lucid conversation that isn't hijacked by soundbytes from pro or anti gun lobbying groups. Neither side is helping here. It's a terrible self-sustaining feedback loop that does not appear to be at its crescendo.
As lucky as we are, I'd trade it away for some hope and action towards a better world for my sons.
On top of my own self-pity, my wife and three kids are either sick or just getting over being sick with all three boys having pink eye. Final tally: 8 eyes with pink eye. 2 ear infections. 5 colds. 2 doctor visits. 3 fevers. Countless milligrams of acetaminophen and NSAID consumed. One weekend.
Ahhhhhhh yeaaahhhhhh boyyyyyyyy!
Our house has been categorized by the U.N. Security Council as a hotspot for biological warfare. Of course Russia abstained from voting, but I imagine the blue helmets are going to show up at our door any moment now. Move over Axis of Evil, here comes Turleykistan.
Maybe it's the massive amount of DayQuil and Robitussin that is coursing through my veins. Maybe it's the lack of sleep. Maybe it's the 3 constant days of gray drizzle we've had here in the Northeast.
But good god almighty, the collective "we" are one lucky group of people. Seriously. We have been doused in a metric ton of luck juice and then jammed full of serendipity until our jaw hurts to be born when and where we were. It's hard to see this through the recent events at Sandy Hook and Clackamas Town Center but it's there.
Think about it. Don't just wave your hands in some non-sensical way and mutter how bat shit crazy I am. Actually think about it.
Had we popped our heads up south of the 31 N degree parallel, we'd be born into a country primarily ruled by oligarchs, rife with systemic violence due to the drug trade and have little of the comforts we have here, namely Pinkberry and Five Guys.
Had we been graced this world by being born west of the 124 W degree line, well, we'd be born into an ocean but you get my drift.
Drift ... ocean ... get it? Get it?!?! Oh FFS. . . moving on.
We are lucky that we don't have to worry about polio or smallpox ravaging our population. We are blessed to have the freedom of press, religion and be in a progressive state (admittedly not as progressive as many as would like but progressive nonetheless). We are fortunate to be living where we can connect with friends, family and loved ones within mere seconds thousands of miles away. We're lucky to have a contentious political system, for all its failings, have given us generations of relative prosperity and peace.
But luck can only take us so far.
The United States is not perfect. I'm not naive enough to think that we are a peaceful nation. In fact, it's the opposite. Since November 11/21, 1620, the Pilgrims decided to use fists and guns as diplomacy. We rebelled against the mightiest European empire and rend our nation into two. Whether it's a predilection to violence or it is somewhere written in our DNA, the human race is a contentious lot and glaringly moreso here in good ole' Muricah.
I'm not going to ramble on how this is a watershed moment because frankly, nothing has changed. We are in no different place than we were when James Holmes went on his pre-meditated rampage. Columbine. Fort Hood. Seattle cafe. Thurston High School. Gabby Giffords. Nothing has changed.
Don't confuse my logic with emotion. I have shed my own private tears thinking about those affected. I have three children of my own and can barely stand to see them have a cold. I cannot fathom the grief these communities are facing. However, until we are honest with ourselves, nothing will change.
We embrace violence. We extol violence by calling people patriots, martyrs and heroes. We talk of warriors, being tough, fighting through the pain and shedding our blood on the proverbial battlefield, whether that battlefield is real, on the playing field or even in business.
^^^^^
This is us. This is you. This is me. This is our nation. Until we have our "moment of clarity" and see what is actually going on here, we will continue on our violent ways.
What comes from these events on a policy level, I cannot guess at. I hope it's a thoughtful and comprehensive approach and not a knee jerk reaction. Gun control. Mental health. Federal regulation of arms. 2nd amendment revisions. They're all prescriptions addressing symptoms and not the underlying cause.
I'm waiting for the day we can have a rational and lucid conversation that isn't hijacked by soundbytes from pro or anti gun lobbying groups. Neither side is helping here. It's a terrible self-sustaining feedback loop that does not appear to be at its crescendo.
As lucky as we are, I'd trade it away for some hope and action towards a better world for my sons.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Bi-polar express
This isn't the sequel to the beloved children's story Polar Express. I'm fresh out of silver bells.
This is more about why we can't seem to get our proverbial poop together when it comes to the nature of political discourse.
For full disclosure, I'm a socially liberal fiscally conservative kind of guy. We actually exist, unlike other mythical creatures such as unicorns, cerberus, and skilled Twinkie factory workers. Needless to say, I am in a perpetual state of imbalance as I have to deal with my heart and head constantly.
The impetus for this post was me finishing Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin. If you have any interest in history, this has been my favorite book so far. This is coming from a guy who found books about salt, cod, and the Sistine Chapel to be fascinating. So when you add in one bad mother like Lincoln, our greatest struggle as a nation in the Civil War, and impeccable story telling by a Pulitzer Prize winning author, it becomes a great read. The story telling is so good I at one point caught myself saying, "Hopefully he doesn't get John Wilkes Boothed in this story!"
Spoiler alert: The North still wins.
So what does a book that covers the life of Lincoln's supreme political genius have to do with the current political state?
First, politics have always divided any group of diverse people.
Second, as bad as you think we have it, it was no where near as bad as it was between the Whigs (and Republicans) and Democrats.
History lesson time!
Massachusetts Senator Sumner was literally caned within an inch of his life in 1856 during the Kansas-Missouri crisis by Congressman Preston Brooks because of personal verbal attacks on Brooks' cousin that were made in a speech by Sumner. This set the stage for the bloodiest conflict our nation has ever been a part of.
Third: someone needs to exhume Lincoln and most likely Jefferson and go all Jurassic Park cloning on their bones because we have a dearth of leadership from both sides. Let's just hope Lincoln doesn't velociraptor our faces because we've become as dumb as cattle
We've faced a revolution against the mightiest modern day empire, civil war that cleaved the nation in to two, two world wars, a Cold War that cost us trillions of dollars and nuclear proliferation, and direct attacks on American soil. Now we are faced with. . . (cue dramatic and foreboding music) the FISCAL CLIFF!
W.T.F.
This isn't a crisis. This is a glorified word problem that we solved in pre-algebra. Billy spends a $1.10 each day to sell apples but makes $0.90 selling apples. Is Billy running a good business? Let me think about this...
"Carry the one, subtract the two. Apply quadratic formula..." Answer: No.
I'm not going to blame the news machines, apparent demagoguery being played out by our politician leaders and radical actors that have hijacked our political system on both sides because blaming both sides that have the collective IQ of an empty mayonnaise jar won't get me anywhere.
(That's right, both sides a stupidly and utterly wrong. Both sides are beholden to minority interest holders. While we are at it, neither side has a mandate so do what the rest of us are doing and do your apparently god forsaken jobs.)
So here is what I propose:
First:
Let's use the government for the people and petition the EPA for the conservation of moderate politicians as a protected species. It fits all the requirements:
Their habitat is being destroyed (oh hai network news channels!), introductory species are competing for resources (voters incredulously supporting tea-party, far-left liberals) and their numbers are dwindling precipitously.
Move over Spotted Tree Owl and Yangtze River Dolphin, I give you the logic filled and reasonable legislator!
Second:
To all the partisan legislators, whenever you think of something to propose, I'd like you to follow these simple steps:
1. Put down the phone.
2. Find a gently used 2x4 or rubber mallet.
3. Bludgeon yourself until you lose consciousness.
4. Upon awakening, bludgeon yourself again.
5. Seek brain stem replacement therapy involving a bonobo or three-toed sloth.
Your muddled brains apparently can't look back at the bi-partisan proposal that was put forth and agreed to on a majority (albeit not a super majority) basis in 2010. All these machinations and lurchings towards a paltry tax rate increase on the devil incarnated wealthy and possible means testing of entitlements pales in comparison to the well thought out Simpson Bowles plan.
Why the general public, media outlets and remaining moderate politicians aren't shouting this from the rooftops is beyond me. The current negotiations feel like the doctors quibbling over the size of the gauze pad that is needed to stop a paper cut on the left arm but fail to see the gangrenous atrophied right arm with a staph infection running from radius to humerus.
Yes, many people on both sides aren't happy with everything. As I've found out in my business dealings, that's usually the first step in the right direction. So let's as a nation do our best to remove ourselves from pledges to people named Grover and something called Progressive Change Campaign Committee.
As an aside, the only pledge I'd make to something named Grover would have to involve Sesame Street and looking forward to sunny days.
Also, a pledge? Really? The last pledge I made was to not let stinky girls with cooties in my forts while stock piling dirt clods to fend off the inevitable zombie coyote attack my friends had witnessed on the other side of the canal where we lived in Mesa.
Put down the Zealtory for Dummies and use the neurons that our supreme maker gave us. Now isn't the time to be penny wise, pound foolish.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Random thoughts
My random thoughts for all to enjoy:
#1 - Every time I hear a talking head mention the word fiscal cliff, I instantly picture SNL's "Toonces, the driving cat" skit.
#2 - If I could magically transform in to an animal, I think it would have to be a sea otter. Playing in kelp forests, laying on my back and eating seafood all day and having everyone adore me for how cute I am. Only downer would be the inevitable bludgeoning to death with a crowbar by fur trappers. I think I'd take my chances.
#3 - Another year I remain undrafted by NFL teams despite having great hands and decent 40 times.
#4 - Looking back to pre-cell phone days, I'm amazed more people didn't wind up lost, kidnapped, or eaten by roaming packs of rabid raccoons. How did we ever get around? Was it like one huge game of Marco Polo?
#5 - I can't be the only person who tries/tried slip in non sequitur words into presentations, term papers or essays just to see if anyone picks up on it. Am I?
#6 - Rapacious. It's a fun word to say. Just say it. I'll wait..... See what I mean?
#7 - Red Vines > Twizzlers.
#8 - The yogurt craze is officially out of hand. Greek, austrailian, swiss, frozen, non-fat, low-fat, pro-biotic, yogurt bars, yogurt tubes. Can we just ease back on this a bit folks? It's fermented milk product made by bacteria. That's it.
#9 - I'd like to be cremated. I can't stand the thought being devoured by worms. Partly because I just picture Earthworm Jim eating me bite by bite the entire time.
#10 - If I had my choice of a pet sidekick, I think I'd go with an organ-grinding fez-wearing monkey over a wisecracking parrot.
#11 - Let's say aliens do exist and know that we exist and have the capability of intergalactic space travel, do you think they'd be kind enough to bring us a Harry & David gift basket prior to introducing some rare cosmic strain of smallpox that would ravage our human population?
#12 - The platypus. Part duck, part beaver, 100% WTF Explain that one to me creationists.
#13 - If you're not watching Homeland, I don't think I can be your friend.
#14 - Why do English/British singers lose their accent when they sing?
#16 - What happened to #15?
#17 - I'm relatively good at math and relatively good at applying my math skills to everyday problems but I still haven't found a daily use for the quadratic formula. My math teacher lied to me. I'm very disappointed with you Mrs. Fullerton.
#18 - So we've had this zombie fascination and vampire fascination. Ever wonder if the werewolves of the world are working their crappy 9-5 jobs as FedEx drivers or Applebee's servers waiting for their big break in Hollywood?
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
To create is divine,
To reproduce is human. Man Ray, circa 1968.
An interesting thought by an interesting fellow who's more well known for his modernist art than his philosophical comments but it struck a chord with me when I began thinking about food trucks.
Yes. Food trucks. Yuck wagons. Street meat. Vagabond veal vendors. Whatever you'd like to call them.
If for some reason you've been living off the grid, haven't watched the Food Network in 5 years, or live in an area with less than 3 persons per square mile, you might not know what a food truck is. I'll be succinct in my description of a food truck.
It's a truck that pulls up to a densely populated place at specific times and serves food out of the side of the it's window. That's it.
A glorified carpetbagger.
You don't agree?
Catchy name? Yarp.
Promises of something new? Mhmm
Able to flee on demand should business slow down? Check.
Trying to extract the gold from the fool? To an extent.
Now before you grab your torches, pitchforks and bags-o-tar-and-feather, I'm as big of a fan of food trucks as the next guy. I've been eating at them since I first saw a jolly Mexican entrepreneur selling poletas on Main Street in Mesa, AZ outside of the Goodwill. I love halaal food trucks in NYC and my favorite truck in Boston is Momogoose. (Mormon waterfowl you say? No, just some tasty korean sold out of a pretty red truck.)
This craze has taken off within the past 3 or so years. However, it's hardly anything that is new or fancy. I'm hesitant to call it a fad as food trucks have been around for nearly 150 years a la Charles Goodnight and the Chuckwagon. Mr. Goodnight was an entrepreneurial spirit and wanted to provide food for our country's westward drive after the Civil War in attempts to fulfill our Manifest Destiny.
I don't know about you but if some dude rolled up with sticky buns, hot coffee, and a nicely seared flank steak, I too would go raise an army, declare myself General El Guapo, (bandoliers and handle bar moustache sold separately) and try to overthrow the Panama government myself. Now, I'm not going to give Charles all the credit in America's westward expansion but having decent food certainly helps.
Think this guy ever had to deal with people pestering him if it's free range beef or how well it pairs with an IPA?
So why the craze now? In a world that is arguably too obsessed with the latest and greatest trinkets, baubles and fads, why has this 150 year old idea taken us, the consumer, by firestorm?
Better yet, why do the hipsters that patronize these food trucks sneer at me when I stand in the same line as them?
Newsflash: wearing Chuck Taylors, $200 pencil leg jeans, bold rimmed glasses that serve no optical purpose, and the latest vintage t-shirt doesn't make you look cool. You look like les mouflons that Urban Outfitter had in mind when they slapped together their fall catalog.
While I am unable to answer the latter question as it's physically impossible to impart logic into the 5-inch space between hipsters' ears, let's look at the former.
Food trucks provide cheap food. However, it's not inordinately cheaper than their bricks & mortar restaurant cousins. The food, while tasty, is mass prepared on some level and is limited in their ability to improvise. Sticking a sprig of thyme on my pre-made chicken doesn't make it inspiring, it's just good culinary sense. It's not really any faster than fast food joints either. It's a concept that's been around for ages and been reproduced ad nauseam. That's what we humans do according to Man Ray.
So what then? Is it simply the combination of the above: relatively cheap, relatively fast, and relatively tasty?
Have we been boiled down to just relative comparisons?
I don't think so. I think it's as simple as being in the open air, albeit for 10 minutes before we rush back to our land of cubes and beige carpeting.
Inside this "outside" theory are many contributing characteristics. Is it an emotional response to each individual's experiences? Eating a burger and fries while sitting on the beach? Sitting around a campfire eating Dinty Moore stew with the family?
True story #1: I've eaten Dinty Moore stew that fell out of the bowl and onto a patch of sandy dirt that was probably contaminated with bat guano and cigarette butts and it tasted delicious. My brother can attest to this.
All because I was merely breathing the fresh air. I then tried it while sitting inside and it tasted like 3 day old cat food. Go ahead and try it. Just make sure the bat guano is aged properly.
Is it our biological past speaking to us? Is it the cosmic echoes of a cave man sitting over a fresh kill while discussing the effects of global warming and declining mammoth population that is being channeled through us?
Possibly the rebel in each of us saying to "The Man" that:
"No, you will not seat me next to the annoying couple that only talk about their facebook updates and how tasty their potent potables are or next to the kitchen door so I can be maimed by the egregiously large appetizers possibly falling onto my lap! I choose the great outdoors known as the park bench that is used on a nightly basis by drifters as their personal urinals or their thrones in attempts to chase the dragon."
Is it simply human beings desire to be in motion?
Whatever it is, food simply tastes better outside. When you're offered the choice of sitting outside or inside, what do you pick? Even when it's the view of a parking lot or highway, we gravitate towards the outdoors. So forget the lavender infused dry rub or cage-free asparagus tacos.
Just add a little mixture of 3 parts nitrogen and 1 part oxygen with a splash of water vapor, dusting of carbon dioxide and a pinch xenon* and I'll be there Mr. Chuckwagon.
* - that's roughly the composition of the air we breathe for those unable to piece that asinine reference together you knuckle dragging mouth breathers
An interesting thought by an interesting fellow who's more well known for his modernist art than his philosophical comments but it struck a chord with me when I began thinking about food trucks.
Yes. Food trucks. Yuck wagons. Street meat. Vagabond veal vendors. Whatever you'd like to call them.
If for some reason you've been living off the grid, haven't watched the Food Network in 5 years, or live in an area with less than 3 persons per square mile, you might not know what a food truck is. I'll be succinct in my description of a food truck.
It's a truck that pulls up to a densely populated place at specific times and serves food out of the side of the it's window. That's it.
A glorified carpetbagger.
You don't agree?
Catchy name? Yarp.
Promises of something new? Mhmm
Able to flee on demand should business slow down? Check.
Trying to extract the gold from the fool? To an extent.
Now before you grab your torches, pitchforks and bags-o-tar-and-feather, I'm as big of a fan of food trucks as the next guy. I've been eating at them since I first saw a jolly Mexican entrepreneur selling poletas on Main Street in Mesa, AZ outside of the Goodwill. I love halaal food trucks in NYC and my favorite truck in Boston is Momogoose. (Mormon waterfowl you say? No, just some tasty korean sold out of a pretty red truck.)
This craze has taken off within the past 3 or so years. However, it's hardly anything that is new or fancy. I'm hesitant to call it a fad as food trucks have been around for nearly 150 years a la Charles Goodnight and the Chuckwagon. Mr. Goodnight was an entrepreneurial spirit and wanted to provide food for our country's westward drive after the Civil War in attempts to fulfill our Manifest Destiny.
I don't know about you but if some dude rolled up with sticky buns, hot coffee, and a nicely seared flank steak, I too would go raise an army, declare myself General El Guapo, (bandoliers and handle bar moustache sold separately) and try to overthrow the Panama government myself. Now, I'm not going to give Charles all the credit in America's westward expansion but having decent food certainly helps.
Think this guy ever had to deal with people pestering him if it's free range beef or how well it pairs with an IPA?
So why the craze now? In a world that is arguably too obsessed with the latest and greatest trinkets, baubles and fads, why has this 150 year old idea taken us, the consumer, by firestorm?
Better yet, why do the hipsters that patronize these food trucks sneer at me when I stand in the same line as them?
Newsflash: wearing Chuck Taylors, $200 pencil leg jeans, bold rimmed glasses that serve no optical purpose, and the latest vintage t-shirt doesn't make you look cool. You look like les mouflons that Urban Outfitter had in mind when they slapped together their fall catalog.
While I am unable to answer the latter question as it's physically impossible to impart logic into the 5-inch space between hipsters' ears, let's look at the former.
Food trucks provide cheap food. However, it's not inordinately cheaper than their bricks & mortar restaurant cousins. The food, while tasty, is mass prepared on some level and is limited in their ability to improvise. Sticking a sprig of thyme on my pre-made chicken doesn't make it inspiring, it's just good culinary sense. It's not really any faster than fast food joints either. It's a concept that's been around for ages and been reproduced ad nauseam. That's what we humans do according to Man Ray.
So what then? Is it simply the combination of the above: relatively cheap, relatively fast, and relatively tasty?
Have we been boiled down to just relative comparisons?
I don't think so. I think it's as simple as being in the open air, albeit for 10 minutes before we rush back to our land of cubes and beige carpeting.
Inside this "outside" theory are many contributing characteristics. Is it an emotional response to each individual's experiences? Eating a burger and fries while sitting on the beach? Sitting around a campfire eating Dinty Moore stew with the family?
True story #1: I've eaten Dinty Moore stew that fell out of the bowl and onto a patch of sandy dirt that was probably contaminated with bat guano and cigarette butts and it tasted delicious. My brother can attest to this.
All because I was merely breathing the fresh air. I then tried it while sitting inside and it tasted like 3 day old cat food. Go ahead and try it. Just make sure the bat guano is aged properly.
Is it our biological past speaking to us? Is it the cosmic echoes of a cave man sitting over a fresh kill while discussing the effects of global warming and declining mammoth population that is being channeled through us?
Possibly the rebel in each of us saying to "The Man" that:
"No, you will not seat me next to the annoying couple that only talk about their facebook updates and how tasty their potent potables are or next to the kitchen door so I can be maimed by the egregiously large appetizers possibly falling onto my lap! I choose the great outdoors known as the park bench that is used on a nightly basis by drifters as their personal urinals or their thrones in attempts to chase the dragon."
Is it simply human beings desire to be in motion?
Whatever it is, food simply tastes better outside. When you're offered the choice of sitting outside or inside, what do you pick? Even when it's the view of a parking lot or highway, we gravitate towards the outdoors. So forget the lavender infused dry rub or cage-free asparagus tacos.
Just add a little mixture of 3 parts nitrogen and 1 part oxygen with a splash of water vapor, dusting of carbon dioxide and a pinch xenon* and I'll be there Mr. Chuckwagon.
* - that's roughly the composition of the air we breathe for those unable to piece that asinine reference together you knuckle dragging mouth breathers
Monday, November 19, 2012
I can't hear you
Literally, I can't hear you.
My hearing isn't all that great as many people can attest to. However, there is a distinct lack of conversing going on. The moment I step onto my 8:17 am train from East Weymouth an eerie silence falls over me yet I'm surrounded by what I think are living beings. Jury is still out on that last part.
The train in generally packed so you're lucky if you grab a seat. While getting settled, it's highly advisable to not make any startling movements, look others in the eye and under not circumstances, do not speak as I've found this rare breed of homo erectus to be highly irritated by noises not produced by ear buds and Pandora.
Just put your head down, play Bad Piggies or pretend that you're reading cnn.com for the seventh time that morning because may god have mercy on your soul if you disturb someone on their tablet/smart phone.
This isn't normal folks. It's disturbing. Without even blinking, I can name a handful of things that I immediately share with my fellow commuters.
- We all live on the South Shore
- We all hate traffic along 3/3A and think that the lights are all timed horribly
- We commute using public transportation
- We are generally working class (upper, upper-middle, middle)
- We all dislike paying $4 per parking spot for an otherwise unused piece of land outside of the hours 7am to 6pm.
So right there, I have 10-15 things I can talk about.
Where you work, where you live, what do you do for a living, where's your favorite beach, why are there so many Dunkin' Donuts, and why do they call english muffins NEW ENGLAND muffins here in Boston?
(More on this later because this is just odd. I get it, we have an ego problem up here but Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown and the Red Coats aren't planning another invasion.)
I can generally carry on a conversation with anyone.
Lately I've found it more and more difficult to just randomly strike up conversations. Every blue moon, I find an exception to which they go the opposite end of the spectrum. They'll become entirely too excited to talk to which I'll just give them a Vulcan death grip, rest their head against the window, close their eyes and walk away like Jason Bourne.
We're social animals. (I use the term animals loosely as I'm sure there are numerous meerkats reading this right now and saying: "WTF bro, don't put me in the same box as Sean Hannity/Keith Olberman. FU broski. I'm going to come find you in Boston, bring my cousin Sal and go all rabies on your face.")
We're one of the lucky species that gets enjoyment out of being with other people. The chemicals in our brain and our body literally change when we interact with other carbon-based lifeforms.
Physically, mentally, emotionally. We are in constant search for validation of some sort. But that's where the problem starts. We've seemed to have gone overboard about self-validation. Why else would we post how much we love pumpkin lattes from or let people know that they just ate 46 ounces of steak and aren't feeling very good.
"Oh, yum!" "Dude, that's awesome" "Your poop is going to be amaze-balls bro"
(There. I think I just encapsulated 87.9% of all facebook replies in the next week in some form. Go ahead, look at your Twitter accounts or facebook posts. I'd wager I'm fairly close. They're usually some variation of one line replies. I know I'm guilty of it at times.)
Here's the problem that I have with that.
#1 - We are entering a new dynamic where we are literally changing the structure of our intricately and highly evolved brains by each passing day. Sherry Turkle at MIT has done a wonderful job studying. I highly recommend her research/books.
#2 - Normal conversations are becoming abnormal.
Here's my cro-magnon hypothesis: We've been gorging on white noise for the short history of facebook, myspace, classmates, twitter, chat rooms (lolwut, chatroomz, you a perp Daniel?) that we've lost the ability to be in the presence of another human being and start conversing.
(Notice that I didn't say talking as conversing requires you to actually hear the other person and respond in like kind and not just spout off "Bears are looking good this year").
This white noise has been packaged in the form of sterile comments with an attempt at adding topical humor or a dash of wit. Generally, it comes across like a lukewarm bowl of cream of wheat.
So here is what I propose. Once a week, try to go out of your way and strike up a random conversation. It's good the soul. It's good for your brain. Heck, you might even make a new friend that doesn't exist in the form of binary and html code.
And no, saying to the cashier at CVS that you forgot your CVS savers card and then asking her to type in your phone number doesn't count.
My hearing isn't all that great as many people can attest to. However, there is a distinct lack of conversing going on. The moment I step onto my 8:17 am train from East Weymouth an eerie silence falls over me yet I'm surrounded by what I think are living beings. Jury is still out on that last part.
The train in generally packed so you're lucky if you grab a seat. While getting settled, it's highly advisable to not make any startling movements, look others in the eye and under not circumstances, do not speak as I've found this rare breed of homo erectus to be highly irritated by noises not produced by ear buds and Pandora.
Just put your head down, play Bad Piggies or pretend that you're reading cnn.com for the seventh time that morning because may god have mercy on your soul if you disturb someone on their tablet/smart phone.
This isn't normal folks. It's disturbing. Without even blinking, I can name a handful of things that I immediately share with my fellow commuters.
- We all live on the South Shore
- We all hate traffic along 3/3A and think that the lights are all timed horribly
- We commute using public transportation
- We are generally working class (upper, upper-middle, middle)
- We all dislike paying $4 per parking spot for an otherwise unused piece of land outside of the hours 7am to 6pm.
So right there, I have 10-15 things I can talk about.
Where you work, where you live, what do you do for a living, where's your favorite beach, why are there so many Dunkin' Donuts, and why do they call english muffins NEW ENGLAND muffins here in Boston?
(More on this later because this is just odd. I get it, we have an ego problem up here but Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown and the Red Coats aren't planning another invasion.)
I can generally carry on a conversation with anyone.
Lately I've found it more and more difficult to just randomly strike up conversations. Every blue moon, I find an exception to which they go the opposite end of the spectrum. They'll become entirely too excited to talk to which I'll just give them a Vulcan death grip, rest their head against the window, close their eyes and walk away like Jason Bourne.
We're social animals. (I use the term animals loosely as I'm sure there are numerous meerkats reading this right now and saying: "WTF bro, don't put me in the same box as Sean Hannity/Keith Olberman. FU broski. I'm going to come find you in Boston, bring my cousin Sal and go all rabies on your face.")
We're one of the lucky species that gets enjoyment out of being with other people. The chemicals in our brain and our body literally change when we interact with other carbon-based lifeforms.
Physically, mentally, emotionally. We are in constant search for validation of some sort. But that's where the problem starts. We've seemed to have gone overboard about self-validation. Why else would we post how much we love pumpkin lattes from or let people know that they just ate 46 ounces of steak and aren't feeling very good.
"Oh, yum!" "Dude, that's awesome" "Your poop is going to be amaze-balls bro"
(There. I think I just encapsulated 87.9% of all facebook replies in the next week in some form. Go ahead, look at your Twitter accounts or facebook posts. I'd wager I'm fairly close. They're usually some variation of one line replies. I know I'm guilty of it at times.)
Here's the problem that I have with that.
#1 - We are entering a new dynamic where we are literally changing the structure of our intricately and highly evolved brains by each passing day. Sherry Turkle at MIT has done a wonderful job studying. I highly recommend her research/books.
#2 - Normal conversations are becoming abnormal.
Here's my cro-magnon hypothesis: We've been gorging on white noise for the short history of facebook, myspace, classmates, twitter, chat rooms (lolwut, chatroomz, you a perp Daniel?) that we've lost the ability to be in the presence of another human being and start conversing.
(Notice that I didn't say talking as conversing requires you to actually hear the other person and respond in like kind and not just spout off "Bears are looking good this year").
This white noise has been packaged in the form of sterile comments with an attempt at adding topical humor or a dash of wit. Generally, it comes across like a lukewarm bowl of cream of wheat.
So here is what I propose. Once a week, try to go out of your way and strike up a random conversation. It's good the soul. It's good for your brain. Heck, you might even make a new friend that doesn't exist in the form of binary and html code.
And no, saying to the cashier at CVS that you forgot your CVS savers card and then asking her to type in your phone number doesn't count.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Step 1...
Write a blog.
Or is step 1 to have people to care about what you have to say and then step 2 would be to write a blog. Chicken and egg indeed.
To start, it's probably best to introduce myself. I'm a thirty-something year old male that is as nondescript as a Kansas cornfield. I have all my appendages (though I often wish for a prehensile tail) and enjoy drinking Mexican soft drinks. One hasn't lived until you've had a Mandarin Jarrito or Coke bottled in Mexico. Hecho en Mexico. Three beautiful life-giving words.
Except for the whole "I'm going to accelerate your early onset diabetes" part but I digress.
The words not so expertly put together above is me in a nutshell. Disjointed. Lacking focus.
There's not much that I do that has any rhyme. I seem to contradict my every action with some sort of Newtonian equal and opposite reaction. My physics teachers would be proud of me as I've turned into a self-contained system without mass or energy loss. Mass gain is an issue that I haven't yet been able to explain save for my affection for any combination involving eggs, flour, sugar, and butter.
So this is it. My blog. My random thoughts transcribed. There won't be a theme to these posts. Logic may or may not enter this realm as well. It's nothing more than a brief uncensored glimpse into the inner workings of my slightly off-axis mind as seen through my lenses that have been influenced by the product of public schooling and deep and abiding love of Red Vines.
Bon apetit!
Or is step 1 to have people to care about what you have to say and then step 2 would be to write a blog. Chicken and egg indeed.
To start, it's probably best to introduce myself. I'm a thirty-something year old male that is as nondescript as a Kansas cornfield. I have all my appendages (though I often wish for a prehensile tail) and enjoy drinking Mexican soft drinks. One hasn't lived until you've had a Mandarin Jarrito or Coke bottled in Mexico. Hecho en Mexico. Three beautiful life-giving words.
Except for the whole "I'm going to accelerate your early onset diabetes" part but I digress.
The words not so expertly put together above is me in a nutshell. Disjointed. Lacking focus.
There's not much that I do that has any rhyme. I seem to contradict my every action with some sort of Newtonian equal and opposite reaction. My physics teachers would be proud of me as I've turned into a self-contained system without mass or energy loss. Mass gain is an issue that I haven't yet been able to explain save for my affection for any combination involving eggs, flour, sugar, and butter.
So this is it. My blog. My random thoughts transcribed. There won't be a theme to these posts. Logic may or may not enter this realm as well. It's nothing more than a brief uncensored glimpse into the inner workings of my slightly off-axis mind as seen through my lenses that have been influenced by the product of public schooling and deep and abiding love of Red Vines.
Bon apetit!
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