My partner, who apparently grew up in a semi charmed Wonder Years life, has inspired me to come up with our first topic of the week. This week’s topic is restaurants we go to and then accidentally eat their food.
I think the most obvious examples of this is Fridays. While talking to several of the gentleman of the evening that are my roommates they reminded me that the price paid for a delicious mudslide is perhaps too high when chomping down a burger that has a bun which worked out harder than you did earlier that day. Its like eating at a student run restaurant except you aren’t required to be nice anymore.
Those of you who just clicked on my name to see if I am a guy and still drinking mudslides should quickly shut up because we men are guilty of nothing if not admiring the drinks that girls get to drink. The universe has doomed us to having lighter fluid as male drinks, its like going to a museum but all of our art is abstract sculpture.
While in the bay city of San Diego we ate a Fridays before going out and I was struck again on the fact that, outside of the beer it was remarkably similar to Jack in the Box. In fact its like seeing Katherine Zeta-Jones when you were expecting Jessica Biel. You are still happy cause you are drinking you just know it could have been better. Even though Jessica Biel has the skin color of a tangelo.
Now much like everyone else, I like to get a couple of shots of tequila before a movie that may not be that good. Put down the 12 steps, I saw those and took the elevator. We stopped in to a Fridays for a quick drink before Salvation (which is the only movie to ever hope that Michael Bay is coming to their rescue) and once again Fridays appeared to be the one place that everyone in the world gets their first job from.
Though Moniker talked to his family I am of the nature that if the television wasn’t on I just assume mom was mad at me. I cant fathom eating local neighborhood chain number one with anything less than fourteen televisions. That way at least the sweet neon glow can comfort me and my mudslide.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Apps
Remember the days when you were able to sit around the circular elevated table at your neighborhood Applebee’s surrounded by your friends. Maybe your woodshop teacher with his “out of his league” hot wife was in a booth nearby. John “Cougar” Mellencamp was a staple on the juke box and espn played solemnly on a 24” Panasonic television that could only be truly appreciated with the 3d glasses you stole from the IGA video store. A couple years before you found yourself in this moment you were likely hitting puberty and you no doubt had some sort of Patrick Swayze-esque fantasy about romantically (if not sexually) intertwining your senses with a local bouncer or dance instructor. Those thoughts have passed slightly but sitting here amongst the patrons of your local bar and grill chain you can’t help but wonder if it still could happen.
This is a simpler time - a time when things were overly important and consequentially insignificant. 90291, the original not this new fandangled show full of gorgeous people and that great actor from The Wire, was the preeminent litmus test for cool. Sideburns were, without irony, in fashion. Cellphones were on the verge of dominance and Apps were a cool way of saying appetizer.
An app, in this universe, was an order of heavily breaded- sodium infused- flash fried-mozzarella “sticks” with a side of ranch dressing generously accompanied with a tray of russet potato halves adorned with full fat sour cream and melted cheddar cheese substitute. An App was not an App as we know it now. An App would not tell us, no matter how many times we pushed it, shook it or updated it what the tides where doing in Costa Rica, what my friends were up to at that very moment, or how many calories I could possibly burn if I did, in fact, “intertwine my senses” with Barbra the local Applebee’s waitress. In fact the only similarity between the Apps of yore and today’s manifestation is the fact that Apps, digital or fried, bring people together. When was the last time you were at a dinner and saw someone order an appetizer alone… Outside of Europe?
Joined over a small portion of death on a plate people become more lively and let’s face it more fun. You may know all that you need to know about someone in the 42 character spaces provided in a twitter post on your iPhone but you don’t get to see their face as they sit across from you over a plate of jalapeño popper and lie to you about how they didn’t mean to sleep with your ex. The digital world of ones and zeroes just can’t provide that. Remember the Days when and App was food - Those were the days of miracle and wonder.
This is a simpler time - a time when things were overly important and consequentially insignificant. 90291, the original not this new fandangled show full of gorgeous people and that great actor from The Wire, was the preeminent litmus test for cool. Sideburns were, without irony, in fashion. Cellphones were on the verge of dominance and Apps were a cool way of saying appetizer.
An app, in this universe, was an order of heavily breaded- sodium infused- flash fried-mozzarella “sticks” with a side of ranch dressing generously accompanied with a tray of russet potato halves adorned with full fat sour cream and melted cheddar cheese substitute. An App was not an App as we know it now. An App would not tell us, no matter how many times we pushed it, shook it or updated it what the tides where doing in Costa Rica, what my friends were up to at that very moment, or how many calories I could possibly burn if I did, in fact, “intertwine my senses” with Barbra the local Applebee’s waitress. In fact the only similarity between the Apps of yore and today’s manifestation is the fact that Apps, digital or fried, bring people together. When was the last time you were at a dinner and saw someone order an appetizer alone… Outside of Europe?
Joined over a small portion of death on a plate people become more lively and let’s face it more fun. You may know all that you need to know about someone in the 42 character spaces provided in a twitter post on your iPhone but you don’t get to see their face as they sit across from you over a plate of jalapeño popper and lie to you about how they didn’t mean to sleep with your ex. The digital world of ones and zeroes just can’t provide that. Remember the Days when and App was food - Those were the days of miracle and wonder.
Hello
Good Morning. Welcome. I am happy, though I cannot see you, too see you hear. In contrast to Serendipitously Salacious, or SS from here on out (not to be mistaken for those horrible people that did horrible things in the past – This SS does horrible things in the present.) I would like to have a bit of a conversation with the three people that regularly read this blog. To be fair two of those people are directly responsible for siring SS and are only counted because without them we would be left with one reader (outside of yourself)
The point of this blog is loosely based on the concept that there is no point. No specific direction or tact. They are thoughts and some rantings, hopefully more of the former than the latter but the hope is that a post here may serve, not only as a mind blowing moment in your life but possibly a prompt for discussion – here or elsewhere.
I again in contrast to my dear SS have a tendency to be constricted in my verbosity. Thank you for reading our home.
The point of this blog is loosely based on the concept that there is no point. No specific direction or tact. They are thoughts and some rantings, hopefully more of the former than the latter but the hope is that a post here may serve, not only as a mind blowing moment in your life but possibly a prompt for discussion – here or elsewhere.
I again in contrast to my dear SS have a tendency to be constricted in my verbosity. Thank you for reading our home.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Captain Planet
There is a lot of thought on who one would be if a Planeteer. If you haven't thought about it, you definitely should because it could become one of the seminal moments in your life. A) Figure out what you want to be when you grow up, B) Figure out that you are not a fan of the current teenage drama (for me Dawson's Creek and it was the best way I could figure out to talk to the popular girl in 8th grade, note to self: girls only like to talk about to ACTUALLY be friends) and C) what Planeteer would you be?
Very often people will join up with a cool power but really when you think about it, Heart is the best power if you ever want to date someone. You would never have a bad date as Heart, "What you think that dog is really cute, what's so weird is that I can help you talk to it?" OR "You've always been a fan of Shamu, want to learn what her favorite color is?"
The rest of the options kind of become moot at that point. Earth is only helpful if you want to see your power explained away in the most boring possibly terms by Cal Tech engineers. Then again there is the immediate pick up line of, "Did you just feel the Earth move, cause I did. Also that was me...."
Fire is not helpful unless there are candles on the first date. Wind is only good if you like sailing and water is great...if the slide you are on just isn't fast enough. I hereby rescind my war waged against the oddly sensitive kid who was Heart. I admit that you are the secret weapon of the team as long as girls are fine that you oddly looked like them.
Very often people will join up with a cool power but really when you think about it, Heart is the best power if you ever want to date someone. You would never have a bad date as Heart, "What you think that dog is really cute, what's so weird is that I can help you talk to it?" OR "You've always been a fan of Shamu, want to learn what her favorite color is?"
The rest of the options kind of become moot at that point. Earth is only helpful if you want to see your power explained away in the most boring possibly terms by Cal Tech engineers. Then again there is the immediate pick up line of, "Did you just feel the Earth move, cause I did. Also that was me...."
Fire is not helpful unless there are candles on the first date. Wind is only good if you like sailing and water is great...if the slide you are on just isn't fast enough. I hereby rescind my war waged against the oddly sensitive kid who was Heart. I admit that you are the secret weapon of the team as long as girls are fine that you oddly looked like them.
Monday, May 25, 2009
A Thorough Rethinking
Getting sunburned behind your knees is the worst pain of all time. There I have said it.
Now let us all concurrently acknowledge that the claim I just made was a bigger overstatement than saying Christian Bale probably tried to beat McG to death several times on the set of Salvation. Let us take a moment to consider Bale, who is not really the LeBron of the acting world having a conversation with McG, whose credits to date are Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle.
"My name is John Connor, I just dont understand why a nuclear bomb would kill someone and then defy its own logic mid-mushroom cloud."
"Christian for the last time, I needed the soundtrack to match and its called acting cause you can stop. Drink a Diet Coke for the sake of god."
"Were I not already on the hunt for T-600s I would stab you to death with your clavicle."
But honestly, getting sunburned behind the knees is like reaching the third commercial break in Heroes, its going to be so good when it goes away and you hadn't really noticed how frequent they are but for the love of television I cant see another offer for Vonage. I believe that one is unable to protect the vaunted behind the knee area from the suns vengeful ways. Its our own personal death star port.
I mean I put on enough sunscreen yesterday to protect Macauley Culkin from a sunburn and yet when I woke up yesterday there it was, the small pang of the universe smiling down. Really I felt it when the shower went on and I had to yell, "Oh sweet Christ no" to most of downtown San Diego. So it is simple, the random pains of life are in the following order;
1. Stubbing ones toe in the middle of the night, hard, that kind of hard that makes you whisper in to the night, "Broke it, definitely broken this time, son of a bitch."
2. Closing any part of you in anything with a hinge. The brief moment of violence is enough to make you want to sneeze with pain right now.
3. Biting ones lip and or tongue. It feels like you have spontaneous syphilis and that the pain will never ever go away so I hope you like soup and hate sour candy.
4. Sunburn behind knees. Also acceptable are sunburned under your eyes or anywhere that you absolutely know you put on sunscreen but forget to reapply after "extensive toweling."
5. Waking up with a crick in your neck or your back messed up. It would be way cooler if you were in the octagon while sleeping but the fact that the pain is more than likely due to having your face shoved in to a mattress is a little demoralizing for that early in the morning.
Now let us all concurrently acknowledge that the claim I just made was a bigger overstatement than saying Christian Bale probably tried to beat McG to death several times on the set of Salvation. Let us take a moment to consider Bale, who is not really the LeBron of the acting world having a conversation with McG, whose credits to date are Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle.
"My name is John Connor, I just dont understand why a nuclear bomb would kill someone and then defy its own logic mid-mushroom cloud."
"Christian for the last time, I needed the soundtrack to match and its called acting cause you can stop. Drink a Diet Coke for the sake of god."
"Were I not already on the hunt for T-600s I would stab you to death with your clavicle."
But honestly, getting sunburned behind the knees is like reaching the third commercial break in Heroes, its going to be so good when it goes away and you hadn't really noticed how frequent they are but for the love of television I cant see another offer for Vonage. I believe that one is unable to protect the vaunted behind the knee area from the suns vengeful ways. Its our own personal death star port.
I mean I put on enough sunscreen yesterday to protect Macauley Culkin from a sunburn and yet when I woke up yesterday there it was, the small pang of the universe smiling down. Really I felt it when the shower went on and I had to yell, "Oh sweet Christ no" to most of downtown San Diego. So it is simple, the random pains of life are in the following order;
1. Stubbing ones toe in the middle of the night, hard, that kind of hard that makes you whisper in to the night, "Broke it, definitely broken this time, son of a bitch."
2. Closing any part of you in anything with a hinge. The brief moment of violence is enough to make you want to sneeze with pain right now.
3. Biting ones lip and or tongue. It feels like you have spontaneous syphilis and that the pain will never ever go away so I hope you like soup and hate sour candy.
4. Sunburn behind knees. Also acceptable are sunburned under your eyes or anywhere that you absolutely know you put on sunscreen but forget to reapply after "extensive toweling."
5. Waking up with a crick in your neck or your back messed up. It would be way cooler if you were in the octagon while sleeping but the fact that the pain is more than likely due to having your face shoved in to a mattress is a little demoralizing for that early in the morning.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The Danger Zone, without the Volleyball scene
Welcome to the inaugural post here at The Importance of Semantics. We here at TIS believe it to be of the utmost seriousness to take joy and/or rage at that which is probably not all that important. To accentuate this I would like to be upfront about the inaugural argument (there are more inaugurations here so far than for our rock star leader, who looks better in black and white photos than most of the Grand Canyon to Ansel Adams). There is no reason for places that know that more than 70 percent of their clientèle will be availing themselves of the adult beverage after the sun goes down and still having one urinal at child height.
Ladies and gentleman of the world lets be honest about men, we are of the mindset that anything can be done. I will take the yoke of oppression on my shoulders to say that when women leave us alone we come up with some of the greatest ideas that have ever seen the light of day. Women left us alone and we accidentally started a fire, women left us alone and we developed two versions of a sport that involve the loser being the one who cant stand up anymore cause he has been hit in the face too many times, women left us alone and we started noticing that peeing standing up may be one of the last great advantages of our gender.
So when you give us the option of peeing in something that may have been intended for the lollipop guild or the creepier parts of the cast of Carnivale we will not turn away. Having to pee in a bar is much akin to having to take a hypodermic needle taken out of your face, you will live if it doesnt happen right away but the sooner is always the better.
We are the gender that has always chosen to ford the river instead of paying the ridiculous fee and taking a ferry. So many digital oxen have died because of our persistence that I may consider adding an addendum to the next bill in the senate to repopulate the ones and zeros of oxen in the greater digital plains. When we see the lower urinal it becomes a protest to our very manliness, you think this will stop me, have you seen the backyard at a house party?
Splash zones aside, I would think that would be a different and totally unnecessary post, these lower targets are what get those kids who field balls on the driving range hit. There are voices out there that would cry injustice for the shorter population of the world but to this I say that on the fifth day, between the fish and the fowl, the Lord created stalls.
Relax and revel in the invention of seat covers, if Band of Brothers has taught us anything, its that the greater good is always more important especially when there is more than one penis involved. As my first official act of this blog I would present to you the reader the ban on urinals under 3 feet and the call to action. Nay, the call to freedom that is urinals that make a man more comfortable. A man more insistent on going back outside and avoiding eye contact with the attendant that makes it possible to smell like Calvin Kline while still having hands like the disturbing man in Grapes of Wrath.
Ladies and gentleman of the world lets be honest about men, we are of the mindset that anything can be done. I will take the yoke of oppression on my shoulders to say that when women leave us alone we come up with some of the greatest ideas that have ever seen the light of day. Women left us alone and we accidentally started a fire, women left us alone and we developed two versions of a sport that involve the loser being the one who cant stand up anymore cause he has been hit in the face too many times, women left us alone and we started noticing that peeing standing up may be one of the last great advantages of our gender.
So when you give us the option of peeing in something that may have been intended for the lollipop guild or the creepier parts of the cast of Carnivale we will not turn away. Having to pee in a bar is much akin to having to take a hypodermic needle taken out of your face, you will live if it doesnt happen right away but the sooner is always the better.
We are the gender that has always chosen to ford the river instead of paying the ridiculous fee and taking a ferry. So many digital oxen have died because of our persistence that I may consider adding an addendum to the next bill in the senate to repopulate the ones and zeros of oxen in the greater digital plains. When we see the lower urinal it becomes a protest to our very manliness, you think this will stop me, have you seen the backyard at a house party?
Splash zones aside, I would think that would be a different and totally unnecessary post, these lower targets are what get those kids who field balls on the driving range hit. There are voices out there that would cry injustice for the shorter population of the world but to this I say that on the fifth day, between the fish and the fowl, the Lord created stalls.
Relax and revel in the invention of seat covers, if Band of Brothers has taught us anything, its that the greater good is always more important especially when there is more than one penis involved. As my first official act of this blog I would present to you the reader the ban on urinals under 3 feet and the call to action. Nay, the call to freedom that is urinals that make a man more comfortable. A man more insistent on going back outside and avoiding eye contact with the attendant that makes it possible to smell like Calvin Kline while still having hands like the disturbing man in Grapes of Wrath.
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