A sherbet suprise...

I have a secret. I like milkshakes made with sherbet. Don’t ask why I just do. The server at Ben and Jerry’s always asked if I did not want a sorbet splash instead. I would have to reassure him that no, I want a milk shake made with sherbet. But what makes this a secret. I will openly admit this gastronomic choice and clearly the server at Ben and Jerry’s knows about my habit. Maybe it is not really a secret. It is not like I have been to area 51 and seen the alien bodies; then again would I tell you if I had? This is so confusing what makes a secret a secret then. Dictionary.com has 14 different definitions for it. Is secret it self a secret. This circular logic is giving me a headache. Some how I think the question can be answered in a simple expression: Knowledge is power. Secrets are the way in which we try and keep the power to ourselves. But what ungodly power is hidden in the knowledge that I like milkshakes made with sherbet? Now that is a secret.

Or maybe this is all just a big mistake and that we should be living by another colloquialism: the truth will set you free. And we would be better off if just did not keep secrets. I remember an evening in which I was taking part in a “waiting for Godot” conversation, not a conversation about the play but those that seem to have come from the play, ones in which you talk about things that you were not part of even though they act as if you know. And during this conversation a girl was reminiscing about how she had had told guy that she like him, at which he responded, “It will be ok, you will get over it.” Seeing that they are still friends today I guess she did. The guy then remarked “that was a good day, I am glad you said that, people should be honest like that.” I should come clean myself and admit that I do not get milkshakes made solely with sherbet; I get a scoop of ice cream thrown in for good measure.

cliché

Cliché – noun – (in art, literature, drama, etc.) a trite or hackneyed plot, character development, use of color, musical expression, etc.

It is so easy to pick on things that seem unoriginal, I mean how many times do we have to watch the good guy dodge a 1000 bullets. But at some point everything has beginning, a first telling, a point where the idea is conceived. For me it began with a cliché of a video. Before Spike Jonze was Spike Jonze he made the video, originally enough called Video Days. I love this movie while most people want to recreate the Seven Samurai, Annie Hall, or Citzen Cane, I wanted to be in this movie I wanted to make this movie (notice who also got his start in this video):



So as luck would have it I had a chance to make homage to this video and well it is nothing like the original, but it has is moments. It also became a tribute to friend who loves a good cliché and can never get enough of them. Filmed in a mere hour and no retakes were made, what a mistake. It is no surprise that result is a pretty terrible product. It needed a few scenes reshot and another five camera angles should have added to the filming, then again what can you expect, I didn't even bother to use a tripod, ughhhhh? One bad cliché…

Falling out of Love and Getting Stood Up

Do you remember the day when the things you loved doing became the things you did because you got paid to do them. I guess for most of us this is never an issue because we can never get paid to do what we love to do, but maybe we are the lucky ones. I can remember a night in between comedian performances I watched as a friend interviewed one of the comedians for a documentary. When I asked her what she was doing: she said she was making a short documentary for her job and it was there that you could see it, what had once been fun was now work. I had seen that look before; it was the same look I saw on friend few years after they had been lucky enough to get sponsored. They had walked away from skating and when asked why they said it was no longer fun when you working on getting better not because you wanted to progress but because you had to keep up.

In other misadventures….

So I need(ed) a ticket for this weekends football game and I did what all good ticket searchers did I went to facebook marketplace and craigslist to see what I could find. As usual everyone is asking way to much. I start emailing and messaging people with offers and no hits. Finally I find some guy selling 8 tickets, the ad says to call or text them with an offer so I text him. The following is a transcript of the text messaging conversation:

Me: I have 20 for 1

Them: Ill see you 1 for $20. How do you want get it?

Me: I am on campus till 7 but can meet u if in the area. After 7 and sat ill be in campus area. I don’t know what is easiest.

Them: Ill be on campus from 3 to 6. What to meet somewhere around then?

Me: That works call or text when on campus I can walk to where you are at.

Ill be on campus at 3. Whats ur name?

Me: Tim and yours? 3 works if got a location.

Them: Justin. Well meet at the reitz?

Me: Perfect down stairs outside at the tables in front of the frame place.

I think I may have been stood up then again they may have stood me up. I am not really sure how this all works. All I know what that was really awkward.

Skinny Panted Ninjas

I recently heard a disturbing report that parts of the student ghetto where in the midst of a crime wave. Witnesses have reported that as crime has increased so has the number of skinny pants ninjas riding around on road bicycles. What are these skinny panted ninjas and what was there relationship with crime. As soon as I arrived in the neighborhood there droppings were everyone Papst Blue Ribbon beer cans and cheap cigarette butts. Soon they appeared riding their bikes and wearing skinny jeans 2 sizes to small. The sexes were almost indistinguishable from each other. Doing there best impression of a heroin chic model who left their jeans in the drier to long. It was clear they were both, too malnourished and unathletic to be ninjas. If they were not ninjas then what were that they? Natives to area referred to them as hipsters, though it is not sure what they called themselves. The name leads me to believe that they were a relation of the hippies, though further investigation would be required. So I ventured to known hippie territories around the Hari Krishna food line, but they were gone. Not a scant piece of hemp fabric in sight, just an ever growing heard of hipsters. Where had all the hippies gone? Had they mutated into the hipsters or had then been pushed out by these new alien invaders? At first they seemed that they must be some kind genetic variation with there similar vegetarian feeding habits and aversion to grooming. But there was something dramatically different about two. It was in their topics of conversation. The hipsters were not talking about how they wanted to save the environment, but instead they talked about how terrible main stream music was and how the sequel to dark knight was already in pre-production. What were these creatures? It is clear that they are not the offspring of hippies who flaunted there lack of money and distain of pop-culture, these hipsters flaunted there love of their iPhones and pop culture. The increase in crime must be related to the increase in the number of hipsters, because who wants to rob a hippie. On the bright side it is safe to say that with their pants being so tight they will never be able to reproduce. And if that don’t kill them the cigarettes and fake glasses will.

Can I get some Def Leppard with my sweet tea?

In a special ghost writers edition, the differences between the American and European dining experience is explained. If only they could tell me why water with ice means you only get one ice cube, then this would be true genius.

I wouldn’t say that I’ve traveled abroad extensively, but I think I’ve been outside of the United States more than an average American. To my chagrin, one thing that I’ve noticed about countries in Europe is that they seldom provide a dining experience comparable to what you can find here in the US. Oh sure, indulgence is possible. But let’s think about it for a minute: even casual American eateries are premised on catering to your culinary whims and fancies. The competition for your food dollar is fierce and the battle rages at all times (eat great even late, fourthmeal) and through all seasons (many chain restaurants are open on Thanksgiving and a few even stay open on Christmas). When I go out to Friday’s or Chili’s these days, I expect to really enjoy my meal. And I don’t just mean that the food will taste good. It certainly will taste good; but the waiter will try to make me very happy in most cases; the manager might stop by and ask how everything went in general; the restaurant will make an effort to play some music that at least tangentially connects with my tastes; the décor will be either interesting or thematic in a way that helps divert my mind away from waiting for my food at least momentarily. In short, I’m made to believe that someone is deliberately trying to give me (and my fellow diners) an experience that will be enjoyed, maybe even one that is remembered days later. Good luck finding that in Sweden.

When I dine out in England or Scandinavia, I occasionally enjoy the taste of my food. More often than not, though, it’s bland. No matter how it looks or smells (sometimes the presentation is remarkably impressive) the taste rarely satisfies me. Additionally, I can’t say I ever feel entertained when I sup in European restaurants. I notice other diners around me more, mostly due to a lack of anything interesting going on within the establishment. People-watching has revealed to me a possible cause for this disparity between our dining and the Europeans’: it seems the main attraction for Europeans in restaurants is each other. They are always wrapped up in conversations or romantic gazing at each other and what not. They don’t seem to notice that the place they’re sitting in is snooze-inducing.

Table waiters in Europe are clearly less concerned with individual customers as a matter of economics: the lack of tipping as a societal norm in England and Sweden creates a dynamic where you are no more important to your waiter than his next cigarette break or the attractive brunette two tables away (unless you happen to be an attractive brunette yourself). Ireland is a bit different, as they are trending toward American habits and tipping has become normative, although not to the extent that it is here. But try to imagine table service in Sweden as similar to help you might receive buying groceries at home: available but insincere.
I suppose culture is to blame for these differences in dining between Europe and America. We have become a culture that eats out frequently. In Europe dining out is expensive and the people tend to have less disposable income. Traditionally eating out was considered a treat in America, but now it’s much less exotic. It appears the Europeans may be caught in the old trend that America has moved beyond. Because we eat out so much, we expect to be impressed more lavishly. To a Swede, the dining out is exciting in itself. If I don’t hear Def Leppard or The Eagles while cramming my face with chicken nachos and gulping down free refills of raspberry lemonade and perusing 10-gallon hats and stuffed armadillos, I’m just not living life.

Stalking the Next Frontier in Treasure Hunting.

Is there something wrong with stalking? I think we all do it. Maybe we are not up in trees with binoculars like George McFly from Back to the Future, but you know you do it. Checking someone’s Facebook status or checking to see who there friends are, waiting at places we know they will show up at... I bring this up because a friend of mine sent me a link to a saved by the bell where are they now article and I was intrigued by the fact that Anne Tremko a character from saved by the bell the college years had not been heard of since 2003. I wonder what had happened to her, where did she go. So I began to search the internet in vain to find out what had become of her. Not even Wikipedia could help. It just repeated that she had not been heard of since 2003. Had she died, changed her name, turned to scientology? I was becoming obsessed. I could imagine myself turning this into a hobby. Was I becoming a stalker or was this a legitimate way to waste time? I felt like a pirate on treasure hunt, maybe some how I could turn this into a game. Set up a website. People could come and challenge there friends to find out where these people are now. Even Amelia Earhart could be found. It could become a monster, treasure hunting for the 21st century. I could even make money off this idea. But no, this can not happen because I am still no closer to finding Anne Tremko...

Tra La La (aka golf movie)

Back home in the Redneck Rivera for some rest and relaxation and more importantly some home made Indian food. You are probably asking yourself what do Native Americans eat, well it is not those kind of Indians. There are Indians in the panhandle? Well I guess, though I do not know any. Indian food is what white kids make when they try and relive the experiences they have in foreign places. But I digress. During my trip I got to return to scene of the crime and by crime I refer to inspiration for the worst seven minutes of video ever created, golf movie. The Fort Walton Beach municipal golf course, containing two 18 hole courses. This weekends outing was mostly uneventful expect for being paired up with some guy who talked and talked about how much he played only to be followed by why he was not playing good. I think his name was Ed and can visit him at his place of employment the Black Angus restaurant. As exciting as it may seem to hang with Ed, he pales in comparison to the last time we played this Oaks course. So there we are driving up to our balls on the 10th hole of the Oaks course when all of a sudden golf balls are being hit into us. We look back to see some old guy waiving a driver at us. Unsure what we had done we decided it would be best to just let them play through. We tee off on the 11th hole and wait for them to pass us. A few minutes pass and then we hear a caravan of golf carts flying down the cart path towards us, with the old man leading the way. When he gets to 11th tee he does not stop he just keeps coming up to us. Finally he slows down next us and just looks at us and says “You guys are messing up the tra la la!” and speeds off followed by his cohorts. I sure hope I am surely as that guy when I am 70.