Fine food

The last week has shown me that my 'au naturale' food experience (entry below) was not a one off incident... apparently these days i have taken to eating at fine and upstanding dining establishments which a poor russian immigrant such as myself should hardly consider not only affordable, but even worthwhile... after all... what happened to the days when eating out was so off limits it wasnt even considered... or to the lusty days when my beloved McDonalds #1 was a meal for all times and occasions?

No.... now i have to go to places that serve food i cant identify... i cant identify it when i see it on the menu (even with a little description below)... and i cant identify it when i put it in my mouth, for its got so much other crap on it, that at this point there is no reasonable way to identify it... for example, is it a charbroiled pig on some fine roasted honey nut lavender grapes or finely grilled filet mignon served with a side of asparagus, sweet potatoe and tabasco sause (yes, i made this up).... and then the really cute waitress comes over, and as she watches the steak 1 sauce sprint down my chin towards my newly pressed shirt, she inquires with absolute honesty and innocence, "Is everything OK?" "Would you like to see the dessert menu?" and no no no... i am not ok and i will not eat dessert other than cherry pie or apple strudel... these crazed chocolate contraptions are not for a real man like me...

and all in all the atmosphere all around is lovely and formal and hip and oh so unreal that i want to puke... there are the former friends from college, all dressed and looking even preppier then they did in their days at Lehigh... The pothead (former and current) is a lawyer, the geek is a high yield analyst at Bank of America and the moron everyone thought would be a failure in life is a venture capitalist VP at some place where he is sure to be making close to a mil... though he still acts like a moron... and they've all got jappy bitches of all creeds and colors by their sides... and they are all talking pleasant and nodding their heads and mentioning 'friends' and 'will and grace' and other pertinent topics of the day... nodding especially hard is the high yield analyst since he is still a geek and the girl he thought was his date is now just the second date of the venture capitalist... the date, slightly plump and uncomfortably over-fashionable, is drooling in the lawyer's lap, who is oblivious to everything since twenty minutes from this very moment he has to head back to the office... "i know i should have done finance," the despondent University
of Michigan esquire mumbles to himself... "damn it..."

and next to these people is the uncomfortable first date couple... she, blonde, happy and nervous... he, with the fashionable rooster look, back in the 70's pinstriped shirt and white washed jeans... she is telling him something that he thinks she thinks is important... so he is nodding his head in pleasant agreement... making sure that his eyes dont stare for too long at the bossom beneath the blonde's chin, for as her loops move and nose shuffles, the bossoms seem to catch the rhythm and move together with everything, and since the damn music is too loud to hear anything anyway, not that anything important is really being said anyway, but naturally it becomes a battle of not so much listening as eye contact management... "cant be caught looking at her tits on the first date, asshole," the young man encourages himself, as his tired eyes skid past the lips and the chin, down neck...

he of course works in advertising... where you get to dress up and look pretty and make some pitiful cash.... for new york style at least... this though is not that big of an issue since dad already took the hard route, stuck it out in corporate finance and now his kid not only looks like the second coming of Donny Wahlberg, but even has a trust fund to support his 'creative side'.... and hey, good ole dad always wanted to bang blonde bimbos from the midwest... but bad brooklyn teeth got in the way... no sonny boy is catching up where daddy dearest fell short... and the blonde loves it.... for not only is she not in Boise anymore... not only is she in the place, the place where Amanda from Sex in the City does her thing.... but she is on a date with a real new york advertising hot shot who will spoil her silly with pink martinis, lines of coke and all the hippest clubs in the meatpacking district...

anyway, it seems i got off my thoughts on fine food... i hate it... its a rip off... i feel like a clown eating at these places... but chicks dig it so what am i to do!? end of story...