I'm a whiner. I whine about a lot of things. I'm actually kind of proud of my distinguished whining prowess. I'm also extremely pleased that I can be both a hopeless whiner and a smoking hot specimen of male hunkiness at the same time. What can I say? I'm gifted.
So, anyway, yesterday I was sitting in on a meeting up in the Twin Cities. It was a big and important meeting featuring big and important people within the magazine I write for. And then there was me. When it comes to the magazine I write for, I'm neither big nor important. I'm just kind of there. Now that I think about it, I believe the only reason I'm expected to attend those meetings is because no one trusts me to be in the office all alone. That's probably wise.
Well, while all the big and important people discussed big and important things, my attention was focused on something far more big and important: lunch. I was really hungry and, according to the schedule of events, we were supposed to break for lunch at 11:30 a.m.
Well, 11:45 rolled around, and still we hadn't eaten. In hungry desperation, I futilely underlined the word "lunch" on my schedule so repeatedly, that eventually the ink started to soak through the paper. Finally, the group broke for lunch, and sandwiches were brought in. I could scarcely contain my excitement.
I grabbed a bag of chips and two sandwiches and I scurried back to my seat to inspect the meal. And that's when I saw it: mayonnaise. I hate mayonnaise. I despise mayonnaise. And, when confronted by a sandwich defiled by mayonnaise, I fall back on my old standby: whining.
"Awwww, man, there's mayonnaise all over these things," I groaned, returning the sandwiches to the counter, refusing to eat them.
I don't understand it. At what point in the evolution of the sandwich was it decided that mayonnaise should be a required component? And, more than that, why is mayonnaise so liberally slathered on a sandwich? I mean, I could probably deal with mayonnaise if it weren't smeared all over the place. I could take a knife and remove the offensive gunk if it weren't so omnipresent.
As it is, mayonnaise is spread all over the place, with the thickness of toothpaste. There is no way to reclaim a sandwich once modern day portions of mayonnaise are applied. It's a lost cause. It gets all over the lettuce, which is ruined, and it finds its way into the deepest fibers of the bun or bread. Once introduced to the pristine sandwich environment, you see, mayonnaise stages a massive takeover.
It's hard to explain my disdain for mayonnaise, beyond the fact that I just can't stand the taste. I have a violent reaction to the taste of mayonnaise, by which I mean I spit it out and scrub my tongue with a napkin. I think it says volumes about mayonnaise that the biggest mayonnaise company out there is called Hellmans, because when I bite into a sandwich with mayonnaise glued in there, I think, "Yuck! What the hell, man?!"
And, you know, I don't think I'm the only mayonnaise hater out there. I think there are legions upon legions of fellow mayo haters who are sick and tired of restaurants just assuming that we want our burgers iced with mayonnaise. What gives them the right to decide what we want on our food? Knock it off! Stop pushing your pro-mayo political agenda on the rest of us!
And if you don't stop with the mayonnaise, I'll have to reach deep down and break out my hidden weapon.
I'll whine.
Once again, work requires me to journey northward to the Twin Cities today, so posting will be light, by which I mean, non-existent. Still, I feel I should leave you with SOMETHING. So, here you be, a familiar post for some, because I've dragged this out many times before, but I still think it's a hoot (and one of my better newspaper columns, I might add). I give you. . .
My Middle East Madness Menu c. Ryan Rhodes, Oct. 17, 2001
After a long day of avoiding a U.S. led airstrike over your war torn country, hunger is no doubt the first thing on your mind. You desire something fast and inexpensive, something that the whole family can enjoy. So, come to Osama's Fast Food Emporium, your Mecca for affordable family cuisine.
At Osama's, you'll be treated to a virtually bomb free atmosphere, and you're encouraged to enjoy Allah you can eat. And, Osama's extensive menu guarantees a pleasant and different dining experience every time you visit.
"Osama's has declared a holy war on hunger," said a satisfied customer. "When I first heard of a franchise in the area, I didn't walk, Iran."
Yasser, you betcha, this is no joke, this Israel. With Osama's restaurants springing up throughout the Middle East, you're probably just a camel ride away from a hearty Osama's meal. So, make a pilgrimage to your nearest Osama's today. Remember, a rolling stone gathers no mosque.
So, what culinary delights can you find at Osama's? You're encouraged, of course, to start off with a nice garden or caesar Saladdin before moving on to the main course. How about a nine piece order of Taliban Tenders. These tender white Gaza strips of chicken breast, rolled in Osama's secret blend of herbs and spices, are sure to satisfy even the most hardlined fundamentalist. Or, enjoy a rosemary and Yemen chicken breast (with a slight sprinkle of Sultan pepper), a sure hit with your wives.
Feeling a little Mexican? Then order our delicious chicken El Queda Quesadillas.
But wait, you aren't limited to chicken at Osama's. You can also enjoy a vast assortment of mutton dishes. In fact, at Osama's, our specialty Islam.
Osama's also provides several side orders, including, for a limited time, ripened ears of Koran on the Kaaba.
"Oman, that Koran on the Kaaba was excellent," said another appreciative diner. "I almost feel bad that I ate four ears. I sincerely apologize."
No need to say you're Saudi at Osama's. At our affordable prices, we understand when you eat more than your share.
Of course, Osama's didn't forget the early risers. For the breakfast crowd, Osama's provides small and large stacks of Pakistani Pancakes smothered in bin Ladenberry syrup. Other breakfast items include Hezbollah Hash Browns, Baghdad Bacon, Syrian Sausage, and Beirut Bagels.
Wash down your Osama's meal with any of our beverages, including juices, sodas, and our famous Shiite Shakes. All refills only cost a Qatar.
So, you've finished your Osama's meal, and you still have room for more? Perhaps something on the sweet side? Not to worry; Osama's also provides a number of delicious desert desserts, including our Sahara Sundaes and Empty Quarter Eclairs.
Like most families, you probably have some unruly children who are hungry but difficult to satisfy. No problem. Simply load up your little terrors and bring them to Osama's, where they can enjoy our low priced Angry Meals. Upon hearing that they're headed to Osama's, your children will no doubt start yelling and shieking with glee. You may have to Muslim.
Yes, Osama's has lifted the veil on affordable family cuisine. See for yourself. Come to Osama's Fast Food Emporium today!
Caroline says: I learned a new word from a movie this weekend: "sharted"
Ryan says: A sharp fart?
Caroline says: to attempt a fart, only to shit yourself in the end
Ryan says: Hm. Very clever.
Ryan says: I would have done better.
Caroline says: like?
Ryan says: Flaturpants.
Caroline says: lol
Ryan says: See?
Caroline says: maybe it's the way the guy said it in the movie
Caroline says: it was hilarious
Ryan says: It would have been funnier if he said flaturpants.
To hear some Minnesota newspapers tell it, you'd think W's space exploration initiative is the biggest white elephant ever trotted out before the American public. I don't know; I actually think the initiative doesn't go far enough. Eight years to put a man back on the moon? What? Did NASA lose the Apollo 11 file or what?
Criminey, the Chinese will have tea houses on the moon before we even gas up the next Saturn V.
I'll admit it, I'm a dreamer. I buy into all the Star Trek crap (not the first one, mind you, that sucked; The Next Generation). I like to think that warp speed and transporters and tricorders are all just a given somewhere down the human evolutionary line. I'm a sucker for shit like that.
Yeah, yeah, I know: I can already hear the voices of those masses groaning that space exploration, at least government funded space exploration, is a drain on the money that should rightfully go towards feeding the hungry, and putting handicapped children on the road to recovery, and whatever other reason you can dream up that sounds great on paper but in reality is just as crazy-sounding as any long-term plan for space exploration. As James Lileks wrote so appropriately recently:
It just strikes me as the same old provincial jibe I dimly recall from the Apollo era: why are we going to the Moon when there are so many problems here? . . . Some are steamed because the Hubble?s been tanked ahead of schedule, and I?m not pleased about that either. But you could say that every dollar spent on the Hubble thus far could have gone towards Toles? crudely drawn paralyzed girl. Would the artist insist we had never sent the observatory in the first place, then? For that matter: there were paralyzed children in the 60s. Would Toles have preferred that the government shut down the Apollo program and throw all the millions into spinal-cord regeneration research? . . . France isn?t going to the moon. What stops them from curing spinal-cord injuries? Germany isn?t going to the moon. What stops them from curing spinal-cord injuries? Britain isn?t going to the moon. What stops them from curing spinal-cord injuries? And so forth. It?s not a zero-sum game; America is not the world. But America is best suited to leave this world for another. If that idea leaves you cold, fine.
Look, I'm not disputing the fact that NASA is rapidly reaching the end of its usefulness. If there were viable business sector alternatives to catapulting a person into space, I'd be all for that as well. I could care less whether the sending body is the U.S.A. or IBM, just so long as there's a sending body.
I guess it's just a matter of where one's vision lies. Some people see the poverty of America and believe that should be addressed first before gallavanting off to the stars. That's nice and noble, I suppose, if not entirely, and inherently, impossible. But that's a different topic all together.
I wasn't even born when man first stepped foot on the moon, and frankly I'm a little astonished that there aren't people living there, or at least travelling there routinely, all these many years later. I grew up on pictures of Neil Armstrong walking on that icy orb, but those pictures haven't been updated since. That saddens me. Human curiousity, interrupted.
I see all these pictures streaming back from Mars and I think, "Wow!" And then I think how much I wish I could be there, if for no other reason but to leave my footprints on that rusty surface. To say, "We've been here, and we'll be back, because we're human and that's what we do!"
I suppose we could just flinch at the danger of space travel and continue sending machines that take 14 minutes or so to receive the commands issued by their human controllers rooted here on earth. Sure, machines could do that, I suppose, into perpetuity. It's nice and safe. And it totally flies in the face of everything adventurous in the human soul. A machine just does things, it doesn't experience those things. A machine can load up a soil sample and cook it and calculate whether there's water there; it can't run the soil through its hands and just marvel at it, and ache out of pure joy at being able to be there, simply touching that alien surface. A machine can't stand on Mars and then look up at the Martian sky, point to the brightest star on the horizon, and say "that's next."
Again, as Lileks said: I can?t shake the suspicion that we were put here to leave.
Or, I suppose you could take the Dave Barry route: We don't NEED to send people to Mars. We can just ask Michael (Jackson) what it's like.
Sooooo, the company I work for, MSP Communications (okay, I also work for IBM, but it's a convoluted sort of thing I'm not going to go into here), and the receptionist there is kind of particular about the work environment. Anyway, the receptionist routinely sends out e-mails to the entire MSP staff whenever something is missing, or if something just isn't right, at least, according to her. So, today, I get this e-mail, addressed to the entire MSP staff:
The 409 spray bottle is missing from the lunchroom cupboard. Will the person who was using it, please return it ASAP.
Not 30 seconds later, I came across a picture that just made me howl, and I felt compelled to send a response to the entire MSP staff. It went:
The 409 has been found. It's behind the hairy guy: http://windsofchange.net/files/ace-in-the-hole-2003/down-and-out-in-tikrit-hills.jpg
I'm so going to get fired for shit like this.
UPDATE: As expected, I'm getting a little bit of flak for this. When, exactly, did the world up and decide to be absolutely no fun at all?
