dessert ordering hell
Thursday, November 18 2004
A fairly typical email I got today:
If ANY of you had EVER read the bible or wether it was read to you as a child, then you would know that Jesus himself clearly stated that all forms of black and white magic is a carnal sin.
I don't claim to be without sin, though. I myself, was once a New-Age witch, but I got smart and got far from it as possible. I even tore up every single book that I had boughten, got rid of the satanic jewelry, got rid of certain pieces of clothing, and got rid of everything else that I viewed as satanic. And now, I'm a lone soldier in this spiritual battleground and I've long fled my post from the side of satan---even though that I didn't know at the time that all forms of witchcraft in satanims in disguise-and I've already crossed the desert to search for the Lord and I've found him--and I plan to stay on his side for all of eternity and beyond that.
However, I have visions of heaven and hell, but it isn't because of witchcraft that I have them---I only have them because God himself allows it.
If you people saw what I see half the time---you would NOT, REPEAT NOT, think twice about going over to the side of God and Jesus--you would do it in a heartbeat.
If you value and care about your souls, and if you have ANY intelligence at all, then I STRONGLY suggest that you all get away from satan and go to God and Jesus while you all still have a chance, while you're all still alive!!
Remember this, folks: just because a lot of people are Christian doesn't make Christianity any more rational than, say, UFO cults. Numbers of believers means nothing. If scientists used polls to ascertain the nature of reality, it's doubtful our civilization would have advanced even as far as the medieval phase. Even as I type, 50% of Americans do not believe in Evolution. I don't have the figures on their agreement with Newtonian Physics or the DNA theory of genetics, but my guess is that the general consensus isn't especially enlightened there either.
This evening Gretchen and I went with the Meatlocker People on a double date to two different destinations in Kingston. The first destination was the Uptown Friendly's, a folksy family-friendly diner chain that Ms. Meatlocker remembers fondly from her adolescence. Our waiter wasn't just friendly, he was as gay as a leopard-print lawn jockey. Most of the staff suffered from acne in various terminal stages, aside from a wholesome looking young woman and a guy who unabashedly picked his nose. We all ordered veggie burgers except for Mr. Meatlocker, who likes to eat meat when he goes out.
Until the food arrived, I had a spacey feeling in my head and had difficulty forming intelligent thoughts. I'd actually first noticed this lack of mental facility during our home Spanish lesson today when I drew a blank during the formulation of the word quemamos ("We burn"). During dinner I was forced to nod and grin as the others spoke, certain as I was that I could say nothing clever to compete with (or even stand beside) the many brilliant things being said by the others. With great effort I did manage to get off a reasonably good pun, dubbing the terrorist-minded icrecream eaters whimsically posited by Mr. Meatlocker "The Coalition of the Chillin'." But that was about it.
Happily, though, once I got a few lukewarm freedom fries under my ribs I was completely restored.
After the main course there followed one of those typically harrowing experiences where the others at the table flamboyantly debate what exactly it is that they want for dessert. This process always seems to take at least 15 minutes, and the people doing the deciding always do it in a cheerful, peppy, overly-verbose manner that precisely clashes with my attitude at the end of a meal. My wishes at that time are always to just pay the bill and leave, to go on to the next thing, yet here they were bantering with the waiter in a needlessly flirty way as he indulged them with coy allusions to the supposed "sinfulness" of the dessert. For Christ's sake, it's just fucking icecream, what's the big deal? What's to decide? I've never understood the need to take more than thirty seconds to decide what to eat. It's all so easy for me. I glance down a menu, see something suitable, I stop my glancing, and I order it. End of story! I never ask the waiter for his recommendations - what the hell could he possibly know about what I would like? I have these feelings at every stage of ordering, but they're always most pronounced when dessert is being considered, because I never want any and I loathe the whole artifice of faux-morality that gets erected around it. Icecream is not a sin! Neither, for that matter, is chocolate cake. I don't care if it's somehow, illogically, 120% chocolate. Cutting off the top of a mountain and dumping it in a valley, now that's a sin!
While waiting for the others to order their icecream (and during other dull moments), I applied my considerable creative focus to the task of rolling up a "Fav Flavor" card collectible into the tightest tube possible. (By the way, I couldn't make any sense of the card itself; I assume it pictures and text were references to a television show for kids and that I did't have enough backstory.) In my first attempt, the resulting tube had a bore wide enough for snorting cocaine. But as I rolled it and re-rolled it, working back and forth from each end, I eventually managed to roll the card collectible so tight that a straight pin would have had a tight fit in its bore. Rolled up, the whole thing could now slide into a drinking straw. I know it's a ridiculous thing to say, but rolling the card up that tight felt like a genuine achievement. If you don't believe me, try rolling up one of the card collectibles next time you're in Friendly's. Hold on a second, a thought just occurred to me. Is Friendly's the Denny's for non-racists, sort of like how Libertarianism is for Republicans who don't believe in God? Or are all chain diners inherently racist?
Later we all went to the Hoe Bowl out on 9W to bowl a few frames. When we arrived the place was crowded with people sporting unphotogenic hairstyles and there were no lanes available, so we played a miserable round of pool and played music on the jukebox (include Rush's "Limelight" and Billy Idol's "White Wedding"). When we finally got a lane, Gretchen failed to rent shoes and ended up getting yelled at by two different employees, one of whom claimed to have witnessed her bowling shoeless (oh the scandal!) via a hidden camera. We played two games and both were won by Mr. Meatlocker.
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