Tuesday, February 22, 2011
If you suspected, even for a moment, that I passed on Thursday’s post because of burnout or some such nonsense, take heart! Allow me to explain why this wasn’t the case. First of all, blogging fatigue sounds like a condition for which there exists but a single cure: an exhortation to man up, followed by a punch to the stomach. That’s what I’d prescribe, at any rate. Second, and most importantly, I burnt out on blogging years ago. All the verbiage you’ve seen since then has been randomly generated at regular intervals for reasons unknown by a husk of my former self.
This weekend was spent on helping family move. A dual move, in fact, involving a foray into self-storage, a U-Haul truck, and an expensive Swedish padlock, but these are conversations for another time. What I want to talk about instead is food. Fast food, specifically, as prepared by culinary artisans Taco Bell and Long John Silver’s. I visited the latter about a fortnight ago. And the former? The fortnight before that.
In truth, both vendors occupy the same space, a garishly appointed building just south of the border, about a quarter mile from a Super Walmart. Although its health rating is sufficient, its ambiance rating suffers from the pall of despair perpetually hanging over the establishment. Perhaps it’s because I choose to go during off-hours, but clientele invariably includes old people in sweats and NASCAR fans seemingly plucked from the speedway. Now, I’m not saying you have to dress up for Taco Bell–this ain’t Applebee’s, obviously–but I don’t think humanity really needs more jorts either. Between the customers and the wretched workers, it’s a completely different world, and that’s part of the appeal.
There’s also an element of nostalgia at play here. Family has been on my mind with greater frequency lately, and my old man genuinely loved Long John Silver’s. I remember how the 30, 40-minute drive to the Long Island location, long shuttered now, was an event reserved for rare occasions. And two weeks ago, even though I knew the golden-crusted slurry would be an affront to my vital organs, I ordered anyway. Sure enough, I felt sick within minutes after “lunch.” My visit effectively beat all the nostalgia out of me. Or did it? Just minutes ago, I was on White Castle’s website, using their store locator to search for a Charlotte branch I knew wasn’t there. I’ve been catching snippets of health talk throughout the office recently, discussions about exercise and dieting and how different regimens are working, and I’ve come to believe my compass is broken. I’m pointed toward a completely different vector, where I’m celebrating my own goddamn Mardi Gras early, with Lent nowhere in sight.