There can be too much of a good thing. Surrounding yourself with the most savvy mavens and watching only the most avant-garde films and eating only food that’s too unusual to even name gets old after a while. Every once in a while I just want my childhood friend, a James Bond film, and a few Chicago-style hotdogs with a cold PBR to wash it all down. Not only do I want it, but I should have it because it’s good for me.
3 Comments
Chicago-style hot dogs are the ultimate, man. Ironically, I’ve only ever had them in Pittsburgh.
I hear what you’re saying with regards to movies. I’ll pop in “Superman” or some other easily-digestable cinematic entree every now and again. Even if it’s nothing more than a palette cleanser between avant gard offerings. “Die Hard,” “Star Wars,” “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” all are a lot of fun, and as mainstream as Jessica Simpson drinking Pepsi.
As the great Buddha once said, “Sometimes youw ant the mystery, but sometimes, you want a whore who you are certain has no cock.”
Did I leave a comment before? I meant to. It is now out in the ether, being read by hobgoblins and leprochauns.
It boiled down to this: I love the non-avant-garde pleasures as well. “Die Hard,” “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” “Superman,” “Animal House,” they hardly come more mainstream than that, yet I do so enjoy them.
As the great Buddha once said: “Sometimes man craves the mystery. But frequently, we want the hooker we know has no cock.”
You had me completely until you brought up Pabst Blue Ribbon. There’s something about living NORTH of whatever parallel makes the illinois border that destroys people’s ability to taste alcohol.