Wednesday, November 09, 2005
The reason for my curiosity
Dark, have you read Confederacy of Dunces? Here are three reasons why I have been wondering:
10/4/04
It was last weekend, and we lived it like a champ. We drove down to the Cape (yes, that Cape), looking for fruit and tuxedos, and instead wound up at the Scallop Fest in downtown Bourne. A midway had been set up in Buzzards Bay Park, with all the thrilling games of chance and death-defying motorized amusements you would expect from any halfway decent county fair. We didn’t take a spin on any of the rides, though, ‘cuz I’m afraid of the Ferris Wheel, and the future missus is afraid of everything else. We did both agree on the little green alligator roller coaster, but unfortunately that ride was not designed to accommodate the physique of the modern adult. It was heartening to see that carnies look the same everywhere, however. The scallop dinner was expensive, and I can’t stand me no scallops anyhow, so we just ate a couple ears of native corn. We also got to enjoy an amazing musical performance from Earl Hamontree, a local accountant whose Casio-backed vocal renditions of Buffett and Motown covers are quite popular with those-in-the-know down in Bourne...
11/9/04
...still, though, wistful nostalgia coursed through my body (I was, like, just fucking lousy with wist, dude), and, after gang-raping my sober adultesque sensibilities, it impelled me to buy a shirt. There was one problem, however; the Animal Collective apparently doesn’t want fat people wearing their clothes. The largest size they had was large. They completely hate fat people. Of course they had tons of baby tees, but nothing for the husky, hefty, and/or healthy gentleman (and/or lady). Perhaps they expect their fanbase to be comprised solely of those sickly, malnourished indie-rock scarecrows that crumple like a tumbleweed at the slightest gust of wind or most glancing blow from a frat-boy’s fist. That is most certainly not the case, as I am clearly both a man of great substance and a strongly devoted aficionado of the Animal Collective’s idiosyncratic strand of post-modern noise-folk nonsense. I have as much of a right to impress friends and strangers through advertising my own personal tastes and predilections on my outerwear as anyone else does. The fact that the Animal Collective fails to agree with me mightily burns my ample chops. Of course I can’t expect any of the bandmembers to sympathize, as the four of them together probably weigh less than the Canadian Earthquake.
But despite being both dangerously skinny and insensitive to the feelings of the morbidly obese (and/or marginally larger than your average college radio dj), the Animal Collective continue to produce some of the most enchanting and peculiarly affecting music around. I recommend them from the bottom of my cholesterol-clogged, fat-suffocated heart.
And last but not least (my favorite),
7/29/05
As I was walking back from D'Angelo's, where I ate a Big Papi, I noticed a Chuckles wrapper lying on the sidewalk. I realized that, in all my 28 block-rocking years, I've never eaten even a single Chuckle. I'm not even sure exactly what they are; some sort of gumdrop thing, right? But it got me thinking about all the other major namebrand candies, and how I've never tasted many of them. Never has a Whatchamacalit crossed these lips, nor a Skor, 100 Grand, or Fifth Avenue. I've never gnawed on a Charleston Chew, or bitten into a Mars Bar. I've taken only single bites of Mounds and Almond Joy, and hated both. I didn't even like Butterfingers until the last five years or so. I don't eat candy much anymore (I prefer baked goods), but when I was a kid I downed enough to carry me through the length of my life. I was meek, though, timid, and hardly ever experimented. I stuck to the same three or four staples, entering only the occasional dalliance with a Milky Way or Snickers. SweeTarts, Caramel Creams, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups were my main gig. I had a brief flirtation with Chunkys when I was six, and you could never go wrong with a Hershey's bar, but for the most part I stuck to those three. There was one other that I loved, and although Crews will totally have my back on this, most people I've met despise this candy with the hatred of a thousand Dixiecrats. It doesn't bug me, though, because I know that, despite the critics and naysayers, the Zero bar is one of the finest sweets in the land. That delectable white chocolate, beefily packed with the thickest nougat and chewiest caramel, still thrills me. Shaw's "Little White House" in Dalton kept Zero bars in their vending machines, and that is easily the only benefit in working for that horrible company. What an underappreciated gem of a treat!
I just realized that these all deal with weight or love of candy, but that is not my intent. The focal point should be the writing style, and I don't have time to scan the whole archives. I just randomly picked October 04, scanned a couple months, and then went back to find the classic candy bar post.
These little gems Dark authors are undoubtedly the highlight of my working day.
Dark, have you read Confederacy of Dunces? Here are three reasons why I have been wondering:
10/4/04
It was last weekend, and we lived it like a champ. We drove down to the Cape (yes, that Cape), looking for fruit and tuxedos, and instead wound up at the Scallop Fest in downtown Bourne. A midway had been set up in Buzzards Bay Park, with all the thrilling games of chance and death-defying motorized amusements you would expect from any halfway decent county fair. We didn’t take a spin on any of the rides, though, ‘cuz I’m afraid of the Ferris Wheel, and the future missus is afraid of everything else. We did both agree on the little green alligator roller coaster, but unfortunately that ride was not designed to accommodate the physique of the modern adult. It was heartening to see that carnies look the same everywhere, however. The scallop dinner was expensive, and I can’t stand me no scallops anyhow, so we just ate a couple ears of native corn. We also got to enjoy an amazing musical performance from Earl Hamontree, a local accountant whose Casio-backed vocal renditions of Buffett and Motown covers are quite popular with those-in-the-know down in Bourne...
11/9/04
...still, though, wistful nostalgia coursed through my body (I was, like, just fucking lousy with wist, dude), and, after gang-raping my sober adultesque sensibilities, it impelled me to buy a shirt. There was one problem, however; the Animal Collective apparently doesn’t want fat people wearing their clothes. The largest size they had was large. They completely hate fat people. Of course they had tons of baby tees, but nothing for the husky, hefty, and/or healthy gentleman (and/or lady). Perhaps they expect their fanbase to be comprised solely of those sickly, malnourished indie-rock scarecrows that crumple like a tumbleweed at the slightest gust of wind or most glancing blow from a frat-boy’s fist. That is most certainly not the case, as I am clearly both a man of great substance and a strongly devoted aficionado of the Animal Collective’s idiosyncratic strand of post-modern noise-folk nonsense. I have as much of a right to impress friends and strangers through advertising my own personal tastes and predilections on my outerwear as anyone else does. The fact that the Animal Collective fails to agree with me mightily burns my ample chops. Of course I can’t expect any of the bandmembers to sympathize, as the four of them together probably weigh less than the Canadian Earthquake.
But despite being both dangerously skinny and insensitive to the feelings of the morbidly obese (and/or marginally larger than your average college radio dj), the Animal Collective continue to produce some of the most enchanting and peculiarly affecting music around. I recommend them from the bottom of my cholesterol-clogged, fat-suffocated heart.
And last but not least (my favorite),
7/29/05
As I was walking back from D'Angelo's, where I ate a Big Papi, I noticed a Chuckles wrapper lying on the sidewalk. I realized that, in all my 28 block-rocking years, I've never eaten even a single Chuckle. I'm not even sure exactly what they are; some sort of gumdrop thing, right? But it got me thinking about all the other major namebrand candies, and how I've never tasted many of them. Never has a Whatchamacalit crossed these lips, nor a Skor, 100 Grand, or Fifth Avenue. I've never gnawed on a Charleston Chew, or bitten into a Mars Bar. I've taken only single bites of Mounds and Almond Joy, and hated both. I didn't even like Butterfingers until the last five years or so. I don't eat candy much anymore (I prefer baked goods), but when I was a kid I downed enough to carry me through the length of my life. I was meek, though, timid, and hardly ever experimented. I stuck to the same three or four staples, entering only the occasional dalliance with a Milky Way or Snickers. SweeTarts, Caramel Creams, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups were my main gig. I had a brief flirtation with Chunkys when I was six, and you could never go wrong with a Hershey's bar, but for the most part I stuck to those three. There was one other that I loved, and although Crews will totally have my back on this, most people I've met despise this candy with the hatred of a thousand Dixiecrats. It doesn't bug me, though, because I know that, despite the critics and naysayers, the Zero bar is one of the finest sweets in the land. That delectable white chocolate, beefily packed with the thickest nougat and chewiest caramel, still thrills me. Shaw's "Little White House" in Dalton kept Zero bars in their vending machines, and that is easily the only benefit in working for that horrible company. What an underappreciated gem of a treat!
I just realized that these all deal with weight or love of candy, but that is not my intent. The focal point should be the writing style, and I don't have time to scan the whole archives. I just randomly picked October 04, scanned a couple months, and then went back to find the classic candy bar post.
These little gems Dark authors are undoubtedly the highlight of my working day.
