Before we get to the meat of this post, (meat made up of poultry by-products), let me note that while reading yesterday's newspaper I came across an article about 7-8 Taco Bells in the New York/New Jersey area getting shut down because of e coli contamination. Apparently a bunch of people got sick after eating there. And the question that leapt immediately to my mind was "How could they tell that was e coli and not just the usual reaction to Taco Bell?" I think TB's new motto should be "Taco Bell: For the bulemic in all of us."
Now, this morning I'm listening to one of my favorite radio shows. Hell, I'll even plug it. "The Boris Rock Show" on 89.3. If you're in CT try to find it. They seem to randomly change the times, but he's on right now Wednesday mornings at about 11. Good luck. He played some early Midnight Oil, taking me back to my old high school days. Of course, he then burned a ton of credibility by playing, Lord knows why, Madonna, but whatever.
When I was in high school I got a job as a gas jockey. Fill your tank, check your oil, clean your window with a squeegee that was also used to mop up oil spills. Soory about that leukemia, but at least you could see at night. For some odd reason, that gas station was a magnet for high school girls. Possibly because one of my co-workers was also selling coke. All the girls thought I was just adorable in that "he's so sweet and nice and cute and he's just my best friend." Since the best friend never gets laid, I developed a healthy fascination with beer and, for some reason, schnapps. I worked the second shift, 3:00 to 11:30. I was usually good and buzzed by 10. After work, assuming that there wasn't a beer party in the bays, (and that was not an infrequent event), I'd hook up with my friend Pete.
Pete loved two things. Midnight Oil and beer. More importantly, Pete had a fake ID and could actually buy beer. So we'd pile in his car and we'd drive around and drink beer and play Midnight Oil really loudly. Rather than let the beer bottles pile up inside, we would dispose of them as quickly as we finished. But you had to do it in the approved way. And Pete's approved way was to hurl the bottle at the first road sign that came up after you finished. Points were awarded for direct hits, less for partial hits, "penalties", (when you're 18 having to drink another beer really isn't a penalty) for a miss, unless thie miss resulted in a satisfying smashing sound, in which case we'd just laugh. And drink anyway.
Good times, but all in all, I'd rather have gotten laid. Goddamn "best friend" status.
While we're talking, (OK "rambling"), about deja vu, my 20 year high school reunion is coming up. For the 20th year, I doubt I'll go. Yesterday I was taliing to one of the two guys I've kept in touch with from my graduating class. He says he was talking to a girl who went to our five year reunion. She tells him that supposedly a guy we both knew in school raped a girl in the bathroom of the boat where the reunion took place. My friend's says "Holy shit, what happened?" The girl says nothing, the alleged victim didn't tell the cops. So my friend asks how they know it really happened. "Oh, we heard it, but the door was locked"
Uhh, what? You heard someone BEING RAPED, but since the door was locked, you couldn't do anything about it? "Hey sorry Betty, we jiggled the door knob and everything. We just couldn't figure out what to do. Want a beer?" Gosh, I can't figure out why I don't spend more time with these people.