Friday, August 13, 2010

I am Not an Asian Tourist

Back in the day, I was almost a rock star.

Okay, I was never even close to being a rock star. But I liked the idea of being one, so I got a bass guitar when I was 15.
It was a super cheap POS from Montgomery Ward that my Mom -even though we were broke- bought for me. God how I loved that guitar (and my Mom for buying it for me.)
Not only was it super cool with all the chicks that I was a bass player, but it gave me something to do (although it didn't keep me out of trouble by any stretch of the imagination.)
I would play that thing for hours on end. Before school, after school and any chance I could get. I can't even count the number of times I woke up in the middle of the night with it laying next to me in bed and just started playing until I fell asleep again.
I am blessed enough to have a good ear and never needed to take lessons. I could just listen to songs and know how to play em, which is more than a lot of people can say.

So anyway, I got damn good at the bass, started playing in bands and did the whole band thing for years until I got tired of it.

Unlike when Mom used to say "Don't sit so close to the TV, you'll ruin your eyes", her telling me to "turn that damn music down before you go deaf" was actually pretty spot on, as I really did ruin my ears.

So if sometime you're talking to me, and I'm just kind of standing there with a glazed look in my eyes, nodding my head, smiling and saying "yeah." like an Asian tourist, it's not because I agree with you or think what you said is funny. It's because I was in a rock band in the 80's and can't hear a damn word you're saying.

  I sold my bass a few years ago and hadn't played it for probably a year or two before that. I still strum my old acoustic guitar every once in a while, and maybe -if you're lucky- I'll sing you a song sometime, but for the most part, outside of a million great memories and a bad case of tinnitus, that rock star dream is far behind me, and I'm okay with that.

I'm sorry, what was that?

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Oh the Beautiful Splendor of Vienna

I don't know if you've ever been to Vienna, but I haven't. I hear it's nice there. It's known for its mild summers, beautiful architecture and even more beautiful women.
I think it may have been stormed or something once, but I'm not really sure about that.

Why this silly talk about Vienna you ask? Well hang on a second and I'll tell you!

Yesterday, as I sat in my wonderfully decorated "zen like" cube at work, I decided I needed a snack, so I borrowed a dollar from my totally awesome cube neighbor Sheryl -not to be mistaken for Cube Girl- and strolled to the breakroom to hit up the vending machine. Whilst staring at all the delicious treats from which to choose: Doritos, Fritos, salty nuts, Twix bars etc., I thought "these will not do the trick, I need something really delicious. Something exotic that reminds me of my childhood." So I strolled to the other vending machine and decided to take the leap and get the Vienna Sausages.
We recently switched vendors, and for some reason, the new vendors thought it a good idea to put vienna sausages in one of the machines, and for the past month or so, there have been 5 cans of them that nobody has been brave (or stupid) enough to buy.

Well until yesterday that is.

First off, I have to say that I seem to remember really liking them when I was a kid. Hanging out with friends with the vienna sausages flowing like wine. Building forts out of armchairs, couch pillows and blankets and eating Vienna sausages. Sitting on the roof of the house on the Fourth of July to watch fireworks and eating Vienna sausages...wait, I think I dreamed that one.

Anyway, so I buy the damn sausages, grab a plate, fork and knife and go back to my cube to relish in this childhood treat that most likely will even be better now that I'm older and have a wiser pallette.

Yeah, not the case.

Apparently I was born without taste buds and they didn't come in until middle school. Maybe my mom's bad cooking had something to do with my ability to stomach these things. I don't know, but I do know that I took one bite of this atrocity and almost screamed. Not with delight, but horror. I was expecting a hot doggy/spam-ish taste and was hit more with  rat-poison overtones with an ass flavored finish  I can't imagine how something so horrible and vile can still be manufactured in this country (wait, they're from Vienna, nevermind)

I honestly don't know if what I wrote above about Vienna being known for its mild summers and beautiful women is true or not. I really don't know much about it. What I do know is that I will forever associate these demon dogs with it, and for that reason, will never be a tourist there.

Needless to say, I didn't eat them all. I barely ate half of one. I tried to see if anyone in the office wanted them, but all I got were strange looks, so I just left them on some guy's desk.

Next time I'm sticking with the tried and true, made in America, Red Vines.