Call me an elitist, a snob, judgmental, whatever, I don't care, but I have come to the conclusion that Americans are ugly, dumb, fat, and mean for one simple reason: They have no taste. In fact, they are trained to reject anything that suggests good taste, because 'taste' smacks of elitism and judgment.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
distraction and affirmation
Been really busy lately. When I get stressed I tend to have crisis dreams, or apocalyptic dreams. Last night I dreamed that some sinister (cursed? demonic? alien mind-controlled? I dunno) children were menacing me and my husband and we had to walk very quickly out of the schoolyard and across the street to get away from them. We knew they'd be coming after us so we ran to my mother-in-law's house and hid in her basement. Knowing the school administration would soon come after us, we spent a lot of time putting together our escape plan--clothes, food, weapons, plane tickets--but before we could go we also had to clean up the basement, rearrange the furniture and get everything ready for the garage sale. (My stress dreams frequently involve moving furniture, for some reason.)
Finally we hopped in the car and started for the airport. On the way there, however, we found that downtown Kansas City had been bombed and several of the interstate overpasses were rubble. We had to reroute to Liberty, because my old college advisor had called and informed me that there was some question about the legitimacy of my senior project.
At this point in my recitation my husband stopped me and said, "So the world is ending and we're on the lam, but first you have to clear up your academic record."
"Yes, exactly," I said. "It's possible I'm feeling a little overwhelmed."
***
On the way home from tai chi class today we passed by Stroud's Fried Chicken on 56 Hwy/Shawnee Mission Parkway.
"Y'know, I heard somebody talking about Stroud's again this week," I complained. "And I just can't understand why people like that place so much. The only reason people like Stroud's is because so few places make fried chicken anymore, nobody has anything to compare it to. People don't know what they're missing."
"What I like about Stroud's," my husband remarked, "is how every time we drive past it you tell me how much it sucks."
I laughed. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Nope. It's ok--we'll be driving along and I'm thinking 'Here it comes: three... two... one.... F*CK YOU!!!' And all is right with the world."
Finally we hopped in the car and started for the airport. On the way there, however, we found that downtown Kansas City had been bombed and several of the interstate overpasses were rubble. We had to reroute to Liberty, because my old college advisor had called and informed me that there was some question about the legitimacy of my senior project.
At this point in my recitation my husband stopped me and said, "So the world is ending and we're on the lam, but first you have to clear up your academic record."
"Yes, exactly," I said. "It's possible I'm feeling a little overwhelmed."
***
On the way home from tai chi class today we passed by Stroud's Fried Chicken on 56 Hwy/Shawnee Mission Parkway.
"Y'know, I heard somebody talking about Stroud's again this week," I complained. "And I just can't understand why people like that place so much. The only reason people like Stroud's is because so few places make fried chicken anymore, nobody has anything to compare it to. People don't know what they're missing."
"What I like about Stroud's," my husband remarked, "is how every time we drive past it you tell me how much it sucks."
I laughed. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Nope. It's ok--we'll be driving along and I'm thinking 'Here it comes: three... two... one.... F*CK YOU!!!' And all is right with the world."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)