1.Guitar Comedy
Hey Demitri, Birbigs, that guy, and that other guy. You know who you are. So, I've given it literally dozens of chances, but I'm afraid it's a no from me, dawg. I love you, but when you reach for that guitar, my brain goes, "Noooooooo!" You're bringing us along on your narrative, we're digging your stories, you're nailing it. Cadence, timing, you got us! Why bring a guitar into it. Everything grinds to a halt, it's all just smoking skidmarks. You're just telling micro-stories in a distractingly stilted manner, strumming that same little run, over and over again, and then sometimes, for no discernible artistic reason, you just carol out a random word. It makes me want to punch all the arpeggiated chords in the world. I feel sure it's not just me. I really really do.
Related: Music Makers and Dreamers of Dreams
2. Smucker's Goober Grape
Look, it was never going to work. Smucker's Goober Grape is an idea like something two co-dependent stoners would come up with, and if you've never had Smucker's Goober Grape, what I know about you is that you don't do enough 3am bodega runs. Smucker's Goober Grape is not a food. It's a food group created in a lab as a solution to a very specific problem: you are hungry, broke, and out of options. Smucker's Goober Grape has the mouth feel of staring into the abyss. It's a bland, pasty concoction that serves well neither the peanut butter nor the jelly. It doesn't even "spread." It clumps between two pieces of off-brand bread for a gag-inducingly loathsome bite. If you've never had it, imagine something in your mouth that tastes like diaper contents, and it's both slimy and gritty. It's so awful it's like personally offensive.
3. High Heels
I tried for decades. I wanted it so hard. I recently gave away a super cute pair of red Fluevogs that I still think about. I will never not think about those shoes and wonder how they're doing, like they took my virginity or something. Perfect red, perfect heel. You know I'm a simple gal, but I look at Fluevies the way your dog looks at bacon. I should've passed them along when I realized I was never going to Cinderella Stepsister my way into those gorgeous shoes. Every few months I'd take them out of the box, put them on, grimace my way through one teetering mince around the apartment. Once time I had a glass of wine and wore them for ten whole minutes, laying on the couch and weeping. So I set them free. It was time. Go with God, my darlings. They have a good home now. As they walked off down Mass Ave on the dainty feet of a stunning Bulgarian marimba player, so departed any delusions I may still hold deep down in my jaded Sicilian heart. In the end, I'm just a Doc Martens gal making her way in a Fluevog world.
4. Candy
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| It was hot in those masks. |
Of all the holidays in the kid year, Halloween was Top of Candy Mountain. Everyone had their own personal system when you get back home with the pillow case full of loot. I made three piles. "Thanks for coming" was waaaay over here with the worst shit ‒ Lifesavers, Smarties, Good N Plenty. The dreaded Necco Wafters which no one has ever convinced me aren't made from crushed Tums. Then I had my "Any Sugar In A Storm" pile over there with Laffy Taffy, Starburst Fruit Chews, jelly beans left over from Easter. Right in front of me: Chocolate. Hershey, Reese's, Chunky, Reggie Bars. It all felt so serious. They say our tastes evolve, and boy how that happened! I'll have a few Hershey's Kisses at Christmas and marvel over how much of that stuff we consumed before age 30.
5. Beer
Nah.
