One man's heaven...

I don't talk to many people at work, mostly because I don't know many people. Those I have met, I forgot their names, so I just nod at them in the halls and hope they have as little to say to me as I do to say to them.

Today I was heating up my lunch in a hallway, because it's not the break room, where 1,000 middle-aged sweater-clad women sit and bitch about how liberals are bad and George W. Bush would make a great husband, as long as he'd smack them around a little when they get too mouthy.

Regardless, I'm standing by a cubicle inhabited by someone I don't know and she's talking to somebody else I don't know about a town.

"Everybody knows everybody. You go into the Wal-Mart and people are asking about your kids and wondering why you weren't in church. It's great."

And all I could think was, "That sounds like the opposite of great. That sounds like a bunch of nosy people who have nothing better to do with their lives than try and run your life. That sounds like Hell."

I hope, with all my heart, that if there is a heaven and I get stuck there, that nobody else gets to choose what it's like. Because most people's idea of heaven sounds like the worst possible place I can imagine.

An Odd Discovery

So, this LinkedIn thing has kind of caught on, yeah? A lot of people joining up, though I don't know any practical use for it. It's like MySpace for grown ups, maybe, and we're all trying to amass as many contacts/friends as possible.

Well, I sent a message to a few people today to link with them and I thought, you know, maybe I'll try to find some people who have eluded me and see what they're up to. My high school reunion was last year and there were a couple of people I wanted to see who didn't show.

So, I type a name in and come up with nothing.

Well, fuck. Maybe I'll just Google him. Have I tried that before? I can't remember. So, I just put in his name and "Oklahoma" and...

Pop. Registered sex offender.

"That can't be the guy," I say to myself. Click. "Oh yeah, that's him."

For a decade now, I've wondered what happened to a guy who, way back when, was probably my best friend. I mean, we hung out all the time, we saw a ton of movies together, we had all those bullshit philosophical talks that teen-agers with an overdeveloped sense of egotism have.

But he disappeared, or I did, but I came back and nobody knows about this guy. Nobody. And then I find out he got arrested for indecent exposure. At least he wasn't diddling a kid. Hell, I couldn't even find it on the Oklahoma Supreme Court Network. But I did find out he got married the same year I did and that his offense happened just a couple years after high school.

Fucking Internet. I don't know what I'd do without you, but I'd like to find out someday.

Spring Fever

Not that work is my favorite place on earth (not that it's my least favorite place, either), but the weather is making it increasingly difficult to stay inside this time of year.

After an hour-long meeting talking deadlines and press releases and spreadsheets, I really want an ice cream. And I really want to eat that ice cream in the sun, preferably in my backyard, on the swing.

I like my new job a hell of a lot better than my old one, but when my boss made the comment that, were I rich, I'd never come back to work again -- I didn't correct him. Work is fine. I have no strong feelings about it, which is about right, I figure, but it's not where I'd choose to be.

Truth is, I wouldn't need to be rich to quit. I would just need to have no obligations.

So, once my house and credit card are paid off and I kick this damn eating habit and the need for utilities, I'm out of here.

As that'll be never, I guess I'll stick around. Still, it's awful nice outside. And I sure would like an ice cream.

Bring back the dinosaurs

You know, fellow humans, we've had a good run. There was that bit where we learned to make fire and then tell time and then somebody came up with DVD players. It was awesome.

But, let's be honest, we've kind of overstayed our welcome. And this isn't an environmental thing -- though there are certainly arguments to be made there -- but where we've gone with what we have.

You heard about the moron kids who taped themselves beating the shit out of a "friend" who talked shit on MySpace? Yeah. They were going to put it online. Because that makes sense.

Well, if that didn't decide things for you, how about this: Two idiots in Alva tortured an autistic co-worker, on tape, to sell as some kind of "Jackass" thing.

Yup. That clinches it. Let's go ahead and do that thing where we all die. Can't we get together on this and just make way for whatever comes next? Because, fuck, look at what we're doing. Time to go.

Seriously. Let's die already.

Taking Back Bacon

There is a not-so-subtle tidal wave of food fads that hit America. You'll hear something exotic once and, before long, it's part of a combo meal deal at the local Slop n' Serve.

My friend Nate calls it the Chipotle-Asiago effect. A few years ago, who really knew about asiago cheese, except for bagel-eaters at Panera? Similarly with chipotle (which are just roasted jalapenos, by the way) -- it suddenly appeared everywhere.

Well folks, bacon is the new asiago cheese.

OK, so bacon isn't really exotic at all. But it is special. In fact, whenever you want to make something special, what do you do? You put bacon on top.

A cheeseburger is great. A bacon cheeseburger? Orgasmic. A ham and turkey sandwich is fine. Add bacon and you've got a club. Hell, take out the ham and turkey and enjoy a BLT -- one of the most revered sandwiches around.

Steak? Steak is awesome. Bacon-wrapped filet mignon? Hold on to your fucking hat, Salsa Cat.

The problem is, like asiago and chipotle, bacon's stock is falling as it grows over-exposed. People are using it, but they're not doing it right.

Look at Wendy's "Baconater" burger. Six pieces of bacon on that sumbitch. It should be delicious. Only problem? Nobody knows how to cook bacon.

And let's face it, the reason bacon is so well loved isn't just because it's delicious and clogs up your heart -- it's because we've all had bad bacon, and that makes good bacon even more exciting.

Wendy's cooks their bacon by laying it on a rubber mat and setting it outside when the temperature gets up to 74 degrees. I haven't seen them do this, but after eating that shitty bacon, I can only assume that's how it's done.

On the other hand, Denny's or IHOP or, sometimes, my beloved Jimmy's Egg cooks bacon until it shatters. Bacon shards are not bacon. Cooking the texture and flavor out of something is not the way to go.

So I ask you, knowing full well that you assholes will leave me hanging, to describe your perfect piece of bacon.

Is it chewy? Is it crisp? Is it lean? Fat? Thick? Thin? Covered in asiago chipotle butter?

$2.08!

OK, I know my obsession with the cafeteria at my office is getting weird. I get it. But let me tell you a little story to help make sense of things.

A few years back, my friend, Sen. Jim Skankerton (R-DC) came back to Oklahoma for a visit. For lunch, we went to a lovely place called Braum's. Inside that establishment, Sen. Skankerton went totally apeshit when he realized his combo meal -- burger, fries, cherry limeade -- was going to cost about $5.

"$5? $5? In D.C., $5 might buy you the fries, but that's it, man!" he said, while eyeing possible skanks. "God bless this backwards little state. And skanks!"

Now, the office I used to work at had a cafeteria. The prices there were just high enough that you'd be better off driving 20 miles and eating someplace nice.

This new cafeteria? Holy shit. It's ridiculous. I had breakfast there today.

The menu:

Fried potatoes and onions.
Thick bacon (2 slices).
Freshly made pancakes (2).

The total for this meal was $2.08. So, yeah, I'm pretty excited about it. Sue me.