Hit and Run TNSC (REDUX)

2.3.2017 (first posted this week 2003)


Ya ever hear the expression, "Always crashing the same car?" If you don't get its meaning, it means that you make the same mistake again and again. There are several dumbshit maneuvers I repeat but there's one in particular I'll delineate here in anecdotal form:

I was sittin' around jawing with a pal a few weeks back. We were at her apartment drinking a few beers, watchin' some TV. As we're both fans of that genius Alton Brown, and his show, Good Eats, was on, we were watching it. As I mentioned, Alton Brown is a genius, and as usual, his show was interesting, informative and captivating, so our attention was glued to the show and stayed put through the transition to a commercial break. What jarred me out of my Good Eats stupor was a spot for that annoying, no-talent jackass, Bobby Flay, and his stupid show. God that fool pisses me off. He doesn't tell you anything you don't already know and he treats the chefs he profiles like wannabes. This is the same Bobby Flay that got his ass soundly handed to him by the Iron Chef on that show's special "celebrity" series. I think that Bobby Flay even ran off the set because he was getting whooped so bad.

Anyhoo, I started off on a rant about, well, what I just mentioned. To my pal I said I didn't care much for Bobby Flay or his show or his talent or how he treated the other chefs. I think I threw in some made-up crimes against cooking just for hyperbole. I was working myself into a lather when my friend interrupted and said, "Um ... you know that Bobby Flay is my sister's husband's brother, right?" I, of course, did NOT know this. I sensed that she didn't appreciate my comments. She continued with, "And you can get your goddang beer can off the arm of my new sofa, okay?" Sheesh. I took a quick moment to assess how important to me our friendship was. Then I said, "Have you ever met that jer ... uh ... Bobby Flay? Was he a total prick to you? Did he cook for you? Had you had better MacDonald's? Oh, and, this beer can's empty. I guess that means that you could get me another." I don't think she cottoned to that kind of talk. I didn't wait around to hear how she finished the phrase "... big-mouth, spastic, jerkweed, geek-boy ..." The door closed behind me at "geek-boy."

That's the kind of crap I do a lot: Insult someone or yell at them only to find they're closer to me than I thought. How was I supposed to know that my friend's sister's husband's brother was Bobby Flay? Or that that hog that almost ran me over on the way to work was actually my client that morning. (Man was that a tension-filled edit!) I can answer my own question: There's no way to know. I figure I'll take the risk, though, because no one likes a guy who doesn't talk. A lot. Or have opinions. About everything. Or creatively swears. Constantly. Et cetera.


Tonight - Latin American Club
**CASH ONLY**
 
bye-ee!
whrr ... clik!