Be The Change You Want To See In The World

I can’t tell you how many times this has happened to me:

I go into a burrito place.  There’s a “regular” burrito and a more expensive “super” burrito.  A super burrito = a regular burrito plus cheese and sour cream and guacamole.  The menu sez that it costs the same amount to add cheese to any item as it costs to add sour cream to any item.  I order a super burrito with no cheese and extra sour cream.  They charge me an additional fee for the extra sour cream.

It’s infuriating!  Do they think I’m stupid?  Or are they just shamelessly fucking me because they know that they can, because they know that I know that every other burrito joint in town is gonna do the same goddamn thing?

And I presume that folks who order a super burrito with no sour cream and extra cheese are treated as shabbily as me.

It’s unacceptable.  It’s an affront to consumers’ intelligence and an encroachment into their purses, and there's no excuse.  Perhaps (maybe, just possibly) I could understand if the menus were to clearly state that there was an extra charge for substitutions (I’d still be pissed, but perhaps I could understand), but they rarely do (and even when they do, they never even try to explain how/why substitutions necessarily warrant an extra charge).

So I’ve decided to do something about it…introducing the Burrito Justice Forum.  The idea is to provide a space where “extra cheese, no cream” people can hook up with “extra cream, no cheese” people and save a bundle on super burritos by going to the burrito shop together and asking the burrito-maker to put one burrito’s cheese/cream into the other burrito and the other burrito’s cream/cheese into the first burrito.

If you live in or near Oakland (or if you plan to visit), simply use the comment section of this blog entry to post your name, your phone number, when you plan to be eating burritos in the Oakland area, and whether you are an “extra cheese, no cream” person or an “extra cream, no cheese” person.  Then let the market work its magic.

At the risk of turning this whole enterprise into a complicated and unmanageable mind-fuck, please feel free to post your guacamole preferences as well.

Your Face Is Hella NC-17, Dude

You can mock and/or execrate his masochistic tendencies, but you gotta respect his dedication.  This fucker really knows how to commit to something.  This is passion, misguided as it may be.

So props to you, kid.  Kudos for doing things your own way.  You clearly have a will of your own and you know how to resist outside pressures.  A tip o' my hat to you and if you ever ask me to buy you a drink, I'll buy you two.

Still, what a fuckin' nutjobber, right?  This is disturbing.  This is an insult to human bodies everywhere.  He obviously has a right to unsettle me by modifying his face into this obscene monstrosity, but why would he do so?  This is just terrible.  This is a brutal assault on my sensibilities.  I'm just tryin' to live my life here, and then here comes this guy.  C'mon, dude!  Wtf?  I don't want to see this.  How am I supposed to pretend I didn't see this?  Your face scars my psyche.  You should need a license for that shit.  How many times have you seen Hellraiser?

And, btw, I'm totally assuming this guy is a sex pervert.  I figure the chances are, like, 100%.  I mean, how could he not be a pervert...how would he ever get laid?  You'd pretty much have to be a perv.  Of course, I'm not saying there's anything necessarily wrong with being a sex pervert...live and let live.  But it's not exactly something you want on your resume, let alone your face.

Call me bourgeois, but I don't think this is the sort of thing that anyone should be encouraging.  This is just gross.

Oaklandscapes

A Strange Mantra

Last night I was walking through Ogawa Plaza, on my way to get cigarettes and Indian food, when a short, stocky, elderly Asian lady with a wizened face beckoned to me.  Ordinarily I don’t stop for strangers on the street, but this woman seemed harmless enough, and she was interesting too.  She wore a funny cylindrical hat and colorful clothes of coarse wool, like maybe she was a yakherd from someplace super exotic, like maybe Bhutan or some place like that.  So I stopped to talk.

She asked me, “Can you say ’NAH-moo’?”

And so I said, “NAH-moo.”

She nodded slowly, with measured approval.  She said, “Now say ‘AH-mee’.”

“AH-mee,” I said.

She again nodded.  “Tofu,” she said, it being understood that I was to repeat after her.

“Tofu,” I repeated.

“Good,” said the woman.  “NAH-moo.”

“NAH-moo,” I echoed.

“AH-mee.”

“AH-mee.”

“Tofu.”

“Tofu.”

“Okay,” said the Asian lady.

“Thanks,” I said, nodding before turning and walking away.

As I strode off, the woman called out from where she stood: “NAH-moo.”

“NAH-moo,” I called back, over my shoulder.

“AH-mee!” shouted the woman.

“AH-mee!” I shouted back.

“Tofu!” cried the woman.

“Tofu!” I cried back.

Then, as I walked on in silence, the woman, who now had begun following me, yelled sternly: “Keep saying it!”

I kept saying it.  “NAH-moo…AH-mee…tofu…NAH-moo…AH-mee…tofu….”

When I got to the corner at Broadway, I looked back to see if the woman was still monitoring me, but she was gone.  She had disappeared, like a dying wildflower’s loosed petals blown across the valleys by a Himalayan wind.

...out of the worm-hole, into the fire!

Dear Worm,

I’m guessing that a lot of people who write to you for advice are people whose sins and character flaws have gotten them into all sorts of trouble, betrayers and degenerates in hot messes of their own making.  Well, let me assure you that I am not like that.  I’m a good guy.

In fact, I have a pretty good life.  I’m a nice guy with a funny sense of humor that has made people laugh and I’m employed (albeit, underemployed) and my family isn’t particularly unloving or unsupportive.  I like to go to concerts and movies, and I enjoy good food and beer.  I especially like artisan cheeses.  I probably eat a ton of fancy cheese every year.  Like, literally, a ton…two thousand pounds.  Well, actually, I only eat about a pound of cheese a day, but that’s still like four hundred pounds a year.  Somebody once called me a “bon vivant” because I bought so much expensive cheese.

I’m in good shape, though, despite all of the cheese.  That’s ‘cause I power-walk.  I walk around the lake pretty much every other day.  Occasionally I do yoga.  I’d play tennis, too, if I knew anybody who wanted to play.

So “what’s the problem?,” right?  Well, it’s in the romance department, in the bedroom section to be precise, if you know what I mean.  I’ll bet you didn’t see that comin’, huh?   ; )

Actually, it’s not exactly romance that’s my problem.  I’m actually extremely romantic, and I really know how to charm the ladies.  (Also, I’m classically and ruggedly good-looking, which sure doesn’t hurt.  You know that actor, Jake Gyllenhaal?  I look a lot like him.)  Pitching sweet woo has always come naturally for me, and I can usually make a woman feel dreamy in about ten minutes.  I’m able to hypnotize a woman into an erotic languor in which all she wants is to feel my sensuous touch.  It’s like they turn into jelly.  I don’t mean “hypnotize” in a weird roofie way, of course, but in a still-conscious and fully consensual way.  Trust me, it can be very romantic.

No, my difficulties pertain more to the physical aspects of lovemaking.  Now don’t get me wrong here, I’m not impotent.  It’s nothing like that.  It’s my toes.

Over the last decade or so, I’ve had some sort of fungus infecting my toenails, both feet.  At least I assume it’s a fungus.  Nothing’s been confirmed by a medical doctor yet.  (I don’t have any health insurance, and I refuse to wait in line at the Berkeley Free Clinic…I’m pretty sure there aren’t any doctors there, anyway.)  I wouldn’t even call ‘em toenails any more.  They’re more like the material that I imagine a horn is made of, like a rhinoceros horn.  It doesn’t hurt or anything, but they sure are nasty-looking.

Anyway, it’s gotten so that I have to wear socks when I’m in bed gettin’ my sex on.  For a while there I could get away with just dimming the lights, but now it’s to the point where my partner would be able to feel something was wrong even if she couldn’t see the problem.  And the socks are no real solution either, not by a long shot.  Sometimes I wonder if the socks aren’t as much of a turn-off as the bare toenails would be.  I can tell you this: it’s a real trick to feel virile and robust while you’re explaining that you can't take off your socks because your feet are so cold.

So how can I get past this?  I feel like I’m a dynamite catch except for this one thing.  But this fungus is driving ten misshapen, discolored little wedges between me and the ladies.  But I can’t just let this obstacle shut down my love life, can I?  What can I do?

Btw, I think of myself as quite independent — a rugged individualist, if you will — and so it’s really hard for me to reach out and ask for help this way.  But I’m at my wits’ end, Worm.  I need answers!

Signed,

Fungus Upon Nails Got Ultra Yucky

ps.  I’m attaching some pics so that you’ll have a clearer idea of what I’m talking about.

The Worm sez: Wtf; is one of your parents a troll?  That’s fucking disgusting.  Here’s what you gotta do.  First, call 911 and tell them your toes are rotting off and you need medics to come get you right away.  Second, once you’re stabilized, google “obamacare berkeley” and call the first phone number you find.  Third, don’t ever send me any more photos again ever, not under any circumstances.  And know that there’s no shame in seeking help, FUNGUY, none at all.  It’s needing help in the first place that makes you a loser.  Doing without assistance won’t redeem you.

********************

So sayeth The Worm.