Saamba

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Remotely interesting - 07.07.2006
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You say potato, I say Holy Shit.

07.19.2004 3:28 a.m.

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Not-So-Daily Blatherings

The other day, while getting ready for a night-on-the-town, my girlfriend announced that she wanted to wear this new dress that I had bought her for her birthday. It was a pretty fancy outfit and not something that you could wear everyday, unless of course you are the type of person who goes to the Academy Awards on a regular basis. She suggested that if she was going to wear it, I would have to get dressed up too so that she wouldn�t look like she was from the planet Overdressed. I agreed, but we were then left with the problem that all of our friends at the bar (who would most likely be wearing shorts and tee-shirts) would be asking us why we were all dressed up. We decided that we would just tell everyone that we had gone out for a fancy dinner. We then began to discuss what restaurant we would tell them we went to. If we didn�t have our story straight, we could get caught in a lie. The two of us might accidentally blurt out a different restaurant name, or someone would say �How the hell did you get a table there? They�re closed for renovations this week.� or �That place was reserved for J. Lo�s perfume party.� Eventually, we just decided to actually go out for a nice dinner. I realized a few minutes later that my girlfriend had sneakily turned a �few beers out at the bar� into a �fancy and romantic night out for dinner.� She's good like that.

We hit the town and eventually decided to try this new fancy steak house which wasn�t really all that fancy. It was fancy in the sense that they ask you what type of bottled water you would like at your table�the brand of �meticulously collected water made from the dew-drops which form on rare tulips in the French Alps under the morning sun�, or the type �painstakingly gathered from the leading edge of the stainless-steel faucet in the back of the kitchen.� They also bring out a large platter of selected meats to your table so you can select which cut of beef you would like to have them cook for you. Other than that, it wasn�t really fancy, especially on the patio where they have you seated in plastic chairs. We found ourselves somewhat overdressed.

After we agonized over the water pedigree, we selected a bottle of wine. Because it was hot out and kinda humid, we both weren�t really in the mood for red wine, and agreed that a nice chilled bottle of white wine would be more refreshing. I was well aware that we were both very likely to order red meat for dinner, but decided that the �red wine with meat rule� was just a little too restrictive and pompous for my taste that night. My girlfriend ordered a prime rib with a baked potato, and I ordered a filet with a side of b�arnaise sauce. Our waiter did an almost decent job of hiding his disrespect for us in our choice of food-with-beverage, and pretty much chalked us up as idiots. He probably imagined that this was our first night out in the big city, and we had never eaten at a real restaurant before with tables. This thought occurred to me when he explained that he was going to open our bottle of wine to let me taste a sample of it. Thanks DickWad. I�ve purchased bottles of wine that probably cost more than his monthly car payments. He thinks I�m surprised that it isn�t poured out of a box.

The food eventually arrives and we are happily eating away and jabbering. DickWad forgets my b�arnaise sauce and I eventually have to remind him. About half-way through our meal, my girlfriend notices that she never got her baked potato. By this time we were both getting pretty full, and she didn�t really want it anymore, but we mentioned it to the waiter anyway. It's just one of those things that you think you should probably point out that they missed, so that they are aware of it. However, it is difficult to point out that they missed something when you really don't want it anymore. The conversation, which was quite agonizing, went like this:

GF: �Oh�.excuse me�Hi. Yeah, I never got my baked potato.�

DW: �Oh! Sorry! I�ll go get one right now.�

GF: �No � it�s ok. I don�t really want it anymore. I just thought...�

DW: �I�ll go to the kitchen right away.�

GF: �No, it�s really ok. I�m serious. I don�t want a baked potato. I just wanted�.�

DW: �I�ll be right back with your baked potato M�am.�

GF: �No, seriously. I don�t want a baked potato anymore. I�m almost full. I wont eat it.�

DW: I�m sorry about that. I�ll go get you your baked potato right now.�

GF: �I won�t eat it. I won't be able to finish...�

DW: �I will get you one right away�

GF: �No. It�s OK. I�m fine. I don�t really want�..�

DW: �I understand M�am.� he says with a bit of a tone. *disappears hastily*

I was pretty sure at this point that he was going to come back with a baked potato, despite her request to the contrary. I think that he was too used to dealing with obnoxious people that said things like �Don�t worry about it.� when in fact they totally wanted him to worry about it, and expected some serious compensation in return. That wasn't our style. We were just trying to point out the oversight. In retrospect, what we should have done was wait till the end of the meal and say �You didn�t get our order right, and it�s too late to fix it. We just wanted to let you know that you fucked-up.� .....but even then he would probably just think we were looking for a discount on the bill. Constructive criticism is hard to give.

A few moments later our waiter returned with THE BIGGEST BAKED POTATO WE HAVE EVER SEEN IN OUR LIVES. We literally sat there staring at it in wide-eyed, slack-jawed amazement without saying a word. It was obscene. After about a minute or two we slowly began to regain our ability to speak. This potato was over eight inches long and as big around as a baseball bat, and would easily be a full meal for two people. There are probably folks living on a farm in Idaho near a nuclear power plant that would say �Aww, that�s not so big.� but where we come from it was huge. This was clearly our waiter�s way of saying �You want a baked potato, bitch!? I�ll give you a baked potato...� I could picture him storming into a dusty storage room near the back of the restaurant and swinging open a trap door in the floor to reveal a pale, gnome-like humpback creature hiding in the darkness below.

�Zelig!! Bring me the W�nderKartoffel!�

After the initial potato shock we began to realize what a terrible waste this all was. Here was this super-spud, which had apparently been passed over by the potato-snatching machine a few too many times and allowed to grow for an extra two or three seasons. Maybe it never even made it into the harvester, and was discarded as a large rock every year until the farmer died and the land was sold to Wal Mart who dug it up during excavation. Anyway, the potato certainly had a story and it seemed like a terrible waste to have it come all this way to be left uneaten and thrown out. We agreed that we would have to do it the justice of trying to eat it. My girlfriend picked up a knife and cut into it. It unleashed a giant cloud of steam which enveloped the entire patio and caused a few nearby traffic accidents. She cut away a potato-sized chunk and dropped it on her plate to begin the tedious job of consuming it. This left 4/5ths of the beast still on the other plate. We didn�t even finish the chunk she cut off, which was larger than my steak. Sorry, mr. potato. We're sorry you had to die like this. We loved you.

After dinner my girlfriend picked up the tab and I sat wondering if the waiter had handled the situation correctly. If he hadn't brought out a potato he probably would have been afraid that we would hold it against him for not trying to remedy the situation. Instead, I got the impression that he picked the largest potato known to man just to mess with us. And an innocent potato was wasted in the process. My father used to cause a scene in restaurants if the service wasn't good or something was done wrong. I hated that. I remember sliding down my seat and trying to hide under tablecloths because I was so embarrassed. "I'm not with the mean man" I would say. He often explained to me that it was necessary so that the staff would know where their deficiencies were so they could improve in the future. In his defense if the service was good he was a very generous tipper. It went both ways. I have found that if you have a complaint, sometimes the staff assumes you are just a jerk or are trying to get a free meal, so you should be mindful of how you bring it up with them.

A few weeks ago we went out for dinner in Boston and waited an extraordinary long time for our entries to arrive. Eventually, our waitress appeared and confessed that she had completely forgotten to put our order in, and had in fact lost it entirely. She had to take our order again, and was really nervous/embarrassed. We never complained. Eventually the owner came over and said all our drinks, appetizers and deserts were free, which was a pretty nice deal for a table of four. That's when I decided I was going to pick up the dinner tab for the group. The owner didn't have to do that, but it was smart. Actually, if he was smart he would have realized we were from out of state and wouldn't likely be coming back anyway - so screw it.

Anyway, after the potato incident we headed out to meet friends for drinks. We stayed out late, listened to a band, had drinks and a good time. No one ever asked us the whole night why we were dressed up. If they had, I would have said "Potato funeral."

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

Recently, I set out on a mission to scour DiaryLand to find the next PorkTornado. Pork (if I may call him by his first name) has been hired by a legitimate magazine to spread his funniness, and all of his creative energies will likely be reserved for his new job. Since he won�t be posting on DiaryLand very much anymore, I wanted to see who else was out there that can entertain me. You can still check him out at his new kickasspaying job though (aka SalamiTsunami), and I�m sure he would appreciate the hits. Hits = money.

Since I had a big work deadline coming up, I thought nothing of spending 15-18 hours of my life trying to visit as many diaries as possible, looking for the next entertaining person. I started in the �A�s� and worked all the way down the list, then the �B�s�, etc. After about an hour or two of this, I began to notice a couple of things. One; I was an idiot for doing this. Two; There are a lot of similarities and patterns in the diaries. Therefore, to prove that I am a completely anal-retentive loser, I began to take notes.

For the sake of scientific accuracy, I should note that I only really made note of diary websites which had �custom� designs, and did not pay attention to people who simply used the default page designs provided by DiaryLand. These people need to show a little creativity. If you don�t know how to design the html page yourself, you should at least know someone who does who is willing to help. The only reason we were able to get this page design for our diary is because my brother gets paid $120/hour for website design, and he suggested we stop calling him and do it ourselves.

I only read the latest entry for each person, so if there were any extremely funny people who just happened to have an off-day in their last entry, or their puppy just fell into a chipper�shredder, they�re shit-outta-luck.

Here are the results of my ridiculous procrastination pattern search:

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Percentage of diary web-designs which prominently feature lame poetry or quote: 22.5%

Percentage of lame poetry or quotes that include the words �cry�, �pain�, �die�, �hurt�, �kill� or �tears�: 44%

Percentage of diary web-designs which feature a picture of a flower: 9%

Percentage of diary web-designs which feature an angel, pixie, faerie, unicorn or other gay non-existent winged creature: 7%

Percentage of diary web-designs which feature a picture of a heart. (Or just a heart image. Not a picture of a heart � that would be gross): 4%

Percentage of diary web-designs which feature a picture of a butterfly: 2.5%

Percentage of diary web-designs which feature a picture of a celebrity: 13%

Percentage of celebrity pictures that are Johnny Depp: 57%

Percentage of diaries written in a font that is smaller than the text of the warning labels on cigarette lighters: 13%

Percentage of diaries written inside a box which is no larger than 2� square: 13%

Percentage of 2� square diaries which use a font smaller than the text of the warning labels on cigarette lighters: 99.5

Percentage of diaries written in colored text over an annoyingly complex background pattern: 3%

Percentage of diaries written in dark-crimson-red text over a black background so that you can only read it with special �Goth� glasses: 9%

Percentage of diaries written in an annoyingly unreadable font: 1%

Percentage of diary entries which started with the sentence �OMFG!!!!! [insert name] just called!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!�: 2.5%

Percentage of diary entries which consisted entirely of one useless sentence such as �I�m tired.� or �Hey�my shoe just fell off.�: 4%

Percentage of diary entries which appear to be the last entry before the person killed themselves and/or everyone in their census�block: 2%

Percentage of diary entries where the person is announcing that they are so totally in love that they are farting bunnies out their ass: 1.5%

Percentage of diary entries which mention the fact that their car has just been broken into or they have been burgled: 1.5%

Most number of features listed above found on a single website: 5

Most annoying diary: http://drzchula.diaryland.com/

______________________________________________________________________________________

I�m not sure what it all means, but I got the serious impression that most people are really unhappy with their lives, their computer monitor resolution is for some strange reason set at 800x600 and Johnny Depp is almost twice as good as a unicorn.

Anyway, looking at all the differend diary designs made us want to update our page design to something a little bit spiffier. We did find a bunch of people we thought were very funny and/or generally entertaining to read, and added some of them to our buddy list. We will keep searching though, but I doubt I will take notes again.

God, that was anal.



 2 wrote to say im an idiot.


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