Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Junk Foods I've Consumed This Week

Chili Cheese Pringles



Eating Chili Cheese Pringles feels queasily like cheating on adulthood. It's like listening to Pearl Jam's Ten or making out with your girlfriend in the backseat of a car parked behind a mini-mart; guilty pleasures all, laced with the sinking feeling that you're engaging in activities meant for those younger than yourself. I feel that, as a man in my mid-20's, I should have graduated on to the more "adult" flavors; stuff like Salt and Vinegar (whose taste mimics the wincingly tart effects that growing up has on us all), Dill Pickle (to nicely compliment my sourness towards life) and, especially, Plain (because as we age, we realize life is just an endless stretch of bland, flavorless, beige landscapes, metaphorically speaking). But, perhaps I'm being a bit too much of a Snack-food Sartre. Especially since we're dealing with a flavor combination that, despite the initial pangs of guilt that it causes, somehow manages to wrap up all the age groups in it's loving arms of Chili and Cheese. It's rough going at first, but soon your heart will take over your brain and you'll eat the entire can of Chili Cheese Pringles without shame, not caring if the neighbors can see and what they must think. We're adults, yes, but we deserve Chili Cheese Pringles. We're not that old.

Budweiser Beer



If I may posit an analogy... The beer you drink is like the woman you love. It's fun, for awhile, to date the microbrewed, double-stout, chocolate infused variety of specialty beers; they're exciting and impressive to look at and when you take them out in public, all your friends go "oooh" and think you've got exquisite taste. They're always dressed in a fancy label and they're always silky smooth. Trouble is, the fancy microbrews are expensive to always keep around and, for some, they must be kept at a certain temperature and poured just so at a 45 degree angle to maximize the flavor and not upset the sediments; they're high-maintenance, in other words. Also, they make you paranoid. You stop having your friends over because you're afraid that, as soon as your back is turned, one of them will steal your expensive microbrew from the fridge. In the end, though you've had some fun being with the high-class ale, your thoughts begin to turn towards the simple, plainly pretty beer you've turned your back on. The beer that's always loyal. The beer that never requires special treatment and costs you far, far less in terms of money and stress. You start to think of how that beer always looked great, even if it was simply in a pop-top can. It was your first love and, now, you've cruelly left it on the shelf for some tarty, spicy brew that's done nothing but cause you trouble in exchange for a fleeting good time and a taste of prestige. You curse yourself, but it's okay. That small-town beer is still waiting for you. It's love is as pure as the mountain spring from whence it's water came. That beer, my friends, is Budweiser; The beer you marry and bring home to the family.

3 Comments:

Anonymous Braden said...

Wait. The beer was a metaphor? For a second I thought you used to date this beautiful beer ... and I never knew.

3:12 AM  
Anonymous mmyers said...

'Snack food Sartre' has worked its way into my heart.

2:09 PM  
Blogger Clinton said...

Braden... Dude, don't you remember Kristi? She was a six-pack of pale ale.

mmyers... Happy to contribute to your heart's lexicon.

2:29 PM  

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