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golden food
Wednesday, March 29 2000
Today my packing specialty was pictures, mirrors, and other flat items. I found lots of cardboard in the alley which was perfect for my needs.
Back when Barry Goldwater was the most extreme right winger on the fringe of the American political spectrum, someone (maybe it was my wacky uncle Bob from Chicago) used to say, "Goldwater. That's what you put in the toilet when you get up in the morning." More recently I've learned of "golden showers" and their tantric incarnation, "golden blessings." Tonight Kim and I had an experience with something I call "golden food," or what Matt Rogers refers to as "the tan food group."
Owing to the imminent move to Los Angeles, our refrigerator is almost completely empty. Since we don't have much cash to work with, we decided to take advantage of a gift certificate given to me on my birthday by my old co-workers Kevin and Jason. The gift certificate applied to anywhere in Horton Plaza, the Schteveish mall in downtown San Diego, a place neither of us has frequented much since losing our jobs there.
We ended up in the third-story food court of Horton Plaza, both of us ordering what looked most delicious from a fish and chips place. When served, our plates looked identical, though Kim's probably cost about 50% more than mine. Aside from a little container of red sauce and some cole slaw, everything on our plates was the golden brown color of food that has been deep fried. There's something fundamental in the human neural wiring that makes it crave golden food when it's famished. French fries, with their appealing combination of fat, carbohydrates and salt, are particularly hard to beat at such times. The weather in Horton Plaza is always perfect for some reason, so our meal was exceptionally pleasant, despite the Schteves muscling their girlfriends past like hostages.
Back in Ocean Beach, we picked up the keys for the UHaul we'll be driving to Los Angeles from a convenience store on the corner of Bacon and Voltaire. We also got a six pack of Sierra Nevada, though the golden food camped out in our stomachs kept us from drinking as much as we would have liked to.
We tried to watch the 1991 film version of Naked Lunch directed by David Cronenberg, but (despite the typewriter beetles) it just wasn't interesting enough to keep us awake. I think it's very difficult to make an engaging movie about global conspiracies where the revelations come in the form of hallucinations.
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