California Dreamin'

SO WHY a tuna salad sandwich might have spurred a certain nostalgia for California, I do not know. I can only say: it's a good thing. Since my good pal Doc Nagel moved out there back in 98, I have gone to visit at pretty much every excuse I could find, the exception being this year, where I could have gone on the excuse that the Wifey is going to Dragon Con with a friend of hers this August-- of which more shortly-- but I think I have decided, on balance, that I ought to stay home with the dog for that long weekend. Better for the dog, I think.

Not that the decision is written in stone. I am NOT going to Dragon Con, for a variety of reasons-- first, waiting in lines is not one of my favorite things; second, Atlanta; third, Atlanta in August. But I could still find an excuse for going to California. I kind of think I need to.

Now, back to the sandwich. The tuna salad component was basically a given; the fries are the local grocery chain's shoestring cut, which I am quickly developing a preference for as a sandwich mate. So the wild card here was the beer. I had managed to get out and run a couple of errands earlier in the day, and about the time I was ready to begin the lunching process, it had started raining. For no readily apparent reason, having run about in the Miata with the top down for a an hour and change put me in the mood for reminiscing about previous visits to the Golden State. Why the Saranac India Pale Ale would remind me of a fish sandwich I had at a smarmy faux pub on the bay at Monterey, and also of the crumbs of a poem I started writing about the experience that never gelled, I know not. The Black Forest, on the other hand, had plenty of reason to remind me of serial visits to the 'frisco brew-pub we end up going to about every other time we hit the burg. Either way, it was a worthwhile endevour.

In other news, there is a reason why there hasn't been a movie of the day for awhile.

Not that I haven't been watching movies. But I did watch this one, and it kind of has me stymied. If you have watched it, you probably know why. If you have not, well, it's HUGELY tempting for me to tell you why, but that would spoiler the thing. And I wouldn't be the first. About every critic I have run across has confessed to the sin of wanting to spill the beans. Because the twist that is coming is one hell of a twist, and even though I saw it coming, even though I knew what the twist was going to be, I managed to maintain a state of denial right up to about five seconds before the filmmaker tipped his hand and let the cat out of the bag.

Confused? Still know nothing about what this film is about? Whew. Thank God for that. Suffice it to say that this is a film about a very nice guy who knew another very nice guy that some terrible, terrible things happened to-- and happened to have spent about a third of the guy's life shooting film on him! I highly recommend it. I almost didn't. It is a hugely painful procedure, and more than once I found myself feeling slightly dirty for watching, but the fact remains that this is a hugely effective tribute to one helluva a guy who was brutally taken, for the wrong reasons and too soon. See it.

So there's that. I have got it off my chest. We now return you to your irregularly scheduled program, which, as fate would have it, was richly primed for a little California nostaginatin'.


THAT's better.

I Do Not Recommend This To Anyone

"THAT looks terrible."

This is what I expected the Wifey to say upon my presenting her with this image. She did not. She said, and I quote, "yowza," which is equally appropriate, oddly enough.

This is one of the newer Hungry Man XXL meal dealies, the "Hamburger Hero" (as they call it; Der Unterburger, as I call it). It is definitely a guilty pleasure. I know it can't be any good, frankly. It is the epitome of processed foods. It's a fine Swanson product, inventors of the Rubber Chicken. It's a Hungry Man meal, for crying out loud. (My niece Cayla helped throw this into relief last weekend; when I announced that I was planning on eating a Hungry Man product, she twisted her freckled little face into a scowl and went "Grrrr!", explaining that's the noise that comes to mind whenever she encounters a Hungry Man product.

On the other hand, since none of the schmucks who spend their time lambasting Swanson products (or, more specifically, Hungry Man brand items) on the internet have touched this so far, it can't be that bad. And I am taking a kind of a reverse-word-of-honor here: these idiots are looking to revile, to be shocked at the nasty, naughty, greasy, unidentifyable, and clearly just plain wrong kinds of things they can stuff into their slavering maws, and compound that with the fact that they all spend vitually as much time describing their craven, vermin-infested hovels (or dressing up camp photos of Swanson meals flanked by bottles of decent wine and candles in silver holders and napkins in onyx rings), and, well, these people are clearly looking to make trouble, because they're geared for it. If they couldn't find a reason to be absolutely outraged at this product, there can't be much wrong with it.

Of course, there clearly can't be anything specifically right about it. Swanson, after all.

But I love it. I do. As with all things, they key is in the futzing, which in this case is minimal: a little extra cheese, some ketchup and mustard, some fries on the side, and it's a good ol' hunk of processed cow. And sometimes, well, that's just exactly what you want.

Or what I want, anyways.


The beer I can recommend. The Kona I had heard of, but it just now showed up in our market, and it was on sale to boot. The Longboard Island Lager . . . Well, first things first. This is an extremely hokey brand-- proudly serving you since 1994!-- and while beer is easily associated with surfing and surfers, the labelling clearly enunciates that their target audience consists of people who have never surfed, and thus associate surfing with something that has not been regularly practiced since 1958. On top of which, why this would be "Island Lager . . . " Well, it's just that lager is a German thing, and so why it would be made on Waikiki (or Kona, for that matter) . . . Now, maybe if it hailed from Guadalajara . . .

But the lager itself is just lovely. Lovely body, solid hop notes, lovely ligering aftertaste . . . Just lovely. I can wholeheartedly recommend it, regardless of the marketing.

The film of the day I also cannot recommend.


I remember hearing about this around the time people were finally conceding that The Kids In The Hall were more or less a defunct entity, and about the time that those same peoplke were concedeing that News Radio was a pretty good show, and probably would not, as they had been silently hoping, crash and burn, sending Dave Foley screaming back to his Canadian pals for a revised version of TKITH (or Tkith, which is a fifth level Scientologist or one of the lesser minions of Gozer). I did not see it when it came out, because a) I had no money, 2. This spent maybe 30 seconds in our market, and +, It looked like the kind of thing that the Wifey, who at that point was still The Girly, would reject out of hand.
Which, I don't know, maybe she would and maybe she wouldn't. It is pretty silly, and while it is clearly a vehicle (not only for Foley, but also for Dave Higgins, who co-wrote it and has an extended role as a cop thoroughly exploiting his investigative resources for personal gratification, as well as the dozen or so A-minus-list comic actors who have small, if meaty, parts) it is genuinely funny most of the time. Additionally, it just keeps moving on, so the bits that do fall flat (and there are but a few, MHO) pass under the wheels like pebbles. Also, it is good to see Jennifer Tilly get a role that requires her to be something other than a jaded movie star or a raging nymphomaniac, recently lobotomized. (In this case she plays a narcoleptic, and it is a genuine treat to watch her work it.) (Yeah yeah yeah; this was back in 97-98, I know, but still, good to see her get good work, past or present.) Also, Enrico Colantoni has a bit part, with one of the best line sets ever: "Know how many gunmen were involved in the Kennedy assassination? NONE! No guman at all! Kennedy's head just did that!"

Also, the 80's era cliche mining that was rampant in the films of the late 90's is represented, but with a tad more wit and subtlety than was common for the time. And while there is definitely a harking back to the TKITH esthetic-- a handy subtitle would have been "Heccubus Goes On The Lamm!"-- it's also removed enough from that not to taste like imitation, bitter, bitter imitation of youthful success.

(Or at least not to me.)

So I cannot recommend it. If you love Dave Foley, Second City, mistaken identity comedies, late 90's comedy in general, then maybe I can. But I can only conclude that it played an excellent balance between the perfect pleasure of the Kona Longboard Island Lager and the filthy, dark, lowdown, soul-dimming guilty pleasure* of a great big ol' chunk of processed cow.

Now that's good eatin!

*Chuck Klosterman can now, officially, get bent