The J.R.S #5 - Wrapping Paper, Nic's Cheeseburger, & Bowling
Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel - Happy Third day of Hannukah and welcome to The J.R.S! Only two more editions of this bad boy left for 2017- so do some yoga, drink some ginseng, post a status thanking Alabama for not electing a pedo, and enjoy Volume 5 of me reviewing things that didn't need to be reviewed.
Wrapping Paper
"Clothes for your Box"
The holidays are here, which means lots of unnecessary stress. You know the one I'm talking about - not the hit to your wallet, or the pressure of getting a gift for your parents (who just buy things they want, so you're in a no-win situation).
No, I'm talking about an experience that I managed to avoid most of my life, but in the last two years this terrible incident has crept into adulthood- much like an Elf on the Shelf, but with deeper psychological scarring.
I'm speaking of course about the complete shitshow that is the gift-wrapping industry, and wrapping gifts in general.
Oh hello there person I've spent time at work to earn wages for, then gone out and spent said wages on acquiring you a gift for Hanukkah / Christmas / whatever you celebrate. But oh no, the time, money, and thought I've put into this gift aren't a true sign of devotion. Nope, I must go back to work, earn more wages, and then dump those wages back into the holiday industrial complex to purchase...paper.
Not just any paper mind you - it has to be the special paper that is super good at giving you paper cuts while simultaneously being terrible at bending, and we did we mention how excellent it is at rolling back in into a tube the second you reach for the tape?
As you might pick up, I wrapped gifts today, and I did not have an enjoyable experience. I remember enjoying wrapping gifts last year and was surprised how decent of a job I did at it.
Like that one day in Flowers for Algernon, that must have been my brain at it's most lucid, because today I was like Algernon near the end of the book. Paper was going everywhere, tape somehow ended up on my feet, and at one point I literally screamed in rage as the paper snapped away from me.
This was supposed to be a moment reflection and celebration. I had worked the perfect equation of hours to make wages to result in gifts to result in the special paper, and that's really what love means. Instead, I found myself cursing out a piece of intricately designed paper, pleading with its edges to fold into corners, and then trimming the corners off in blind anger with my Opinel.
"But Joey, maybe you're just bad at wrapping paper" you could say.
Well, I would counter with the fact that according to this quick Google search I did, 30 million trees a year are cut down specifically for the use of wrapping paper.
If you really want to have your presents wrapped, I have the perfect solution. Let's all return to the classy act of wrapping presents in newspaper, but wait - think about it. It solves two problems in one.
It supports local journalism because you're subscribing to quality writing, writing which I add, is made of recycled paper, and you can wrap presents in the comics section.
I just saved print media and the trees, while simultaneously taking down the wrapping paper industry down a well-deserved peg or two. This calls for presents.
Wrapping Paper - 1 out of 5 Stars
Cheeseburger from Nic's Grill in Oklahoma City
"Tiny Room - Huge Burger"
A few weekends back I took a 24-hour jaunt to Oklahoma City for a wedding. Our reasoning was that if we weren't going to Oklahoma City for a wedding in the State Capitol, then when? Our hotel was the biggest room that I've ever stayed in, and the wedding in general was a proper hootenanny.
But I'm not here to review weddings - I'm here to review a burger that I'll never forget for as long as I live (and after eating it, I definitely shaved a few years off my mortal coil).
Nic's Grill is a tiny restaurant - basically a countertop with seats facing a roaring griddle, and 3 tables crammed between the walls and the counter seats. Behind the counter rules Nic, a gargantuan-sized man, who makes burgers that equal his measurements.
The grill is full of hungry Okies, but this isn't a fast service environment. A television blares football between plumes of smoke and grease from the ever-constant pile of french fries and onions being cooked on the griddle. Only seating customers are served, and there's an unspoken and primal order that Nic appraises customers with. We stood outside and then in the restaurant for about 30 minutes before we were asked about our burgers.
That's not to say that we weren't served. In the corner (below the college football being shown) is a diminutive grey-haired woman with colorful glasses who pushes soda or sweet tea upon you, by the 20oz. She's Nic's mother, and lord help you if your plastic cup even looks less than 100% full, because she'll ask you if you want a refill almost instantly.
Once you get a seat, Nic will turn his fatherly gaze upon you and take your condiment order. No question of how you like your burger done - you're getting your burger Nic's. way.
When it's deemed ready, your handed a tray chock full of curly french fries, and the biggest burger I've laid eyes on. At least a pound and half of beef has been cooked into a patty that shares more similarities with a baseball than a hockey puck.
To steal a line from 311, the first bite is a beautiful disaster. The gooey American cheese sloughs off, and tomatoes go flying out of the burger, greased by French original yellow mustard. The fork that accompanied the tray suddenly makes sense.
I pride myself as a good eater, but midway through the burger, I had to take a break - partly to catch my breath, and also to mop my brow from the meat sweats.
It truly was the type of meal where once the food arrives, small-talk ceases, due to the challenge of consumption. Upon completion, Nic asks you how you enjoyed it, and obviously you say it was a divine and delectable eatgasm (No, don't say eatgasm. This is Oklahoma. Keep it kosher in God's country you fool).
Shoulder your way through the hungry and waiting patrons, and then burst through the door onto the street and take a deep breath of Oklahoma air, and be proud that you summited the food mountain and lived to tell your tale in a bizarrely written newsletter.
Cheeseburger at Nic's Grill - 4 out of 5 Stars
Bowling
"Deceptively Difficult"
We went on a double date recently, and the activity was bowling. Bowling is a diversion I don't often partake in, but I find it amusing in small doses.
Bowling alleys have an interesting place in socioeconomic status. I feel like they used to be a sign of class (The White House has an alley!), then they went through a stage of being the haven of the working class - cheap beer, hotdogs, endless cigarette smoke, and now they're in a bizarre no man’s land between classy and dingy.
The alley we went to was definitely shooting for the classy / event vibe. If you're prone to seizures, I wouldn't suggest a visit, since above each of the 26 lanes was a huge TV screen, all playing different movies, TV shows, or music videos. It was like someone tried to build a monument to ADD.
Our bowling booth had a touch screen where you could order food and drinks, with options like the Nacho Avalanche or a ginormous Moscow Mule designed for four. In a questionable move, both ladies on the date ordered Martinis.
At a bowling alley.
In a result that surprised no one, the Martinis were bad. Also bad? My bowling ability. There is no rhyme or reason to why I have the magical ability to throw two gutter balls in a row, then a strike then a spare, then a gutter ball again.
My lack of bowling skill is almost impressive - I think the most I've ever gotten is around the 115 range, but that's laughably bad considering the time I've spent in bowling alleys growing up. As a child, most birthday parties were held at the Montrose Bowling Alley, a Mom and Pop joint that is still in operation today.
Once, when I spent the summer after college teaching Frisbee golf at a Jewish Summer Camp, we took the campers to a bowling alley in the nearby town. We then proceeded to spend upwards of five hours in a bowling alley. I have a max limit of about two and a half games of bowling in me, after that I approach bowling with a Nietzsche like attitude, treating it as survival instead of a game.
I didn't impress my girlfriend or our double date partners with my bowling ability, and I doubt I ever will. However, I did smoke all three of them at the arcade version of Mario Kart, and that's the real takeaway here.
Bowling Alleys have become one of the last dens of arcade games - so drop in, plunk $20 into the token machine, order a hot dog and get your Time Crisis 2 on.
Bowling - 2 out of 5 Stars
That's a full lid on this version of The J.R.S. Please still invite me to bowling birthday parties, just don't expect your gift to be wrapped. Feel free to drop me a line at JRSdiaries@gmail.com and let me know your thoughts, opinions, or your best arcade memory. Like most wedding DJ's, I do take review requests.
Finally, if you like what you read, tell your friends - trying to get internet famous y'all.
Love you, miss you!
Joey