An ode to culture

By Harold

In addition to the toll it takes on one’s pocketbook, liver and rectum, the principal downside of being a first-rate boozehound, at least for those of us inclined to write about it, must be the persistent lack of total recall or anything even closely approximating it.  Yes, blackouts can be little gifts from God, sparing one the horror of revisiting the kinds of ill-advised antics that speak to deep, psychological distress.  But when one is unable to string together even a handful of details from a perfectly enjoyable evening of good food, wine and conversation, the blackout is a menace.

I had such a perfectly enjoyable evening Sunday.  A friend of ours that now lives in New York was in town, and to celebrate, another mutual friend—this one a culinary genius—offered to mark the occasion by cooking a feast. An original guest list of six swelled to a dozen as word got out, and a feast was had.

Now, here is where the eminently-abler Lewis would regale you, dear reader, with well-turned phrases describing the preparation of the food, complete with pictures.  And, in fact, Lewis suggested I approach this feast with a blog post in mind.  (I believe his exact words were: “You’d better type up a damn post, you lazy bastard.”)  But you know where this is going.  I took no pictures, a made no notes, and every last memory-morsel of the evening has been wiped away forever.  The Ouzo nightcap made sure of that.

So, what’s a blogger to do when his faculties fail him?  In this case, I think I’ll pass along something, courtesy of my wife, that has restored my faith in our American culture.  At an all-girls party that she attended recently, a friend of hers pulled up an online video from a site called Blacks on Blonds.  I have not seen the video myself, but it was described to me in titillating detail by my wife, and I must say, it brings a smile to my face whenever I think of it.

How marvelous that such a site exists.  And even though I’ve never seen the video, nor plan to, it warms my heart to know that others know of it, and are no doubt deriving similar pleasure from its quirky humor.  Should you view it?  I cannot say.  For me, the joy was in the description.  But there may be even more joy in the viewing.

One point of caution: If you’re the type of person that a) has a phallic member, and b) derives some measure of self-worth from the belief that said member is, in relative length and overall girth, above average, then this is precisely the type of site you should studiously avoid.  There are urban legends, there are hateful stereotypes, and then there are what could best be described as popularly held and accepted beliefs concerning certain traits of various ethnic groups that are in fact true.

For instance, that white republican men are spineless, petulant punks so afraid of there own inadequacy that they must refute with every breath their privileged status in our society.  Or that Asians are good at math and, more specifically, that Asian girls are particularly adept at playing the violin.  Or, that black men are hung like horses, particularly those that perform on sites with URLs that contain the phrase “blacks on blonds.”

What, you might be asking yourself, is the point of all of this?  I’m not sure.  But how often does one have the opportunity to both trash the GOP and use the phrase “blacks on blonds” in the same paragraph? That’s right, far too rarely.  Call me an opportunist.

1 comment for “An ode to culture

  1. September 29, 2006 at 4:12 pm

    Yeah, sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn’t. If I have enough wits about me, I’ll use my camera for taking notes. Ya know? Just taking dumb shots of ingredients, mixing bowls, containers with names on them. This way, the next day, if I’m lucky, I can piece together what happened or at least get close enough for a post.
    And sometimes you just wind up flipping through all the dumb images thinking to yourself, “what the hell is all this crap?”
    Biggles

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