Tease/Quest

There are few consumables I will admit to "loving", in which I'd define as never tiring, loyalty to brand, able to eat at most any given time, and fond memories. To me there are two of current focus: Slurpee's from 7-11 convenient stores and Diet Coke. When I was a child, after I went to the doctor's office or hospital I would be positively reinforced with a magnificent, slush, sugar-syrup beverage with a bad-ass spoon straw. In high school and up to now, Diet Coke is my soda of choice, so much so that when promoted for my drink order I ask whether they carry Coke or Pepsi products as to not be deceived by ordering a "diet cola." I understand the snobbery, but this is a love, as I have defined it. 7-11 recently released and marketed a Slurpee that is Diet Cherry Coke, only 25 calories for a small. How magical! How perfect! With the added bonus of some cherry syrup without additional calories?! One fateful night, I was able to taste this product, and since then I have wanted another. It is still being heavily promoted and there are dense populations of 7-11's in my locale, yet thrice have I tried to re-taste this heavenly product, and all three times it has been mysteriously absent. I feel cheated, titillated, and unfulfilled. It is now my quest, maybe mine now of imaginary proportions à la King Pellinore and his questing beast.  My latest sighting drew me near, but to no avail:

Freedom snacking

I get so paranoid when I eat a granola bar in public; fearing I may commit involuntary legume-anaphalaxular manslaughter. Where will the madness end?

am i...

Am I a Crustacean?...or am I a Mollusk? 

Quit It

Woody Allen has been, and still is one of the people I admire most. He has a grasp on humor, the meaninglessness of life, the oddities of love, and an existential romanticism that most certainly helped shape my adolescence and adulthood. With the buzz and tabloids, I refuse to see one of my idols go down like this. Some of my co-millenials started quoting Dylan Farrow's letter to me as a sort of joke; "What's your favorite Woody Allen movie?..." Now apparently has a new meaning: he's a sex-offender. Can we remember another mega-influential artist that went down with a cloak of shame? Certainly. I had Mono when all the Michael Jackson allegations were bombarding the TV. I was sad. I remembered the year the Michael Jackson performed at the Superbowl and had choreographed a dance routine to do for my parent's friends. "Ben" still tugs at my heart strings like no other. And now we move to attack a respected artist, one incredibly deserving of a lifetime achievement award, at the age of 78. My friends prod, "How can you love him? He's sick." Aside from the fact I do not find him "sick", it's useful to operationally define "sick" in this sense. If he truly is a sex-offender, he is "sick", with a diagnosable mental illness. Allen spent half his life in psychotherapy, if someone wants to label him as "sick" in all literal meaning, I'm sure he has a diagnosis or two. And Michael Jackson. Is he "sick"? Probably, his childhood was a mess--so much so that he spent his adult life in a practical state of full regression. This shame and disgust cloak has to stop shrouding some of the most talented artists of our time. It's fun to rant and hashtag, but these two men deserve to be remembered as brilliant. If you have doubts, watch Play it Again, Sam, and then listen to The Jackson 5. Maybe I sound a little "leave Britney alone," but seriously, quit it.

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