The other day I felt like I needed to add some inches to my waistline and went to Taco Bell: the place where white people go to feel ethnic. I’ve been a believer in the Bell ever since I was 7; but for the first time I noticed little inadequacies and contradictions that they had been hiding under their crispy taco shell.

First was the 7 Layer Burrito, a classic contributor to my first heart attack. When I ordered it, I went through the layer inventory in my head: beans, guacamole, sour cream, etc, and I thought to myself “Does the actual tortilla count as a layer?” After debating with various people, mostly my wife, my feelings about tortilla are indifferent. First, if the tortilla is counted as a layer, thats a pitiful excuse for a layer. A tortilla is a paper thin container where its only job is to secure the other, better layers from getting all over your shirt. When I order the 7 Layer Burrito, I’m their for quantity. My suggestion is to add an extra layer of something worth eating, my vote is queso, as an apology for the tortilla. Second, if its not counted as a layer, then Taco Bell is lying and the Taco Bell Chihuahua should be rolling in is shoebox of a grave. (Too soon?) The 7 Layer Burrito would then be the 8 Layer Burrito and for everyone who is watching their weight aren’t accounting for the calories of the tortilla, they could be going over their calories for that day, therein Taco Bell is enabling their weight gain even more. However, if you are watching your figure, why are you eating at Taco Bell. Total hypocritical chaos I tell you.

The second issue I have with Taco Bell is the Volcano Nachos. I ordered them not only to feel the glorious cheesey burn, but also to inherit Clint Eastwood’s voice while I’m eating them. I took a bite into the first chip and I realized I was hitting .500 on expectation: cheesey goodness, same annoying voice. All I gained from that was a burning tongue. I would have complained about why I didn’t sound like Dirty Harry but my mouth was numb and they would have thought I just suffered a stroke.

Third, this Taco Bell didn’t have sporks anymore. That was the real reason I went there! The spork is every fat kids dream: a spoon that you could grab things with. It’s the best hybrid anything. The idea that I could kabob something and scoop it at the same gets my jollies going. Without the trident action of the spork you just have awkwardness. You then are just scooping up food as if the remains of your Double Decker was cereal and then you just look like fat kid.

Finally, I got a couple of salsa packets and one of them said “Will You Marry Me?” Okay, obviously my smart readers would not think to use that packet to propose to someone; but you know there was some pseudo love struck idiot has used it to propose to his out-of-his-league girlfriend. The sad part is is that he honestly thought that this was the funniest, most original proposal ever. I could imagine this guy getting on one knee to his girlfriend and she is laughing, not realizing that he is actually serious, this then snowballs in to eventual sadness for both of them. Imagine at their wedding shower, with scores of her friends wanting to hear the story and then she has to watch their faces go from confusion to disgust. “Oh, so he proposed at a Taco Bell… was your first date there… oh… yikes.” Worst of all, how is he going to explain this knee jerk reaction to her Dad who probably hates him already because he is that much of a dolt that he is taking his precious daughter to fast food restaurants. I’m sure the Dad would ask him begrudgingly “What gave you this idea that you have the right marry my daughter?” and then the guy will undoubtedly reply “a salsa packet told me to.”

Since this is the, according to the Zombies, the seaon of loving, I thought I would give you some stellar wedding ideas. When I say ideas I really mean things to avoid. PLEASE NOTE: if you got these for my wife and me as a gift, it’s not intentional and we a deeply grateful and I’m being a tool for the sake of comedy, or whatever this is.

Today we were cleaning and rearranging our house for company coming in tomorrow and we moved our couch. As under most couches, there was a myriad of wrappers, drinking glasses and roaches. Anyways about drinking glasses, we got like 3 sets of glass tumblers. They are nice but they could be mistaken for paper. Well today we found almost a whole set and we ended up shattering 2 of them. Now if you have ever broken a glass, sometimes you get lucky and it breaks in to 4 parts or something. Not these bad boys. Evidently these tumblers were forged from the fiery pits of Mordor and were then verbally abused by some nicer glasses from Macy’s and then were dipped in gunpowder for fun. As the tumbler fell out of my hand, we had pieces everywhere, burying themselves all across our living room, all 15 square feet of it. Now I’m sure that it wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t concrete right under our carpet, but since that is the standard for most newlyweds cottages, we don’t live in houses that are suitable for those glasses. I guess our marriage isn’t mature enough for said tumblers.

Today I went to the food trough that I share the same last name with (except I spell it right) and of course since it’s the summer every mom and their offspring are there. Today I wasn’t in a huge rush or anything but all I really wanted was to eat without any real annoyances, of course that was too much to ask.

As I walked in I was confused because I thought I was walking in to a McDonald’s not a Bjork concert where someone is throat scraping her as she does that yell singing thing she does . Anyways as I try to order my McDouble through the moaning and gnashing of baby teeth, I try to find a seat that is isolated from the noise: it did no good. Although I was a good 20 feet away from the closest single mother, her child’s yelping echoed through the halls of the establishment. What idiot architect thought it would be advantageous to build low ceilings in a place full of ear piercing brats? I guess they didn’t have my foresight. Now as I keep eating I’m watching this obvious rookie mom keep hitting her kid when he gets out of his chair and then hitting them again when he cries. Really? Lady, hes not the mute button on the remote. I know that probably works in your shanty trailer park but you cant do that in public. They put people in jail for doing that to their dogs.

Anyways, I finished my burger and left thinking “the next time my wife wants kids I’m taking her here and that should hold her at bay for…ever.” Then I also thought “So if McDonald’s was the birth control, would that make Chuck E. Cheese the Row v Wade of resturaunts?” Yes. Yes it would.

I know that I have your undivided attention. Lets think about toast for a minute shall we? As a child, one the first things I remember eating was toast. Sitting at the table in my kitchen, my mom gave me a slice of the white stuff with butter and I scarfed it down. Isn’t weird that you have inane memories like that instead of the time that I got stranded in a snow covered wheat field in Canada when the rope that was attached to my sled that was attached to an ATV snapped and I was out there for a go 10 minutes (6 hours in children time.) Or like the time that I got frostbite so bad on my cheeks that my scars still appear when I get too hot. I’m sure the two stories are related but the point is why I can’t remember stuff like that instead of toast? I know this isn’t necessarily deep but just a thought.

Whenever I post pictures I usually preface it with “I’m no Ansel Adams but here it goes.” But this time I’d rather save my non-self confidence vote for sharing something more venerable… like the hiakus love letters that I never sent to Nichole Kidman. Moving on I will instead just say enjoy.

When you are sick of your sister blabbing about nothing what do you do? Go outside and take a picture of course. That’s pretty much what happened here. I went and sat under a tree and just started to shoot.

Since 2007, I have spent a total of 114 days in Alaska. This was shot in the Eagle River State Park outside of Anchorage. It’s hard to take a bad picture in Alaska.

Have you ever felt like a tourist when you’re in a local spot and everyone is looking at you funny when you take out your camera? That was the self esteem raping feeling I had when I shot this at Pike Place in Seattle regardless it was an awesome trip (since it was my honeymoon) and got some decent pictures.

Finally, for now, this is outside our house on top of our landlord’s Dr Pepper machine. I had just found out I could shoot black and white so I was trying it out.

I’m sure you are trying to figure out the theme of this picture collection and let me just save you trying to be philosophical and tell you there isn’t one. Sorry. I hope you liked them and I’ll put up some more (with an overall theme) soon. Until next time…

So I just realized that my old blog probably made absolutely no sense since half of it was chopped off. So I’ll re-post it now, as if you really want to read it. As I’m writing this the news is saying that Michael Jackson has died. What a day of random deathanicity along with Farrah Fawcett. Wait to go you albino moon walking tool for up-deathing one of Charlie’s Angels. Well I ramble some times. Here’s that post. Enjoy… again.