The Artist as a Lazy Man

I really ought to write more often. I suppose if I practiced my craft more often, I'd be more likely to make a living at it, if writer salaries can be called livings. It's just that my life at the moment doesn't really lend itself towards any sort of inspiration. Most of last week was spent sitting on my keister, watching the military channel. Every other show was about airplanes or World War II. There were a few shows about ancient battles which fascinated me. There should be more shows about the wars prior to the Second World War. My parents left for Chicago on Saturday, leaving me their beautiful Mommy-vehicle for my own use. Life picked up a bit after that, but only barely. With great wheels comes great power and I traipsed around town like a galvanized pimp.

Drama in the deaf community continues unfettered and I've decided to minimize my appearance at certain events to keep my uncluttered life exactly that. In the mean time, I've been branching out to various parts of the Phoenix area. Downtown Tempe and Scottsdale have opened to me like ripe portals and I've explored their vestiges with much glee. Distinctions between Phoenix and Chicago rampage through my mind and at times, when the weather isn't behaving, I wonder why I left. I know I said it was time, but Phoenix?

The clearest distinction between Phoenix and Chicago can be seen in its burger joints. Burgers in Chicago are much like the city - greasy, large conceptions that will seize your heart and refuse to let go without sufficient quantities of beer. The best burgers are always the size of a fist and are found in the back of a dank, dark pub off a side street. I have yet to eat a burger in Phoenix. So, when I turned on my 'net access this morning and found a City Search list of the best burger joints in each town, my heart fluttered in anticipation. I had a burger in just about every city I dined in, on Route 66, but I have yet to have a burger here in Phoenix. I don't think it's safe to call the burger my favorite food, but it's very high up on the list and I demand quality in my meat. I hoped that the City Search listing would point me towards the best burger joints. If a heavenly light came down and angels sang the praises of a particular meat joint's burgers, so much the better.

Imagine my non-surprise when the Phoenix list of burger joints (Top 10, mind you), included two instances of In-and-Out, a Carl's Junior and a Whataburger. Four joints out of the top ten joints in the Phoenix metro area are fast food hamburger places on the same level as McDonalds. I'm actually surprised that McDonalds didn't make the list. Other notable chains are: Red Robin, Fuddruckers, and Fatburger. And, yeah, one of the best burger joints in Phoenix is a place called Chicago Hamburger Co. Isn't that a blow?

I'm somehow not surprised that Phoenix stumbles over any culinary dish that isn't hispanic. Luckily, the area, thanks to the housing bubble, is exploding. Perhaps a decent burger chef will make his or her way into the area. Then, the area can enjoy a proper ball of succulent meat juice. The problem with depending on 'nix immigrants is that most of them, like myself, are settling in the west valley. There are three Sun Cities (Geezer congregations) here. Seniors provide the largest eat-out market (I say this with statistics pulled out of my ass). Seniors hate things to be other than bland. A lot of the take-out in this area is incredibly toned down. I had a Chicago-style pizza, made by people from Little Italy, Chicago. It was supposed to be a slice of Manna in the desert, but instead tasted like someone slopped cheese on cardboard. My parents explained to me that they, the shop's owners, had to remove some of the pizzazz that made Chicago pizza marvelous at the behest of seniors who couldn't handle bold flavors.

Damn them.


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Oh. The bike sold. I expect to have my new car within the next two weeks.