I have a special place in my hard heart for a few cherished places in old Raleigh. Some still stand but I haven't visited them in ages; others are gone with the cruel winds of change.
The Hard Wok Buffet is the first to come to mind. Out of business for a couple of years now, it operated in Pleasant Valley Promenade, a charming late-'80s suburban shopping center. Tucked away in the second level where you'd never know it was there (possibly leading to its demise), the Hard Wok offered a budget-priced, gut-busting, all-you-can-cram-in-your-cakehole array of greasy Asian cuisine, such as sesame chicken and egg rolls, mixed with even greasier American heart-cloggers, like pizza rolls and french fries. I would always start with 4 or 5 crabs Rangoon. A little-used salad bar sat at the back (like I'm gonna pay $6 and fill up on fucking iceberg lettuce and dressing), and a plentiful dessert area boasted sugary pastries and soft-serve ice cream, which I'd always visit at least twice after 3 or 4 plates of General Tso's, guaranteeing a copious bowel movement later in the day.
Brothers Pizza on Hillsborough Street was a Raleigh icon. Everyone was shocked and saddened when they closed their doors. Practically everyone my age had at least one birthday party there as a child. I would often dine there for lunch when I was a student at NCSU, taking advantage of their $5 salad & slice combo.
Fat Daddy's, near the aforementioned Pleasant Valley Promenade, still stands, I just miss it because I haven't been there in many, many years. My family used to go there once or twice a month in the '80s. I still remember smelling the waffle cones at the ice cream bar every time I entered. Someday I'll go again.
Don Murray's Barbecue bit the dust a few years back. They had a simple but satisfying all-you-can-eat Eastern N.C. BBQ buffet, complete with unlimited banana pudding. They will be sorely missed.
Moving away from eateries: my favorite spot on the NCSU campus was the Foreign Language Lab in the old laundry building. It was a room full of computers, each in its own little carroll and equipped with decent headphones intended for studying foreign language programs. The room was cool and comfortable, and few people knew of this lab's existence, making it a very quiet, uncrowded place to go for extended surfing sessions. a stark contrast to another lab in the same building where the suckers went. That one was always crowded, noisy, stuffy, and had uncomfortable chairs. I spent many hours in the language lab one semester when I skipped nearly every class in a certain course where the professor never took attendance, never gave tests, and lectured for an hour. I only showed up to hand in papers and deliver oral reports.
My second-favorite spot would have been the big lounge in Caldwell Hall. I would often hang out there when I had an hour between classes and either do homework for the next class or just read.
Pleasant Valley Promenade had a seven-screen movie theater in its golden age. I can only distinctly remember seeing two movies there: Dennis the Menace and The General's Daughter. I'm sure there were others. The same shopping center also used to have a Best Buy, where I said farewell to the pricier independent music stores and bought CDs for $4 or $5 less. There, I remember witnessing the gradual transition from VHS to DVD: around 1999 there was one row of shelves for DVDs and the rest was VHS; by 2002, it was practically all DVDs. The Dollar Tree was always a fun stop when I was out there. Also at Pleasant Valley was a Michael's Art Supply, which sadly moved out to Capital Fucking Boulevard. After Best Buy moved down to Crabtree, replacing Pier One Imports, and Hard Wok joined Chairman Mao at that Chinese buffet in the sky, I had no more reason to go to that hallowed center of commerce.
North American Video was, and continues to be, your classic independent video rental store. Surprisingly, it's still in business, even through the shitty economy and up against Redbox and Netflix. My old school chum and I would go there practically once a week. I still have my card from the '90s; wonder if it still works?
Third Place continues to thrive. It's the quintessential indie coffee shop, complete with hippie baristas and freaky emos taking up space on the couch. Back when my folks used to work in the area, we'd often meet there for coffee. I think the clientele of weirdos and the recurring fly problem eventually made us all lose interest, moving on to Hereghty's, a much classier coffee & pastry shop where well-bred gentle-folk refresh themselves at marble-topped tables.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
I think I threw up in my mouth a little
Just moments ago I overheard co-workers of mine discussing a former co-worker of ours, one I never really liked while she was here and whose decision not to come back to work after giving birth thrilled me.
This person drove me crazy while she was working here. She would have me work on marketing materials without any clear idea in her head as to what she wanted exactly. I would come back with one idea after another and she would have a different, vaguely worded response each time, and eventually I got chastised by my superiors for having to go through so many drafts because that dumb cunt couldn't communicate or even formulate in her own blonde brain what the fuck she wanted. Work got a lot easier after she left.
Anyone could tell just by looking at her that she wasn't long for the workaday world, and was bred to be the iconic lazy suburban mom. She had a rich husband, of course; I'm fairly certain he was a physician or surgeon or in some other medical occupation that pays a ludicrously inflated salary. She went the traditional route of working a white-collar job for a little while until fulfilling her life's ambition of getting knocked up, then quit her job after squeezing a little raison d'etre out of her twat and sitting on her ass for a couple months afterward collecting maternity leave paychecks while a nanny did the real work. So my co-workers' most recent discussion amongst themselves brought up details that didn't surprise me in the least. It seems she has achieved the highest honor for a lazy, spoiled suburban mom by becoming president of the local Junior League, a social club for the female scumbags of the privileged class. Women who have rich husbands to support their offspring and other little hobbies join the Junior League so that they can put on sundresses and straw hats, drink wine together, and cluck about how damned terrific their children and dogs are while pretending to perform charitable work so that they can feel good about themselves. These same creatures will drive their $60,000 cars to an antiques shop and try to get the shopkeeper to take half off, I guess so that they can save their husbands' money for more wine. I about wanted to vomit and start throwing things when they were talking about her two children and her Labs—a breed of dog which is cute and dumb and therefore popular with mindless rich people.
I do not deny that my contempt for these cretins is partly fueled by envy. I've published time and again that I want nothing more than to retire and do whatever the fuck I feel like every day. I think what really bothers about them me is their lack of usefulness to society combined with their parasitic nature. While I desire to be endowed with a lifetime supply of money for which no single person had to work very hard, their goal in life is to reproduce and hang out with friends who have also reproduced, which requires no specialized skill or education and any moron with functional genitals can do, while parasitically deriving their sustenance from host animals (their husbands) without returning anything except possibly bland missionary-style intercourse a couple times a month or whenever they are given jewelry. While I simply wish to quit working and live off of lottery winnings and interest, they go beyond forgivable indolence and make another person work to support them, which is why we can only conclude that Junior League bitches are evil.
This person drove me crazy while she was working here. She would have me work on marketing materials without any clear idea in her head as to what she wanted exactly. I would come back with one idea after another and she would have a different, vaguely worded response each time, and eventually I got chastised by my superiors for having to go through so many drafts because that dumb cunt couldn't communicate or even formulate in her own blonde brain what the fuck she wanted. Work got a lot easier after she left.
Anyone could tell just by looking at her that she wasn't long for the workaday world, and was bred to be the iconic lazy suburban mom. She had a rich husband, of course; I'm fairly certain he was a physician or surgeon or in some other medical occupation that pays a ludicrously inflated salary. She went the traditional route of working a white-collar job for a little while until fulfilling her life's ambition of getting knocked up, then quit her job after squeezing a little raison d'etre out of her twat and sitting on her ass for a couple months afterward collecting maternity leave paychecks while a nanny did the real work. So my co-workers' most recent discussion amongst themselves brought up details that didn't surprise me in the least. It seems she has achieved the highest honor for a lazy, spoiled suburban mom by becoming president of the local Junior League, a social club for the female scumbags of the privileged class. Women who have rich husbands to support their offspring and other little hobbies join the Junior League so that they can put on sundresses and straw hats, drink wine together, and cluck about how damned terrific their children and dogs are while pretending to perform charitable work so that they can feel good about themselves. These same creatures will drive their $60,000 cars to an antiques shop and try to get the shopkeeper to take half off, I guess so that they can save their husbands' money for more wine. I about wanted to vomit and start throwing things when they were talking about her two children and her Labs—a breed of dog which is cute and dumb and therefore popular with mindless rich people.
I do not deny that my contempt for these cretins is partly fueled by envy. I've published time and again that I want nothing more than to retire and do whatever the fuck I feel like every day. I think what really bothers about them me is their lack of usefulness to society combined with their parasitic nature. While I desire to be endowed with a lifetime supply of money for which no single person had to work very hard, their goal in life is to reproduce and hang out with friends who have also reproduced, which requires no specialized skill or education and any moron with functional genitals can do, while parasitically deriving their sustenance from host animals (their husbands) without returning anything except possibly bland missionary-style intercourse a couple times a month or whenever they are given jewelry. While I simply wish to quit working and live off of lottery winnings and interest, they go beyond forgivable indolence and make another person work to support them, which is why we can only conclude that Junior League bitches are evil.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Why aren't I retired yet?
Well, it's another dull day in the ol' cubicle. Work is steadily trickling in but not at a fast enough rate to warrant diligent concentration. I'm feeling the usual depression that follows a really fun long weekend, like a junkie coming down from his high. Damnation, I want to retire!
This weekend we attended the Highland Games. My in-laws purchased a patron package which gave us a VIP parking spot on the grounds and access to the sponsors' hospitality tent which boasted free sodas, snacks, and a commanding view of the games. We were also guests at the sponsors' reception Friday evening, where we were lavished with free booze and a bigass spread of heavy hors d'oeuvres, and entertained by pipes & drums and a grand array of gentlemen garbed in kilts and Prince Charlie jackets. Such is the manner in which this gentle-man should always be treated; without the preferential parking, we would have been subjected to the squalor of the park-and-ride buses and forced to mingle with the unwashed huddled masses.
We were also bestowed by my generous in-laws with two nights at a cozy motel a mere 5-minute walk from the main drag, which offered great little eateries. We chose a pub with an authentic British pub atmosphere and reasonably priced, delicious pub fare.
The entire weekend was mostly enjoyable. The meadow was suffocatingly crowded most of Saturday, but we did catch some good musical performances, including Albannach, who play stirring pipes & drums in a primitive, tribal manner. The drive to & from the grounds offered splendid scenery. We dined on fried, unhealthy lunches such as fish & chips, burgers, and some less-than-stellar haggis. There was no booze of any kind to be found, a flagrant contradiction to the British Isles' proud, long-standing tradition of alcoholism. I downed 3 pints at the pub to make up for the deprivation.
My only complaints about the games revolve around the remoteness of the location, the parking situation, and the amount of driving required. The nearest town is a good 15 minute drive away through low-speed roads, and those who did not procure the expensive VIP spots had to park miles away and wait for a bus. It would be far, far more convenient to hold the games someplace like the state fairgrounds, which handles the massive traffic of the State Fair year after year. Considering the event has been held in the same spot for decades, I doubt a change of venue is likely. Nevertheless, provided we're not living in abject poverty in a year's time, we'll likely return next July.
I love my weekends. I'm so fucking sick of the daily grind—get up, go to work, lose 8 hours of my life, go home, fix supper, kill some brain cells with beer & TV, go to bed, repeat. Little weekend excursions like the above are about the only thing that keep me from burning the goddamn office down. Such diversions are harder to come by with money getting tighter and everything getting more expensive as time goes by. I'm going to be so fucking pissed if they don't start doling out raises this fall. I'm still in my 20s and I dread the prospect of doing this same shit for another 40 years or so. How do people do it? How did my dad go to that same office 5 days a week for 20 years? I really shouldn't complain; at least I'm employed and drawing a steady, if paltry, income in this still-shitty economy. At the same time, I know there is a better way to live; I've seen it. There are a fortunate few who don't go to pointless jobs every day and do whatever the fuck they feel like on any given day. As Tom said in Office Space, "There are people in this world who don't have to put up with all this shit." That film is the anthem of those of us who grew up having all our needs fulfilled by someone else, never had to hold down a summer or after-school job, lived in nice houses in safe neighborhoods, never saw anyone really bust his ass—I don't recall my dad ever working more than 40 hours a week—to provide for it all, and are now left wondering, as we enter the workforce, where our share is, and why asshats like Lumbergh put in the same effort we do (or less) and drive Porsches to work. Or why a certain someone drives his Lexus here only 2 or 3 days a week and returns to his mansion, then goes to France for 2 weeks. We jumped through the academic hoops with the promise of great rewards for our efforts, and then we wound up with shitty little cubicle jobs making half as much as Bubba the heat & air guy who went to community college for 2 years. I'm more and more inclined to support the notion of salary caps. There's no good reason why anyone should be paid more than $100,000 a year when someone like me survives on a third of that.
To make the world even more inequitable, I've played the lottery fairly regularly for the last 3 or 4 years and have yet to win any major prize, let alone the jackpot, while others buy an occasional ticket on a whim and strike it rich. And the winner is always some trashy, uneducated plebe in Indiana who's going to lose it all to con-artists and mooching relatives. Where's the justice? I'm far more deserving of vast riches than the people who usually win, since I would put it to better use by living fabulously.
This weekend we attended the Highland Games. My in-laws purchased a patron package which gave us a VIP parking spot on the grounds and access to the sponsors' hospitality tent which boasted free sodas, snacks, and a commanding view of the games. We were also guests at the sponsors' reception Friday evening, where we were lavished with free booze and a bigass spread of heavy hors d'oeuvres, and entertained by pipes & drums and a grand array of gentlemen garbed in kilts and Prince Charlie jackets. Such is the manner in which this gentle-man should always be treated; without the preferential parking, we would have been subjected to the squalor of the park-and-ride buses and forced to mingle with the unwashed huddled masses.
We were also bestowed by my generous in-laws with two nights at a cozy motel a mere 5-minute walk from the main drag, which offered great little eateries. We chose a pub with an authentic British pub atmosphere and reasonably priced, delicious pub fare.
The entire weekend was mostly enjoyable. The meadow was suffocatingly crowded most of Saturday, but we did catch some good musical performances, including Albannach, who play stirring pipes & drums in a primitive, tribal manner. The drive to & from the grounds offered splendid scenery. We dined on fried, unhealthy lunches such as fish & chips, burgers, and some less-than-stellar haggis. There was no booze of any kind to be found, a flagrant contradiction to the British Isles' proud, long-standing tradition of alcoholism. I downed 3 pints at the pub to make up for the deprivation.
My only complaints about the games revolve around the remoteness of the location, the parking situation, and the amount of driving required. The nearest town is a good 15 minute drive away through low-speed roads, and those who did not procure the expensive VIP spots had to park miles away and wait for a bus. It would be far, far more convenient to hold the games someplace like the state fairgrounds, which handles the massive traffic of the State Fair year after year. Considering the event has been held in the same spot for decades, I doubt a change of venue is likely. Nevertheless, provided we're not living in abject poverty in a year's time, we'll likely return next July.
I love my weekends. I'm so fucking sick of the daily grind—get up, go to work, lose 8 hours of my life, go home, fix supper, kill some brain cells with beer & TV, go to bed, repeat. Little weekend excursions like the above are about the only thing that keep me from burning the goddamn office down. Such diversions are harder to come by with money getting tighter and everything getting more expensive as time goes by. I'm going to be so fucking pissed if they don't start doling out raises this fall. I'm still in my 20s and I dread the prospect of doing this same shit for another 40 years or so. How do people do it? How did my dad go to that same office 5 days a week for 20 years? I really shouldn't complain; at least I'm employed and drawing a steady, if paltry, income in this still-shitty economy. At the same time, I know there is a better way to live; I've seen it. There are a fortunate few who don't go to pointless jobs every day and do whatever the fuck they feel like on any given day. As Tom said in Office Space, "There are people in this world who don't have to put up with all this shit." That film is the anthem of those of us who grew up having all our needs fulfilled by someone else, never had to hold down a summer or after-school job, lived in nice houses in safe neighborhoods, never saw anyone really bust his ass—I don't recall my dad ever working more than 40 hours a week—to provide for it all, and are now left wondering, as we enter the workforce, where our share is, and why asshats like Lumbergh put in the same effort we do (or less) and drive Porsches to work. Or why a certain someone drives his Lexus here only 2 or 3 days a week and returns to his mansion, then goes to France for 2 weeks. We jumped through the academic hoops with the promise of great rewards for our efforts, and then we wound up with shitty little cubicle jobs making half as much as Bubba the heat & air guy who went to community college for 2 years. I'm more and more inclined to support the notion of salary caps. There's no good reason why anyone should be paid more than $100,000 a year when someone like me survives on a third of that.
To make the world even more inequitable, I've played the lottery fairly regularly for the last 3 or 4 years and have yet to win any major prize, let alone the jackpot, while others buy an occasional ticket on a whim and strike it rich. And the winner is always some trashy, uneducated plebe in Indiana who's going to lose it all to con-artists and mooching relatives. Where's the justice? I'm far more deserving of vast riches than the people who usually win, since I would put it to better use by living fabulously.
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