I Want A Suburban Home Grill
I ate lunch with my friend Alexis not too long ago. She told me something about myself I can’t quite deny. She said I’d choke to death outside of a city environment, like I’d be gasping for air if I wasn’t able to navigate streets with large buildings to hang out at some oddball Japanese izakaya. I didn’t want to think of myself as so vulnerable. It’s kinda pathetic sounding, ain’t it? After all, I did spend some good years in an upstate suburban town...though those last few years were spent watching a VHS of The Warriors and live CBGB performances thinking “I wanna be part of THAT shithole!” So yeah, I’d probably be miserable if I wasn’t here. I’d probably be pulling into my house at the end of the cul de sac after a day at the office, and spend the night watching hi-res versions of The Warriors and live CBGB performances thinking “I remember when I was part of THAT shithole!” So maybe I’m not going to become a farm boy anytime soon. I don’t wanna choke, since I’m now kind of convinced I will.
A ton of website people nowadays are being paid to write about how happy they are that they moved away from the city. In these pieces of think, the thinkers realize that they have sour grapes that city livers just don’t have. They can be adults and make the grown up choice to move to a more prosperous location away from us kids and great selection of bars. They’re lording themselves over us because they have those city sour grapes. But here’s the thing. We have those same sour grapes. I have those sour grapes. I have them whenever I realize that having a normal house around here would require me to be a millionaire. I have them whenever I think about my friend down south with TWO goddamn stories to his house, who’s probably paying the same thing I am for my 1 bedroom apartment. Most of all, I have them whenever I think about how I don’t have a yard with a barbecue smoker the size of a space ship fuselage. Because that’s what I really want for my living situation. I want a grill. I want to stay in my 1 bedroom apartment and I want to be able to easily get to Coney Island and international pub food places via subway. But on a hot night like tonight, I want to go out into a yard and just smoke some meat. I honestly wouldn’t know what to do with a full sized house, but give me a yard big enough for an industrial meat smoker and neighbors who don’t mind my playing Descendents songs, and I’ll be able to hit that bliss target. Maybe those think piecers would stay in the city if they had a good grill, who knows.
Guy Fieri probably has my dream industrial meat smoker. He probably has a bunch of Giant Green Eggs, too. Fuck.
