From Blegen to Burger King: The Countless Faces of Washington Avenue

Chipotle, that most beautiful of Americanized Mexican restaurants, sits snugly on a Washington Avenue corner, directly across from Bruegger's Bagels. To some, it represents nothing more than a suspiciously overpriced (the prices continue to rise), overtly modern, fast food eatery. To me, it represents the spirit of college eating, and eating in general. It gives new meaning to the word content. Each burrito so beautifully and carefully packaged in the trademark foil wrapping, weighing down the basket it's so delicately placed in. Chipotle delivers a quality, heart healthy (laugh) meal at a price that suits my wallet just fine. Each hefty portion massages my stomach, teases it, and I get a bit giddy.

Watching the construction of a Chipotle burrito is like listening to a renowned symphony performance. Just as every musical instrument must be tuned and played perfeectly in order to render a magical show, the portions of the practice of creating the burrito must be synchronized correctly in order to produce the final, wonderful product. The stewing and laying of the meat on the rapidly warmed tortilla; the covering of the meat with delightfully thick beans; and the addition of the key ingredients to any burrito: salsa and sour cream. There is a unique flick of the wrist that goes into the spooning of sour cream, and a similar method that accompanies the process of scooping salsa. Unlike a symphony, though, the manufacturing of a burrito is unfortunately quick. Eating it is of course enjoyable, but it pales in comparison to watching it made. As it usually goes, the rising actions are usually much more pleasurable than the climax - in any situation. I eat my burrito, but I know too that it's almost over; the entire experience is almost complete. At least while I watch the production of my burrito, I know that it is in its most pure form, not ravaged or stained by my mouth.

There can only be one burrito: the Chipotle burrito. It is symbolic of a new generation of eating: the combination of "fast" food and a noisy, upbeat atmosphere. The Chipotle burrito is the burrito.

Posted by krae0095 at 2:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

There must exist some set of statistics that shows how many college students own at least one item of North Face gear. 1 in 10, perhaps? Or - and here's an idea - 1 in 4? What if it extended even further to every 1 in 2? Think of it, half of all college students owning something from this prevalent apparel company. I'm probably exaggerating, but I would put my money on 1 in 3 at least. 50% to 33%. Yes, this seems more accurate. And we're therefore presented with a problem: how to decrease this percentage to below 5%. This is wishful thinking, of course, and nothing that I ever hope to accomplish, but the idea pacifies me - especially when I'm bombarded with the sight of backpacks and jackets and hats and sweatshirts. Now, I'm not jealous of these North Facers, because if I were ever given the opportunity to purchase a backpack with that semi-cirle insignia, I would. I guess its manifested in the senseless fact that I see too many people promoting North Face. Maybe if they all got together and created a schedule, where half of them would wear their gear on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and the others on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays (Sunday would be a day free of anything and everything North Face). This way, the sightings of North Face would decrease significantly and everyone would be happier, and by "everyone," I mean those who actually think that this is an issue. So probably just me. But I would be much happier knowing that my eyes weren't in danger of burning every time I left my apartment. Like most others, I have found a certain appeal to North Face. But unlike most others, I am turned off by this appeal, which may be a bit of a contradiction. I mean, does anyone really know what those ambiguous, African-like names on the bottoms of the backpacks really mean? Or do people just think they sound neat? Because I don't even think that. It's difficult for me to comprehend the magnificence of camping gear, and why college students - who certainly aren't camping - feel the need to walk around pretending that they're maybe a little semi-elite, because their backpacks cost $100 more than the nearest competitor's. And I guess I'm just as bad, because if I ever came across a North Face backpack that struck my fancy, and I happened to have an extra $100 bill in my pocket, I would be wearing it proudly every day of the week - maybe even on Sunday.

Posted by krae0095 at 2:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I guess I would consider myself notorious for making ironic subconscious decisions. Some would say it's a weakness, while others would disagree and say that because the decisions are subconscious, I can't be held accountable for the reciprocations. But maybe, in a way, they're not entirely subconscious. Maybe a shred of me does understand what I'm doing. And don't get me wrong, I do care about the decisions I make. The magnitude of what I've done just doesn't register until after I encounter the reactions of other people.

For instance - and the most notable example of subconscious revelry - was my physical transformation into a second-rate white supremacist. I say "second-rate" only because I haven't ascended to the next tier of tattooing swastikas to my forehead and wearing foreboding, mysteriously simple clothing. It was a progressive series of events that led me to what I now look like, so I like to think that it was all subconscious. It began with the growth of facial hair - something that I didn't mind, but couldn't necessarily handle all over my face, so I settled for leaving it on the chin. Never before had I been able to successfully grow facial hair (and perhaps I still can't, but I like to think it's a step up from before), so those first lengthy strands that popped out were welcomed. Next came the piercing of the ears a few weeks later. There's really no explanation for this, except perhaps to attract members of the opposite sex (still unsuccessful). Call me shallow, because in a way, it's probably true. Finally, and to no desire of my own, I was "forced" to shave my head. By "forced" I mean: I encountered perhaps the worst stylist in the world at a Regis Salon who proceeded to fashion my hair after an early '70s picture of a third grader. Long on top, short on the back and sides. I can't recall getting a more obnoxious haircut. So, I took advantage of the services of a friend who corrected the mishap by shaving the rest of it completely.

I suppose all of these occurrences combined suffice to form a better portrait of what I mean when I say that I took that first step into white supremacy. It was something that I realized only after being told by close friends that I looked like a skinhead. I recalled immediately Edward Norton, whom I had seen on the cover of American History X. While Edward Norton is a more attractive individual, has a more toned body, and is generally a much cooler person than I am, I saw some similarity. This is why I was afraid to exit my apartment for several days (which I did, but was still afraid), simply because I knew the type of people who would be surrounding the doors of ZLB Plasma Services in the early morning hours. And so, I tried at least to dress conservatively. Wearing a hat was not an option, because no one with a shaved head looks good with a hat, unless your name is Justin Timberlake - and mine most certainly is not. I couldn't get rid of my "beard" because it had taken me 18 long years to perfect, and this was more important than a potential sidewalk beat down. So, I kept the look, though I am in the process of at least trying to grow the hair back. I have realized that a near-bald head is not for me. In fact, I would be perfectly content with 8 to 9 inches of hair...just to be safe.

Posted by krae0095 at 11:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)