Thursday, July 4, 2013
Friday, June 28, 2013
Burgerbrow
Burgerbrow
Chain Restaurants
All across America, sad middle-class hangouts know as chain
restaurants pretend to serve customers
quality fare. These food service clones
are boring in every way: likely locations, monotonous menus, casual servers, stereotypical
music, and of course, the featureless food. Applebee's, Chili's, Red Robin, Ruby
Tuesday, and T.G.I. Friday's, are among the most popular nationwide. A.K.A.
sports bars, these thrown-together establishments mock the bourgeois family man
who attempts to recreate the same goofy look for his man-cave.
A good joke on these chain restaurants and the middle-class
people who eat there was performed
in the movie Hall Pass. A couple
of married guys are granted a week off from marriage by their wives. This 'hall
pass' gives the husbands a supposed opportunity to get lucky with some other
ladies. These clueless dudes hook-up with their friends and head-out to
Applebee's, where they think the action is. The group ends up overeating and
calling it a night without ever making an attempt to talk to women. The joke plays
on an idea that these middle-class, uncultured, hopeless men, have no idea what
to do when their wives aren’t around.
I confess. I regularly hangout at sports bars and chain
restaurants similar to the ones mentioned here. Some things that I'm proud to
say I like the most are what Roland Barthes and Virginia Woolf would probably consider
predictable bourgeois garbage. Nevertheless, I recognize chain restaurants like
Applebee's as the middle ground between the take-outs found in poor
neighborhoods and the four-star fine dining found downtown. Try asking-out an
artsy Baltimorian girl on a date to Applebee's. I doubt she'll go, but if she does,
it will only be to make you the butt of the jokes she tells her friends later
on.
Synchronic Analysis
on Burgers
I will momentarily buy-in to Barthes's and Woolf's opinions
of middle class fare by zeroing in on one particular food item that's served in
food establishments in all three social classes. I believe burgers (A.K.A.
hamburgers or cheeseburgers) revel an essence that highbrow, middlebrow, and
lowbrow, social class features still exist (at least in one particular food
item).
The Matrix
Let's start with the highbrow burger. While The Hamilton Tavern
may not be considered fine dining, it's certainly fashionable among Baltimore
hipsters. The pub is not a sports bar - it has no TVs! And the staff certainly
takes their food seriously. They'll gladly share information about all the
local ingredients, including the beef. The Crosstown Burger made second place
in City
Paper's Burger Bracket challenge (City Paper's Burger Bracket 2013). The same way Mozart
obsessed over his music, the Ham-Tav (as locals call it) shoots for perfection
with their burger. It's the elite!
Second, let's discuss the lowbrow 7 Eleven Cheeseburger.
While it may, in fact, be the lowest quality burger for presentation,
ingredients, and taste, it has something that the middlebrow burgers don't have
- it has significance. 7 Eleven burgers are for emergencies. You eat it when
you're hungry. You eat it when you have to eat something now! Poor children scrounge
for change to go and get one. Exhausted construction workers eat them.
Commuters in a hurry eat them on the go! I remember eating 7 Eleven
Cheeseburgers after a long crazy night at the club and just before the late
night after party. It's the first-aid kit of food!
Finally, the middlebrow Applebee's Cowboy Burger is the
official sandwich of the lost. I remember eating one of their burgers years
ago. It was not round; rather, it was shaped long, like a football or the end
of a baseball bat. It was smashed together quite like the way the sports decorations
were thrown up and nailed to the wall. It was a mushy-salty metaphoric-mess. One
blogger mentions that he wished he had skipped Applebee's and gone to
McDonald's instead. I remember thinking the same. You will not experience the taste
of perfection found in the Crosstown Burger, nor will you be charged the
bargain price of the 7 Eleven Cheeseburger - in the Applebee's Cowboy Burger -
you will just feel sick and sorry.
Codes
Daniel Chandler explains how important codes are for the
construction of society. People need codes to make sense of things (Chandler 2007, Ch. 5). In the defense of
Applebee's and other chain restaurants, they do in fact provide a positive set
of codes for people of all three social classes. For the middle-class, it's
appropriate to take the kids to an Applebee's. This way mom or dad can enjoy an
evening out; have maybe a drink or two, and dinner with the little ones,
without critical stares from others. It's simply not socially acceptable to
take kids to a bar, or club, but to a chain restaurant - that's ok. For the lower-class,
it's likely more reasonable to celebrate by going out to a chain restaurant,
where something fancier may be too expensive. And the upper-class certainly knows
of the consistency that chain restaurants offer. Applebee's may certainly be
something that an upper-class couple would gladly settle for when traveling through
remote areas. For instance, if a wealthy couple was driving across states like Alabama
and Mississippi, an Applebee's might look like an oasis.
Word count = 888
Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. Hill and Wang,
2012.
Chandler, Daniel. Semiotics: The Basics. 2nd.
Routledge, 2007.
City Paper's Burger Bracket. 2013.
http://citypaper.com/eat/city-paper-burger-bracket-winner-1.1503718.
Dario. n.d. http://godblessburgers.blogspot.com/2010/12/cowboy-burger.html.
Glenn, Joshua. Woolf contra Middlebrow. 2009.
http://hilobrow.com/2009/03/04/woolf-contra-middlebrow/.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Shots! Shots! Shots!
Shots! Shots! Shots!
Let's drink!
Clarification
Shots are 1 - 1.5 ounce portions of liquor or liqueur[2]
poured into small glasses and consumed with a group. There's often a toast,
celebration, or other silly gesture that suggests a reason for doing shots.
Shooters, or bombs, which are concoctions made from a mix of not only liquor
and liqueur, but also a sweet, sour, or energy drink, are also considered
shots.
Mixed drinks, beer, and wine are not shots.
Nothing Good Ever
Happens After Shots
liquid courage leads
to liquid stupidity
and lures laughing
liquid lovers
into a night of
sea-sick sex
and a morning of
regret
Drinking too much is a lesson that's never learned. As a man
in my mid-thirties, I know my struggle with the illusion of control when
drinking is shared with many my age group. Judging the level of one's problem
with drinking is not my point here. My intention is to present what I believe
to be a common debacle when drinking with friends.
Does this sound familiar?
You want to go out, but you have important things to do
tomorrow. You think that if you just go out for a little while, and not drink
too much, you'll be fine. So, you talked yourself into it. You're out! You're
having more fun than you thought you would. Then some jerk asks, "Wanna do
a shot?" Your response is, "Ahhh . . . ." Yet the times you
should have said, "no," you didn't. And the following day feels like torture
- the culprit - the shots.
Depth in Liquor Ads
Roland Barthes explains in "Depth Advertising" and in "Saponids and Detergents" how laundry detergent ads con us into a grandiose concept of soap (Barthes 2012). We watch kids spill drinks, slide in mud, and even cut themselves, leaving treacherous stains on their clothes. Mom comes to the rescue and does the laundry. Then we see a graphic illustration of miraculous stain fighting molecules killing their way through cleaning the garments. Finally, mom pulls the clothes out of the dryer, gives 'em a big sniff - ahhh - that's fresh!
Roland Barthes explains in "Depth Advertising" and in "Saponids and Detergents" how laundry detergent ads con us into a grandiose concept of soap (Barthes 2012). We watch kids spill drinks, slide in mud, and even cut themselves, leaving treacherous stains on their clothes. Mom comes to the rescue and does the laundry. Then we see a graphic illustration of miraculous stain fighting molecules killing their way through cleaning the garments. Finally, mom pulls the clothes out of the dryer, gives 'em a big sniff - ahhh - that's fresh!
Barthes's depth concept can be seen in liquor ads in two distinct
areas: the people drinking and the liquor itself. The people in liquor ads are always attractive, well-dressed,
clean-cut, sophisticated, and engaging. The drinkers are always out with the
opposite sex, they're laughing, and they're engaged in some physical activity
like dancing or a game. No one ever looks unbalanced, dizzy, or intoxicated.
The patrons are having the time of their lives! Romance is insinuated in many
of these commercials as well. All of this, of course, is a total contradiction
to the reality of doing shots - cut to - praying to the porcelain god.
Like the people in liquor ads, the liquor itself is also depicted
as neat, clean-cut, clear, icy-cold, and pure. It's poured into glasses slowly,
it's sexy, it's premium. It's ostensibly not at all like what is actually foreshadowed
after doing shots - the frothy, chunky, and vile hue of puke.
Examples
The active cutie runs around, meets different men, and then meets her friends in the Smirnoff Sorbet commercial
A group of friends set to have the perfect night with shots of tequila in Jose Cuervo Silver commercial
Word count = 827
Barthes, Roland. Mythologies. Hill and Wang,
2012.
Chandler, Daniel. Semiotics: The Basics. 2nd.
Routledge, 2007.
Filippone, Peggy Trowbridge. About.com. 2008.
http://homecooking.about.com/od/cookingfaqs/f/faqliqueur.htm.
[1] One
of the two concepts of a sign as it's explained in the Saussurean model (Chandler 2007, Ch. 1).
[2] Liqueurs,
also referred to as cordials, are sweetened spirits with various
flavors, oils, and extracts. Liqueur alcohol content can range from 15 to 55
percent. Rum, whiskey, brandy, and other liquors can
serve as a base for liqueurs. Cream liqueurs have cream added (Filippone
2008).
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Go Long for a Turducken
Go Long for a Turducken
Thanksgiving is certainly America's heaviest holiday when it
comes to food. Turkey, ham, stuffing,
 | |
| provided by NFL.com |
Recipe
Turducken is a grandiose trifecta of bird. It's the ultimate
triple-foul. It's a chicken, stuffed into a duck, stuffed into a turkey! The
whole thing is deboned, sown up, and baked with six drumsticks lined around the
sides. Some versions of this ginormous meat sack even include stuffing and mashed
potatoes baked right inside. It's rumored to have originated in New Orleans. The
Turducken takes ham, rump-roast, lasagna, and even suckled pig to task. Nothing
tops the Turducken!
The Breakdown
Turkey is the lead-meat in the Turducken. Its average price
at the grocery store is about $1 per pound and a typical Thanksgiving turkey
costs about $30. It’s a common main course for both Thanksgiving and also
Christmas. Sliced turkey at the deli is popular and usually costs about $8 per
pound, which is priced similar with roast beef and above the cheaper ham and
bologna. Turkey is versatile - recently, turkey burgers, turkey bacon, and
turkey sausage have all become popular because of its looks, taste, and
healthiness. One could argue that turkey's popularity, health benefits, and
national background make it the true #1 American meat.
Duck is the middle-meat in the Turducken. It's about half
the price of turkey. It's a common game-bird in American and other parts of the
world. Duck is moist and oily and is more of an acquired taste for most people
than turkey or chicken. In both holiday stories A Christmas Carol and A
Christmas Story, duck is settled for because turkey was too expensive and was
not available on a Chinese food menu.
Chicken is the end-meat in the Turducken. It's the cheapest
of the three. There is virtually no culture in the world that does not
incorporate chicken as food in some way or another. It may be the most popular
meat on the planet. The taste of chicken is so common and accepted that the
cliché, "tastes like chicken," suggests that it's the flavor that all
other meat is compared to. Kids love chicken! Chicken tenders, chicken nuggets,
and chicken fingers are on every kids menu, in every restaurant from coast to
coast.
Conclusion: The
Object Value of Turducken[1]
1. Functional Value
A Turducken is huge and will serve a lot of guests. The fact
that the lesser liked meat - duck - is sandwiched in between the more popular
turkey and chicken, suggests that most people will probably not detest to
trying it. Announcing that you're having a Turducken for Thanksgiving will get
a lot of people talking; thus, you'll be bound to having a lot of people over
if that's what you want.
2. Exchange Value
The cost of a Turducken is going to be high. Not only are
there a lot of heavy ingredients but also the preparation is too complex for
the average cook. One will most likely have to get a Turducken made for them or
invite a sous chef over to handle the job.
3. Symbolic Value
Turducken certainly symbolizes an American holiday feast. Each
bird has a slightly different price value and when mixed together this
signifies the complete circle of American social classes: the rich, the middle-class,
and the poor. We Americans like to stuff things into things. The Turducken is
the melting-pot of main courses.
4. Sign Value
The MVP of the Fox Thanksgiving Game gets to eat the first
drumstick from the official NFL Turducken. It's a sign of winning! The year
your family joins-in and has everyone over for Turducken will be the Superbowl
of all Thanksgivings.
Sources
Jean
Baudrillard's Four Principals of Object Value
Word count = 706
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Proof that I can write scientific reports
Below is my PRWR 637 final project for creating instructions: Connecting to the VCL and the subsequent Usability Report.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
My Trip Back to Arizona: The Visit to Meet My New Nephew
I find it strange that of all the
places in the US, I’ve been to Phoenix, Arizona on more than one occasion and
have spent a lot of time there. As a guy who grew up and lived all of my life
in Baltimore, Maryland, the Valley of the Sun seems out of the way to me. It’s
a place that’s mentioned on the Golf Channel as having many great courses to
play on, or on ESPN as the home of spring training for many west coast MLB
teams. But it’s way out there! When I fly Southwest, as I sometimes do, I stare
at the cocktail napkin, which shows all of the cities that the airline
services. I gaze over the map and think about all these unknown places: there’s
Little Rock, there’s Oklahoma City, there’s El Paso, there’s Albuquerque, and
there’s Phoenix.
“Will I ever go there?” I wonder.
Undoubtedly, I will see some, and
some I won’t.
But I sure got to see Arizona!
Back in 2008, I started a job as a claims adjuster for Progressive Insurance.
They flew me to – Phoenix - for a set of two week trainings. Out there, I met a
gang of interesting people from all over the States. We hung out and had drinks
in Old Town Scottsdale, hiked a trail on Camelback Mountain, went on a Pink
Jeep tour of Red Rock State Park in Sedona, and I also played basketball at
rec-park near our hotel. But the game of hoops turned out to be a bad idea, as
I badly hurt my knee trying to be a hot-shot. The torn meniscus and torn ACL
forced me to suspend training for the moment. I had to fly back out to Phoenix,
for a third time, two weeks later to finish the process. I had a true life
experience in a faraway town. Some of it felt like spring break, and some of it
felt like a root canal. The knee injury continued to cause complications, and
the claims job turned out to be the wrong fit. I worked at Progressive Insurance
in White Marsh, Maryland for fifteen months – the only positive experience was
the time I had while training in Arizona.
Five years later, Phoenix would
come into my life again. My youngest sister, Erin, moved to the site of my old
stomping grounds and started a family. Her boyfriend, Allen, landed a promising
job in the area, so they relocated from Maryland to Arizona. Their first baby,
Walter Jan McWilliams (the middle name is after me), was born March 24, 2013. His
arrival warranted another trip to desert. I find the situation to be
coincidence. This place, on the opposite side of the country, which formerly
meant nothing more than a wondrous spot on a map, was now a part of my life and
my family. I was excited to book a trip back to see the old red rocks and
cacti. Most importantly, I was stoked to see the baby - my new nephew - Walter.
A lot of things were already
working in my favor this time around. A hook-up that I have with my dad’s
timeshare provided an excellent place to stay, The Orange Tree Golf Resort, was
ten minutes away from my sister’s house. Years of disciplined spending with my
credit card earned me enough points to reserve a rental car at virtually no
cost. The roundtrip airfare, from BWI to PHX and back, hardly set me back.
Throw in a tee-time on the golf course, a revisiting to Old Town Scottsdale,
pool, Jacuzzi, tequila, and plenty of chips and salsa, and this was not just a
family gathering – it was a much needed vacation! It would be all play; no
work.
Observing my belongings laid out
on the bed, one might call me a careful packer. I am. Sometimes I over-think
things, but I’ll take that over being unprepared. My chief advice on packing –
don’t procrastinate. Start thinking about your trip at least a day or two ahead
of time. Think about what you’ll need and start getting it together. If you’re
from the east coast like me, the desert can be hard to get used to. You’ll need
to consider the hot sun and dry air when picking out clothes and choosing
hygiene products. I thought of everything from Alka-Seltzer and Pepcid AC for relieving
the morning burn from the chips and salsa (and tequila), to the Zantac that
might come in handy if the local cactus flower blazes-up my allergies again,
and finally my golf glove and knee brace for hitting the links. Thorough
planning for trips like these is not obsessing – it’s smart. I felt confident -
this trip was going to be smooth.
When I left Baltimore, it was on a
slightly warmer end to a long week of cold and rain. Cut to driving out of Sky
Harbor airport in my rental car, it’s sunny, warm, and there’s no trace of
humidity – a real delight for east coasters who come out west in early spring.
The late afternoon arrival was perfect for my ride to the resort. Clearly seen
in the peak of daytime were sky-scraping palm trees, bristly cacti, and dusky
mountains. The pop radio station that was tuned-in when I started the car did
not play a single song that I recognized, but I didn’t care. The tempo of the
mainstream synthetic beats went along with the situation. For me, traveling,
rental cars, and checking into different places always feels luxurious, and
it’s the only thing that takes my mind off the daily humdrum.
Things are so spread-out and flat
in Arizona that it was hard for me to find the Orange Tree even though I used a
GPS. The resort is so colossal that I didn’t realize one could enter through
any of its repeated gateways off of the main road. After yielding to several easy-going
golf carts, I pulled up, checked in, and got my key-cards. I used little time
to dump off my stuff, take a quick shower, and text my fam, “on my way.” It was
time to go see the little guy.
A few quick knocks, then I walk
in through the unlocked door.
“H-e-y-y-y,” I shouted.
“H-e-y-y-y! You’re here!” they
all shouted back.
Erin, looking super-relived from
post pregnancy, walks up, gives me a hug, and one-by-one introduces Allan’s
family who also came to visit. I did my best to match names with faces before
receiving a short pass of the baby. I felt more comfortable sitting down to
hold the little football sized person. He’ll never remember that he was once
small enough to be passed around to everyone and to have his diaper changed on
the coffee table. But he’ll see pictures of it! Babies are the star athletes of
winning everyone over and creating excitement while sleeping. I sat and he snoozed
in my arms for a good while.
It was the start of a great night
for seeing baby Walter, meeting new people, and enjoying a southwest style
cookout. After things started winding down, when it came time for me to head
over to my room to start winding down as well, a better idea came to mind. I
was not tired and could go for a few more beers. It was time to hit Old Town
Scottsdale while I had the chance.
I parked, strolled around Old
Town, and took in the desert night air. The evening sky changed from dark blue,
to magenta, and finally to pitch black and speckled with more stars than one usually
sees in an urban area. I love the desert at night – there’s something exciting
about it. It also feels cozy. The pavement, rocks, and other solid surroundings
soak in the energy from the sun during the day. Then at night, radiated heat goes
together with a cool desert breeze. It’s quite special.
Walking alone and dodging the
groups of college kids who were out partying, I made my way to Cien Agaves,
which means one hundred tequilas in Spanish. The small Tex-Mex café was one of
the favorite hangout spots for the old Progressive group and me. A cerveza,
tequila, two chicken tacos, and chips and salsa hit the spot – while a friendly
chat with one bartender also made me feel welcome. The young dude told me about
one of his wild nights.
“I had one of those mornings
where you wake up in some girl’s apartment and you don’t know how ya got
there,” he said smirking.
“Sounds like a good night,” I
replied with an inquisitive tone.
“Nothing happened with her. But
it’s a good story!” he said.
“Undoubtedly,” I thought while
remembering a somewhat similar night that I had right there in the same bar,
five years ago, with an attractive and very friendly brunette. An evening of
cool conversation and pleasant flirting led to some interesting suggestions for
ending the evening. But I had to make a judgment call. It was the second night before
the third morning of training for a new job that I didn’t want to sacrifice. So
I ended up in the same condition as my bartender buddy – rain delay.
Cien Agaves closes up earlier
than other hot spots in Old Town so I paid my check and went next door to
Patty’s – a rowdy college hangout. The loud music, young crowd, and goofball
dancing had me thinking that this may not be my kind of place until I spotted
two pool tables in the back. I decided to get in on the action. A band of
laid-back temporary friends made for a nice time. One of them, a
stunningly-gorgeous blond in a blue dress kept the guys and I quite
entertained. The fellow she was with, and her pool partner, didn’t seem to mind
while she lightly flirted with the opposition. Her strategy of playful staring
and light brushing up against me made for a tricky round of billiards, but it
didn’t sidetrack my performance. My partner and I went something like 10-2 together.
Starting to feel tired from the long day, I told my teammate that the next game
will probably be my last.
Yet after each of our wins he insisted,
“One more game, one more game.”
We closed the place down, I was exhausted
but glad I was talked into staying – it was an awesome night. I rehydrated,
walked-off my buzz, and made it to the car then back to my room to officially
call it a night.
The next day was used for some
more sight-seeing. Erin, Allan, my mom and I decided on a drive to Cave Creek –
on the outskirts area of north Phoenix. There we took in the desert scenery, browsed
some unique southwest thrift shops, and had Walter’s first dining-out
experience at El Encanto. The open-area southwest-style restaurant was perfect
for Walter’s first time out. The atmosphere was calm and there was lots of
space. A pond of ducks, centered in the dining area courtyard, provided a show
with our meal. The birds quacked and chased each other while we ate fajitas and
shared a pitcher of beer.
“There’s nothing like this in
Baltimore,” I thought to myself.
A picture I took of Erin happily
holding Walter at our table by the water is my favorite shot of the trip.
The last adventure of my trip
takes place on holes one through eleven. The breathtaking Orange Tree golf
course deserved better than the level of game I was about to display. My
companion for the evening was John, Allan’s brother-in-law. He made me feel much
better about my teeing up performance by showing up with absolutely no
experience – it was his first time playing golf. We shanked out way through the
links. I gave John a few pointers, and he slowly started to show improvement. The
promising signs showing that he was catching-on to the game had me worried that
he might start playing better than me. Luckily, one of the staff members
scooted by to inform us of a situation.
“You guys are holding the whole dang
course up!” he said laughing, “Why don’t ya skip the next hole!”
“We’ll skip two,” John assured
him and we zoomed away.
The change of pace offered me the
right moment for suggesting that we quit while we’re ahead (and before John
starts playing too good).
The remainder of my visit was
filled with breakfasts, lunches, and dinners with the fam and holding time with
Walter. I got as much as I could before I had to depart. He slept with his
stomach on my chest - not knowing anything – except – he was in good hands. My
repacking was automatic; my mind was free to live in the moment for a change. The
drive to the airport was infused with feelings of fulfillment. I thought about
all that had changed. My sister had successfully expanded our family, and she
helped me to expand on my memories of a place and a time that circumstantially
means a lot to me.
[The End]
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