Dreams don't write too good. Eating and watching movies is another thing entirely, which he is a more than two and a half decade veteran of. While a casual fan of so-called "good" food, Dreams spends most of his chewing hours eating food which he can afford. The difference between good bad food and bad bad food can be subtle, but Dreams has the courage to try it all, and the medium with which to heavy-handedly tell people about it.

Aug 042011

Hey there, all you Gadamn people. Sorry for the extended absence; hear me:

Like high school math, I just didn’t feel like doing the homework. Even MORE like high school, here I am in summer school making up the work. I got some free time on my hands, so hopefully I’ll be able to cover all the posts I missed during the school year. Go Panthers!

Feb 252011

The bed is a bundle of paradoxes: we go to it with reluctance, yet we quit it with regret; we make up our minds every day to leave it early, but we make up our bodies every day to keep it late.

–Charles Caleb Colton

Yes, I looked that up on the internet. Just type in: (the subject you need quotes for) and ‘quotes’. It’s the stuff bad research papers are made of.

The reluctance to sleep the previous night had informed my mindset on this day, and by extension, the second of our GADAMN outings. Winter had become the houseguest who had overstayed their welcome even as you’re sure they had just unpacked. I was just shaking a cold (I thought), and looking forward to leaving the house for once.

The car ride was lively, but the best thing to come out of it was the suggestion of doughnuts for desert, and my committing the party to said doughnuts. It was gunna Raoul.

The first indication of what was to be the meal was when the Buick-Century-Mobile pulled up within reading distance of the neon sign. They changed the goddamn name! But it wasn’t even that simple. It seems they hadn’t changed ALL of the signs, so some read ‘Chicago Pizzeria Uno’ and some read ‘Uno Chicago Grill’ or some such shit. They couldn’t even keep the NAME of the place straight. If you’re going to rebrand yourself, keep it consistent, at least that’s what I learned in my economix 101 class. Don’t know how you do things out in Chicago, Chicago Grill Uno Uno Pizzeria Chicago, but that shit doesn’t fly here.

We were seated and our server for the night, Johnny, came over and introduced himself: “Hi, have a seat. My name is Johnny and I’ll be your server for the night.” Redundant. The second sentence came as he checked our IDs to verify appropriate drinking age. I can’t remember exactly what was said, so I’ll just write something to get you fine folks into the ballpark of how he made me feel. It’s close.

Johnny: (looking at my ID) “Wow, 1984. That’s the year I graduated high school. That’s also the year I met my first wife and got her pregnant and was forced into a long line of menial jobs to support my kid, crushing my dreams in the process.

Italics and the entirety of the italicized sentence added by me, for emphasis. This was, however, not indicative of his demeanor throughout the rest of the night; quite the opposite. I believe we left a pretty decent tip.

Navigating the menu was a hell I do not wish to revisit. We settled on a few appetizers.

The nachos were standard fare; my only criticism being that instead of tortilla chips, Chicago Uno Pizzeria Grill Uno Chicago Chicago substituted their house made tortilla soggs. The texture was like that of a slightly less chewy slice of cartilage.

The wings were wings. Moving on.

The only appetizer we got that was worth getting was the potatoe (yes, spellcheck, I said it) skins, or whatever the hell they decided to call them. It was really just one of their pizza crusts filled with mashed potatoes and topped with classic potato skins toppings. Cheese, bacon bits, etc. Pretty great, actually, just wished I didn’t scarf it down first thing.

Oh, one thing about the wings, or rather, the blue (not bleu) cheese. I’m sure it was dispensed from some 50-gallon drum with a hand soap pump, because it tasted like it did. Not that that stopped me from dipping every type of food ingested that night in it. I may have even once drunk straight from the cup. Then I asked for more. There’s something about that stuff that gets my tongue hard. Rock hard. I may even start substituting it in some places instead of Mayonnaise (that’s a big ‘M’, like ‘God’).

By the time this ridiculous thing known as ‘appetizers’ was finished, I was too. I didn’t want to let on, which I think was a function of pride, which I was soon to swallow. It’s a difficult thing, swallowing pride, but it was easier than swallowing the pizza, which quickly drained my resolve. I let on. One thing though.

The crust was amazing.

I swear the crust was deep fried, and only then could it be filled with its “works”. Then baked, and pan fried in a ¼” of oil, soaking it in like a sponge. Seriously, the pizza comes in a cast iron pan with a grate in the bottom to let it drain off. Disgusting, Decadent, and Delicious. If you’ve ever seen the doughnut production equipment at a Krispy Kreme and eaten one straight off the line, you know what I mean. (At least the Northeast had Krispy Kreme to lord over other Philadelphians. Seemed like for once they had to come to US)

Dinner was over, and we paid our check, tipped the man, and left to get doughnuts and coffee. The doughnut nearly killed me, the coffee saved my life.

I’ll keep this short (TOO LATE!). If you have ever had the inclination to watch a Chuck Norris movie, you know that there’s a certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ about him. ‘Hellbound’ has none of that. Terrible. In fact, until you can prove otherwise to me, I’m gonna go ahead and say that this is the worst movie Mr. Norris has ever made. Yes, it’s worse than that one, too.

Feb 192011

When I was 19 I learned of Southern Comfort brand ipecac syrup the hard way. I cant recall exactly how many hours I spent vomiting, but after the first one, it kind of doesn’t matter. Some vows are meant to be broken, like “I’m gonna quit smoking” or “This is the year I’m gonna cut back on the internet porn”, but I tell you, I was never going to touch the stuff again. Sure enough, at some point some years on, someone forced me into it in a “one shot, man, its my birthday or something” capacity. Honestly I can’t recall exactly the situation, but I clearly remember that it was the right thing to do.

This brings me to the subject of Red Lobster.  I loved eating seafood as a kid. Naive as I was, I’d always wanted to dine on what I imagined was a glorious roman orgy of shrimp and lobster and other cantankerous crustaceans and mollusks and gilled wonders. I’d gaze upon the building from the back seat of my fathers car as we would drive by it on the way to this or that, likely hundreds of times during my tenure a tax dependent. Soon I grew a bit wiser and realized that my parents were right in keeping me out of there. I learned that Red Lobster is the middle-class equivalent of the rusted-out, broken-down trucks with hand painted signs declaring “crab leg shrimps fish seafood” hulking on the side of the road somewhere in Germantown. I vowed I would never patronize this establishment.

Enter GADAMN. It’s time to take that shot.

Nov 172010

For our first official God Awful Dinner And Movie Night, Ruby’s buffet on Columbus Blvd in South Philadelphia was decided on after a recommendation from a friend. It purports to be “an up-scale buffet with reasonable price.” Now, grammar aside, as if I’m one to criticize grammar, like Pat’s or Geno’s claiming “best cheesesteaks in Philadelphia,” nothing about this claim has merit. Except possibly the buffet part. I mean, I could wear a shirt that says “World’s Greatest Lover.”

Ruby’s is more of a feeding trough for humans. The plate(s) I ended up with resembled a grey slurry of farm animal feed, with all the sub-low grade ingredients crowded together in one salty melting pot of flavors. Crab-water soaked fried chicken. General Tso’s crawfish. Sweet and sour sushi. At least pigs get their food brought to them. I know this sounds like a criticism of the buffet style in general, but my main beef is with the “something for everyone” approach. Stuffed grape leaves don’t taste bad if you get some tzadziki sauce on them.

The upscale parts of this buffet included a purple neon light, which we all agreed was “cool”.

Arguments against the “up-scale” claim include:

1: The staff looked like they wanted to be there about as much as people wanted the salad which was offered.

2: The purple neon light which we all agreed was “cool”.

3: Some of the food was past it’s prime. Then past that. Like a stuffed pretzel sitting under the heat lamps too long at Wawa, many items offered were too dry for consumption. Coming in at first place for worst offender, was the crab stuffed shrimp, which smelled like feet and tasted worse. The only reason I ate it was my eat-one-of-everything policy, which was ignored from that moment on.
4: Of all the upscale restaurants I’ve ever been to, which is admittedly not too many, I’ve never seen anyone waiting
around until they’re hungry again.

Ruby’s wasn’t all bad, though, and the good things were actually kinda surprising. The coconut chicken, my favorite item, looked like chunks of medical waste in the floor drain at the end of a three-day bukkake party. What is surprising about this is that I could ever enjoy the taste of something that looked like chunks of medical waste in the floor drain at the end of a three-day bukkake party.

The strange rice rectangles covered in some unidentified neon colored sauce stuff was pretty tasty as well.

In short, if you find yourself at Ruby’s despite the threats of physical violence you make towards the person who tries to bring you there, eat the things that look the most unnatural. Or the General Tso’s, which was fine.

On a scale of one to twenty-one, with one being the worst, eleven being the highest, and twenty-one being a cup of coffee from a vending machine outside Bowling Green, Kentucky which also dispenses chicken soup to the guy before you in line, Ruby’s buffet gets an eighteen.

The movie we picked was Megashark vs Giant Octopus. This was, hands down, the worst movie I have ever seen. Like when I saw french fries at the buffet, the moment Deborah (Debbie “Shake Your Love”) Gibson’s name appeared on screen, it was clear that we were in for an EPIC DISATER. I’ll let someone else describe this movie in greater detail. I just want to say that there are bad movies you shouldn’t watch, and then there are bad movies that should never have been made, and then there are bad movies that do everything wrong in the most perfect two wrongs make a right kind of way. If you add all that up and square it, Megashark vs Giant Octopus was delicious chunks of medical waste in the floor drain at the end of a three-day bukkake party. Laughed my ASS off.