Friday, December 3, 2010

Java Zombies & The Baltimore Farmers' Market

Below is a rant on kids, strollers, and slurpy annoying coffee narcissists at the Baltimore Farmer's Market. Originally posted on the Baltimore Sun's Dining at Large blog. Reprinted here with minor revisions. Damn, I sure was irritable then.


Jenna, just take a look at the post on kids in restaurants from earlier this year that spilled over onto the mommy blog. It was a steel cage death match with few parents coming out alive.

I think babies are just useless. Well they are. Give me a puppy any day. Kids as accessories annoy me too. Depending upon my mood, people in general annoy me. Wasn't it Sartre who said "Hell is other people."?

If I were in the mood to rant, which I almost am, given the sore muscles from doing actual physical labor yesterday that didn't involve a keyboard, a mouse, or a wine glass, uhhhh...

Set phasers to RANT.

Yeah, most of the time when I go to the market I'm not so much in the Bon Marché kind of strolling mood like my ex-girlfriend used to dig. Any market, any day. Stroll stroll stroll. The Paris bird market was her fave. I'm a freakin' laser guided maniac sometimes. I want apples, I want bok choy and I want to get hell out of there.

So what bugs me more than strollers, because I can see them on my radar and evade? It's the ankle dragging freakin coffee people. Yeah, and that's probably some of you. You know who you are. Mmmmm..... slurpity slurp slurp, ahhhh, mmmm, shuffle stutter-step stop linger start stop wandering in your addict's haze and narcissistic dark roasted egoism. Walking two or more across because if nobody hears your mouth-gasms they just aren't that good.

The problem other than my lifelong hatred of the coffee HABIT (not coffee, it's the celebratory ritual of lame addiction that irks me, damn, if you're going to get that worked up start chasing the dragon, swirl into a deep opium fog thinking of crickets and chanting all the vowels.) So I can't avoid you and I can't get to the stand with the hot farm girls. This is about food and an appreciation of tawny young women who rise at dawn and tear things from the ground for my nourishment and gustatory pleasure, get out of my way you poseur weekend divas with your khaki dreams and public onanistic mouth rapture. Gentlemen set your phasers to vaporize, I want my purple habaneros, a sunny smile from pepper girl, and in my mind-kill-zone there is just a puddle of non-fat milk java that is the stain that you will be. Slurp on that.

Good morning world. 8>O

Posted by: Owl Meat KillSwitchEngaged | September 16, 2008 9:45 AM

1 comment:

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