It's the Thought that Counts

For my birthday last August, I went to a restaurant that I hate. I'd say I was taken to a restaurant that I hate, but I think I was just allowed to tag along with my dad, my sister and her family on their regular Friday night outing. This restaurant is called the Iowa Feed & Grain. It's a good name fort a shithole restaurant that serves watered downed canned soup, canned veggies and over sweetened mooshy spaghetti. The service sucks ass. They've made us wait for 45 minutes before while we watched our food get cold on the counter and then wondered why I didn't want to eat or pay for cold meatloaf and coagulated mashed potatoes and gravy.

The one thing they do OK is serve fresh bread with whipped honey butter. It's a good touch. So of course for my birthday, they saddled us with two dried up loaves that must have been a day old at least. It would be less offensive and hurtful to be forgotten on your birthday than to be taken to a restaurant you fucking hate, in my opinion. It's like saying, we'll take you with us on our regular outing just to shut you up but you're not important enough for us to change our routine. It's fucking thoughtless at best and mean-spirited for no good reason.

So for my dad's birthday, I think I'll get him "Brokeback Mountain." My dad likes westerns, but doesn't get around much and/or doesn't pay attention to things going on. I think if a man who didn't know what "Brokeback Mountain" was about before he saw it sat down to watch it, he'd be at a total loss to know what was going on when the two cowboys start going at it in the tent. The scene would be over before you realized you just watched two guys doing it.

"Are they fighting? Or what the ... Oh my sweet Lord!"

But hey, it's the thought that counts, right?