Crawfish. They sat in a metal tin, they all had fifty legs a piece, they kind of looked like cockroaches, and I swear I saw one of them move.
I walked back to my table, hoping that no stowaway crawdads jumped onto my plate, and I heard one guy say to another, "What about The Joshua Tree? Do you have that one? That's my favorite." This was weird not because this particular one was his favorite because it's like likely a lot of people's favorite, but because he said it in a way that suggested that he thought maybe his dining partner had never heard of this disc - the one with "With or Without You," "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For," and "Where the Streets Have No Name." Yeah. That one. Who hasn't heard of that one? U2 is the equivalent of Matt Damon to me: I like them, but I have an irrational hatred towards them. That's too strong. I do hate Matt Damon, mostly because he has to be a genius in every movie, but that's for another blog. U2 I don't hate - I just don't dig on them too much. I admit they're good, they're important, but I just don't dig. If someone told me that I could pay $75 for a mid level U2 ticket or $7.99 for a so-so China Buffet, I'm taking egg rolls and pot stickers every time, I'm drizzling sweet and sour sauce on those bitches like its syrup over flap jacks, and I'm getting me some hot tea and a sugar cookie, maybe even some soft served ice cream.
Yes U2 is good. Yes they have managed to make albums that don't suck even when they got old. But no I don't choose an evening with Bono over supper with General Tso. Sorry, but I'm not going to go see U2 at The Garden when I can just as easily get Lo Mein at the strip mall.
This could quite possibly be the most pointless blog I've ever written, but I'm over-tired, restless, and full of rooster sauce.
