MISTER SOFTEE, WHY HATH THOU FORSAKEN ME? -or- THE TIMES THEY ARE A'FROZEN YOGURT
Was Bob Dylan truly a genius when he pointed out the astute observation that time is perpetually changing? Didn't we know that already by merely looking at our watches and seeing the second hand move, against our will, beyond our control?
Sometimes, though, Dylan was sayin', we need more obvious and blatant signs. Sometimes we need to walk down the street and see an extreme tranformation from a past to a future, for us to know that the times, indeed, they are a'changin.'
One such sign showed itself to me today as I walked past a Mr. Softee truck and noticed a hand-written declaration in the window. "We have frozen yogurt," the white high-calorie-contained truck announced. Apparently, you, I and we can all scream for ice cream but thanks to the health-conscience audience, we also need to quiet down for a bit and allow the weight-conscience to scream, as well.
I never thought this day would come. Ice cream and Mister Softee, the two things in the world I thought went hand-in-hand. The broadening of the menu was to me, a compromise. And this concerns me.
Not because Softee is serving frozen yogurt--I would be hypocritical if I did not admit that I never eat ice cream anymore--but because I find that everyone around me is so concerned with their weight and image, to the point of obsessiveness, that we are encouraging eating disorders. Yes, I know about the people in Africa but people in New York are starving, as well. And it's sadly on purpose.
[Hour later: I have attempted to finish this post but to paraphrase the Everly Brothers (and Tom Cruise] I've lost that urgent feeling. It seems to me that this process of writing is a release in its purest form. It is what I'm feeling when I'm feeling it. Like MTV News, you hear it here first...or you don't.
Everything is pure. My brain flows to you like single malt at a Bar mitzvah. All the words you see before you or the ones you've skimmed because you just don't have the time to actually "read" were written in one sitting, mostly, as you can tell, without editing, rewriting or beautification. And for some strange reason, I'm learning, that when I go away from an entry and come back to it, I lose the passion of my initial outpouring.
I no longer feel the need to continue the cathartic experience of release [in fact, to prove that the desperate urge does happen, I am writing this at 7:12 AM mere seconds after I've woken up because I had a dream/nightmare about not completing this entry. I cannot remember the details but I do remember that it disturbed that I didn't finish--not the specific thought above, but that I did not complete a thought and bring you a resolution. It bothered me to the point where my subconscious awoke me like a violently disturbing (aren't they all) alarm clock.
And most interestingly, the thought I was working on was, in my opinion, important (don't we all think that our thoughts are important?). I truly believe that there is a social pressure amongst our generation to look a certain way, to feel a certain way, to fit into the glossy ads of our shallow magazines. And this saddens me. People everywhere aren't satisfied and would change something about themselves. This is not a revelation. You know it and so does the heavy set IT guy in your company.
Nothing will change. One need only take a walk in Soho just as I did the other day, to see that people everywhere are skipping meals. Things in the world of Am I Hot Or Not will just continue to focus on the superficial (which I am too so guilty of--just ask my mom when we talk about dating). What do we do now? It's too late for all this to change. We're a run-away train to waify-dom and vegan stores. When did this happen? When did we start making people feel like crap for not looking like Ashton Kutscher or Demi Moore? And yes, I'm talking to you, Mr. Softee.]
Was Bob Dylan truly a genius when he pointed out the astute observation that time is perpetually changing? Didn't we know that already by merely looking at our watches and seeing the second hand move, against our will, beyond our control?
Sometimes, though, Dylan was sayin', we need more obvious and blatant signs. Sometimes we need to walk down the street and see an extreme tranformation from a past to a future, for us to know that the times, indeed, they are a'changin.'
One such sign showed itself to me today as I walked past a Mr. Softee truck and noticed a hand-written declaration in the window. "We have frozen yogurt," the white high-calorie-contained truck announced. Apparently, you, I and we can all scream for ice cream but thanks to the health-conscience audience, we also need to quiet down for a bit and allow the weight-conscience to scream, as well.
I never thought this day would come. Ice cream and Mister Softee, the two things in the world I thought went hand-in-hand. The broadening of the menu was to me, a compromise. And this concerns me.
Not because Softee is serving frozen yogurt--I would be hypocritical if I did not admit that I never eat ice cream anymore--but because I find that everyone around me is so concerned with their weight and image, to the point of obsessiveness, that we are encouraging eating disorders. Yes, I know about the people in Africa but people in New York are starving, as well. And it's sadly on purpose.
[Hour later: I have attempted to finish this post but to paraphrase the Everly Brothers (and Tom Cruise] I've lost that urgent feeling. It seems to me that this process of writing is a release in its purest form. It is what I'm feeling when I'm feeling it. Like MTV News, you hear it here first...or you don't.
Everything is pure. My brain flows to you like single malt at a Bar mitzvah. All the words you see before you or the ones you've skimmed because you just don't have the time to actually "read" were written in one sitting, mostly, as you can tell, without editing, rewriting or beautification. And for some strange reason, I'm learning, that when I go away from an entry and come back to it, I lose the passion of my initial outpouring.
I no longer feel the need to continue the cathartic experience of release [in fact, to prove that the desperate urge does happen, I am writing this at 7:12 AM mere seconds after I've woken up because I had a dream/nightmare about not completing this entry. I cannot remember the details but I do remember that it disturbed that I didn't finish--not the specific thought above, but that I did not complete a thought and bring you a resolution. It bothered me to the point where my subconscious awoke me like a violently disturbing (aren't they all) alarm clock.
And most interestingly, the thought I was working on was, in my opinion, important (don't we all think that our thoughts are important?). I truly believe that there is a social pressure amongst our generation to look a certain way, to feel a certain way, to fit into the glossy ads of our shallow magazines. And this saddens me. People everywhere aren't satisfied and would change something about themselves. This is not a revelation. You know it and so does the heavy set IT guy in your company.
Nothing will change. One need only take a walk in Soho just as I did the other day, to see that people everywhere are skipping meals. Things in the world of Am I Hot Or Not will just continue to focus on the superficial (which I am too so guilty of--just ask my mom when we talk about dating). What do we do now? It's too late for all this to change. We're a run-away train to waify-dom and vegan stores. When did this happen? When did we start making people feel like crap for not looking like Ashton Kutscher or Demi Moore? And yes, I'm talking to you, Mr. Softee.]
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