When I started this blog, TedQuarters.com belonged to a weatherman who never actually updated the weather on his site. At some point, my dad — who owns a bunch of domain names for his own work — set some sort of flag on it to let him know if it ever became available, then scooped it up when it did. Now Pops is playing hardball.
I kid. He’d be happy to turn it over to me, I’m sure, but all the back-end stuff is already set up on TedQuarters.net, so TedQuarters.com is just a placeholder redirect page. There’s an easy way to set it up so it just points here automatically without having to load the page again, but I haven’t figured it out yet. I’m super professional, fellas.
More importantly, if you haven’t yet visited TedQuarters.org, I suggest you do so now. It’s my favorite of the TedQuarterses: Simple but effective. If that domain ever becomes available, I’m going to purchase it and maintain it exactly as it is now, in Smilin’ Ted’s .50-caliber honor. Next time I’m in North Georgia I want to get together with this dude and blow some stuff up.
None. I don’t like sugary beverages. I’ll splash some lemonade in unsweetened iced tea, but that’s about as much sugar as I ever take in drink form. Notable exception: Slurpees, but those count more in the dessert category than the beverage category to me.
Side note: A 7-11 just opened up around the corner from my apartment in Manhattan. Apparently this is 7-11’s new thing; they’re not just for the suburbs anymore. I haven’t been to many of the urban locations, but this particular one is like a boiled-down version of a 7-11. It’s basically just a coffee area, a soda fountain, a Slurpee thing, a refrigerator full of drinks, and a huge hot-dog-roller machine spinning all sorts of hilarious 7-11 specialties. None of the random groceries, cans of motor oil and magazines you find at the more spacious suburban 7-11s.
I used to always say that my life’s goal was to have one of those hot-dog-roller things in my home, but then I realized that if it weren’t manned, the hot dogs would get pretty gross. I think my actual goal is to have a fully operational 7-11 inside my home.
Wait, why do I only have 33 seconds to live? That sucks.
I actually love hypotheticals like this one, but it’s always funny that we answer them as though we’d be thinking rationally if we knew we had 33 seconds to live. Also, in this case, as though we’d want to spend any portion of our last 33 seconds texting someone and not, you know, trying to savor the waning moments of our existence.
Most likely, if I were making sense, I’d want to text someone I’d trust to relay a message and say, “Hey I’m dying and for some reason I can’t contact my family, please tell them I love them and that I’m at peace.” Then I’d probably add, “this sux dude peace out lol!”
But if I were dying in some particularly silly way that I knew all my friends would get a kick out of much later, I might fire off a text to the Twitter shortcode, all like, “Oh, Carlos Beltran has really done it this time.”
Alternately, I might text my friend Ripps with the very same words he long ago guessed would be his last: “I should have had more cake.” This would make me chuckle a bit before dying and maybe make him laugh a little bit too as we both waxed nostalgic for our younger days when we would sit around talking about dying and cake.
Or maybe I’d send a different friend the very specific list of people upon whom I planned to enact revenge but never got a chance to, hoping he’d be inspired enough by my death to carry it all out for me and not just sort of shrug and be like, “Ted died? That sucks.”
I think Rich is joking, but multiple people have asked stuff like this lately. I haven’t. Does it seem that way? I didn’t write anything Wednesday because I was having a crappy day.
This is awesome, but it’s not always easy. Sometimes I just don’t have anything to say, and I don’t want to force anything out just for the sake of it (not any more than I already do, at least). I don’t know what the typical output is like for bloggers, but given the range of subject matter here and the nature of my actual work responsibilities, I feel like I’m pretty productive.
You’ll get no judgments out of me. Actually, that sounds pretty delicious.
Track back any “authentic” food and you find some cultural exchange somewhere and practically everything is a bastardization of some earlier thing. Maybe the restaurant where you ate that sandwich becomes incredibly popular, pulled pork on Texas toast becomes the new standard, and in 100 years we start judging people when they serve pulled pork on baguettes. Then we realize that too is delicious, and the cycle repeats itself. It’s the circle of pork, or something.
The only thing I feel certain should not happen in any setting is mayo on a sandwich with fresh mozzarella. I’m sorry but the mozzarella means too much to me. We’re better than that, people.