White Chocolate
Gangster Lit! You might presume from the title that this post is going to be about sweet delectables. Ha. You couldn’t be more wrong. It’s about books fool. Last night the misses and I went to the area Barnes and Noble to pick up a few books for the road trip out West. Unfortunately, the giant book seller carried neither of the two books that I was looking for. My tastes seem to lie just outside the margins of what’s on the B&N bookshelves. Lately, whenever I inquire about a book at B&N I am told, “Yes, that is an actual book title, however we don’t have it in right now. Would you like us to order it?”. I appreciate that they always acknowledge that the title I’m seeking is actually a book in print but I am an impatient sort and can’t wait around for them to order it. Hopefully, a trip to Micawbers Books will prove more fruitful.
The misses, seeing the disappointment on my face, started giving me random titles that I might find interesting. I shrugged them all off in a grumpy manner until she put a book in my hands called, “Sex in the Hood” by famed author – get this: White Chocolate!! Hell yes! Who could forget this superpower of American Literature? He (I presume the author is a he) is right up there with the greats: Hemingway, Miller, Steinbeck, and White Chocolate. It was a total work of willpower to not by this book. Turns out there is a whole sub-genre of lit that one might call gangster. Who knew?
Ok. I lied. Part of this post will actually be about food. Yesterday, I had an amazing breakfast at the newly reopened Moose & Sadies Cafe in downtown Minneapolis. They’re not just slinging coffee and Wi-Fi anymore. They have a full breakfast and lunch menu. I had a heavenly plate of huevos rancheros. Try the homemade bread. Fucking yum.
This mornings breakfast didn’t turn out so good. In fact it was horrible. I tried to go to the mexican restaurant by my house for a plate of tortillas and eggs, but they don’t open until 8am. I was there at 7am and was deliriously hungry. So I had to walk next door to Perkins. The food wasn’t that bad. Sadly, the meal was ruined when a large guy in the booth in front of me let out a huge earthquake belch and then, not two minutes later, the old guy sitting in the booth behind me let rip a terribly long whiny fart. The double combo effectively destroyed my appetite and imprinted a memory that will forever remind me not to make the mistake of eating at a Perkins again.
On a more positive note, the new Jim Jarmusch/Bill Murray movie, Broken Flowers looks like a home run.