11/11/04’s illustrious band:

Burrito Lovefest

Brought to you by our local Chipotle restaurant.

The intrepid members of the Soup Group trekked to Chipotle for sustenance today, where we learned that Chipotle is willing to stuff a box full of bulging burritos, deliver it to your door, and call it catering. Specifically, the ad offers to "turn your holiday party into a burrito lovefest." I thought that sounded nice. Burritos are good. Love is good. Festivals are good. Burritos + love + festivals = band names. It’s all good.

Know what else is good? The following additional guilty pleasures:

1. Hamburger Helper. Haute cuisine it ain’t, but I don’t care. It’s tasty and easy and I like it.

   
   
   

2. Free bling. I found a strand of cheap green Mardi Gras beads on the freebie table at work the other day and taped them to my computer monitor so that they frame the screen. Ridiculously tacky, yes, but they really liven up the ol’ grey cubicle.

   
   
   

3. My mulching mower. I know raking leaves builds character, but according to my friends, I already have plenty. So I’m glad I have a mower that will mulch the little suckers into a fine powder on command, saving me the effort. Mulching the sprawling lawns of Sensational Acres took me about 1.5 hours, whereas raking usually spans several hours a day, several weekends in a row, and gives me blisters. Plus, there are no heavy bags to haul to the curb, where they sit until I remember to call the garbage service for special yard waste pickup. Me gusto mulcho.

   
   
   

4. Heated seats. I cannot sing highly enough the praises of heated car seats to help get my booty through another long, cold, lonely winter. I originally bought the Subarushi for its all-wheel drive, high clearance, good maintenance record, and sleek profile, but I’m keeping it for the heated seats. I’ll never go back.

   
   
   

5. Sweat pants. The moment I get home in the evening, my office or workout clothes hit the hamper and the sweat pants come out. Slouchy, stained, and ugly they may be, but they’re like a friendly embrace for my buns. Hmm, that’s two butt-related items in a row. Let’s move on.

   
   
   

6. Original Star Trek. The acting! The costumes! The makeup! The special effects! The thinly disguised social commentary! The conventions! The fanfic! The spin-offs! The merchandising! What’s not to love?

   
   
   

7. Dick Francis. A former steeplechase jockey and journalist in his native England, Dick Francis later turned his hand to writing mystery novels set in the world of British horse racing. They’re more formulaic than brilliant. In fact, let me outline them all for you right here. The hero, your average Harrison Ford sort of guy with a perplexed look on his face, is somehow involved in horseracing, perhaps as a jockey or thoroughbred owner or sports photographer. He suddenly finds himself thrust into dangerous circumstances where a mystery must be solved in order to right wrongs and clear good names. He gets in over his head and you may fear he’ll never make it out in time, but his special skills and sterling character save the day. Along the way, he suffers some sort of injury and gets the girl. Amen. Simple! I’ve read all 39 of these books, most of them more than once. It’s like visiting old friends, where you always know how the conversation will go. They’re comforting.

   
   
   

8. Movies from the 80s. Yes, they’re cheesy as heck, the fashions are frightening, and the hair is as high as Steve Keyes on helium. But they were the poo back in the days when our biggest worry was whether to wear both the legwarmers and the headband with the torn-up off-the-shoulder sweatshirt. Break out your shoulder pads and take a trip down memory lane. Remember when you had a crush on Emilio Estevez?

   
   
   

9. E-mail. I love to write, but I hate to write letters by hand, address the envelope, scrounge for stamps, and mail them. Besides, my handwriting has gotten spikier and spikier in the last 20 years and is now so bad I could pass as a doctor. It’s not polite to send people letters they can’t read without a Rosetta Stone. But e-mail provides instant gratification. If there’s something I need to ask or tell somebody, 60 seconds at the keyboard takes care of it. My conscience is clear, and I can get back to watching The Breakfast Club.

   
   
   

10. Filking. Filking is when you make up your own words to songs you already know. Kids filk: "Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg." But adults do, too; campaign songs are filkish, as are some ad jingles. Sci-fi/fantasy fans insert Trek- or dragon-themed lyrics in place of the originals. And you secretly sing alternative verses to songs on the radio. Don’t tell me you don’t. Everybody filks. It’s time we all admitted it.

    
    
    

OK, gotta skate. It’s MMPA Awards night tonight, where we hope our Award-Winning Magazine will win another award. Y’all keep your fingers crossed, and I’ll keep you posted.

Today around the world: November 11 is Cutting of the Goose in Sursee (LU) in Switzerland. And it’s Cutting of the Cheese outside that burrito place.

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