zomething different

I have no idea what I'm about to write. Its more fun this way, I've decided. Keep it spontaneous. Off the cuff. Flowing. Like a freestyle rapper. Eminem' s got nothing on me. I mean it. He really doesn't. Except, for, perhaps, a few mill... So, other than everything that money can by, Eminem's got nothing on me.
Alright. How about this. Have you ever driven by a dingy restaurant and been strangly drawn to its smoke stained curtains and flickering neon placard? I could ask the same sort of question regarding dive bars or strange off-the-main-road hick towns. I suspect that this strange attraction to the dark side of the service industry, or white America in general, can be explained by the excitement that comes from the potential of discovery.
Let me explain. If you're like me, you might think of yourself as a member of an elite group. And, if your like me, you're right. This group is educated; has an interest in learning; appreciates art and music; has impecable taste regarding visual art, music, and fashion; is not saved by Jesus; did not vote for Bush; and doesn't have an American flag in its car window. I'm a member of this group, or species, if you will. We live in our own little elitist, enlightened world (either in the north end or down town). We surround ourselves with good art, good food, intelligent people, musicians, and quality alcoholic beverages. We live in tastefully dense, well-planned neighborhoods. Outside our neighborhoods and surrounding habitat (cities, wilderness), other creatures live and work. Being educated liberals, we understand that these other animals are human and, thus, not really THAT different from us (atleast we share 99% of our genetic code). Therefore, they deserve respect and equal treatment from our government. Still, we can't help but feel as if we exist a world apart. Every now and then, members of my species feel the need to embark upon daring adventures deep into the world of the "others." Many of us have heard tales about amazing ethnic food, antique hard wood booths in dimly lit bars, mom and pop hospitality, stunningly original recipies, and the so on all waiting to be discovered on the "other" side. There is nothing that pleases us more than the thought of discovering a quaint, downhome restaurant smack dab in the middle of the most unassuming trailor park, and then telling all of our elitist friends about the place. If we carried flags with us, we would claim our discoveries in the name of quality and/or style. I suppose our goal is to find all things of a heightened quality and take possession of them. Gradually, we will make inroads into the world of the others, and perhaps one day, Boise will be transformed into something Portland-esque; with excellent coffee, bagels, books, music, and gardens around every corner.
So, today, this girl I know and I drove up out of the safety of downtown, onto the bench, and as deep into the world of the others as the Vista Shopping Center. We saw a sign that said "Chinese Buffet." We instantly turned into its parking lot and hopped out, all a'flutter over the prospect of discovering some amazing cuisine under the buffet's heat lamps. Walking past the restaurant's obese golden Budda, we figured that our chances of experiencing a gem of quality within its shabby confines were quite good, considering that there was a multitude of MSG laden nuggets of goodness glistening under recessed spotlights.
Long story short...our hopes dwindeled, our faith in making a discovery evaporated with the kungpow chicken's sickly sweet marinade, with each new peck of dry, luke warm, chunk o' mystery meat. Only the fried rice was fit for consumption. Apparently, the cooks were awake for the first week of training, when they were shown how to take rice and fry it up in oil and soy sauce. Apparently, they were capable of this operation. Which is a good thing. Because, I suspect that providing edible fried rice is the minimum requirement for keeping the others from noticing that everything else sucks. anygoat, the end.