So, last Friday night I headed down to Starbucks to begin the craft of foodbloggery.  My bag had scarcely touched down on my table when the guy at the next table asked me what my shirt meant.  “The colors look communist,” he said.  The communist coloring in question was a combination of red, white, and blue.

My lunatic sensors should have gone off then, but they didn’t   You see part of being a card-carrying nerd is wearing t-shirts that you hope other nerds will recognize and compliment you on.  It’s very validating. The shirt I am wearing is a mashup.  It has Admiral Ackbar on it with the word “trap” beneath, done in the style of Shepard Fairey’s Obama Hope poster.

I started to sense the guy wasn’t of my tribe, so I just said, it’s Star Wars.  In the hierarchy of people I wish to talk to, not knowing who Admiral Ackbar is puts you way down the ladder, only one level up from the bottom, which is reserved for people who like Carlos Mencia or who are Nazi war criminals.

Of course the conversation didn’t end there.  My response was taken as an invitation for this fruitcake to start babbling on about how there are a lot of lies going on right now and how it’s all going down at the end of this year. “Oh yea?” I responded, theatrically drawing my earbuds from my pocket, the universal indicator that this conversation will be wrapping up soon.  Undeterred he started talking about bank debt and mall bombings and the Russian mafia.  He asked me if I heard about “the thing in Cyprus.”  Some political thing.  I think he said Cyprus. I was mentally gauging the temperature of my coffee in case I had to wing it at him and break out.

My response was “No, I don’t follow anything ever.”  That seemed to slow him down, thankfully.  I started plugging in and left him rambling something about something.  I’m sure it involved UFOs or the president or Milo Rimbaldi.

Now, philosophically speaking, I fall into the camp of everything is ultimately meaningless and you should spend your time pursuing things that make you happy.  I come home from a job I tolerate, watch Family Matters reruns and bad movies, read books, nap, eat, blog, and talk to my friends.  I don’t know if I am happy, but I am contented enough that I don’t spend my nights staring into the endless chasm of nothingness that is existence.  Oh, and I like 90s pop music.

The thing I don’t understand about people who are way into politics and conspiracies and that whole deal is that they always seem stressed and unhappy.  Why spend your time studying and reading and writing and yelling about how screwed we are if it makes you so miserable?  Even if we are screwed, you’re not going to be able to do anything about it while sipping your Cinnamon Dolce.

So, instead, why don’t you, I dunno, go swimming?  Take a walk.  They’ve got all of Felicity on Netflix.  Chalupas are pretty good.

At the end of your life when they’re turning you into Soylent Green, you’re not going to look back and wish you’d spent more time being angry at your computer screen.

Ok, enough soapboxing.  Let’s all spend a few minutes of happiness together talking about these Caesar Salad Pringles.  They’re from Japan.

First off, the can.  I’ve never seen a tableau so fully realized on a snack package.

A Pringles chip and a lettuce leaf are tearing down an unpaved road away from the Hollywood sign in a bright pink convertible with steer horns on the grill.  They appear to have just collided with a little ramekin of salad dressing whose guts are splattering everywhere.  While I’m not 100% positive, I’m pretty sure this is a thrill killing.  This Pringle and Lettuce Leaf have just murdered this bowl of salad dressing.  It doesn’t appear to be accidental.  They don’t seem like they’re braking.  They don’t seem alarmed.  Lettuce Leaf clearly has an arm securely around Pringle.  What is up?  Perhaps Pringle has been coerced into going along for this murder ride.  Perhaps Pringle came to Hollywood with stars in her eyes, and now has fallen on hard times and is under the control of this adult film producer Lettuce Leaf.  Is there a drug angle?  Blackmail?

Whatever is going on here, it’s not good.  I hope Pringle can find her way out of this mess before it’s too late.

The muted nosegrope of these chips is reminiscent of Caesar salad dressing, but mostly it’s vinegar.

The flavor is not very strong either.  They do taste vaguely like a Caesar salad dressing, but again, it’s really just vinegar with some garlic.  Possibly some anchovy notes, but that could just be my imagination forcing the rest of the ingredients.  If I was blindfolded, I’m not sure I could tell what these were supposed to taste like.  Never good, for a chip flavor construction.

These are lackluster.  Stepping up the seasoning amount would’ve helped in pulling out some of the flavors, but what are you gonna do?  With a possible vehicular manslaughter arrest looming on the horizon, Pringle has bigger anchovies to fry.