A Kamel in the Desert

So my friend Ryan has joined the cesspool, wasteland, nonplace and unHeideggerian thing that is the blogosphere.

I fucking hate that term, by the by. At least when its used entirely sincerely. If there isnt at least a tinge of awareness of the inherent silliness and absurdity in both the term and the ephemeral nongroup of things it purports to include when you use it, UR DOIN IT WRONG.

Erm, sorry bout that. One of the problems with the somewhat unedited (read: I'm not editing this) way in which I write this'a'here blagoblog is that I'll just go ahead and tangent off into an unrelated area of rant with no warning. Sorry, but you may want to steel yourself for the possibility that this will be a consistent feature here.

So Ryan's blagz is A Kamel in the Desert. Thus far, it is fucking hilarious. But I can picture the look on his face writing it. Kinda the same look he had reading Dada poetry those however many years ago and we realized that making no sense was significantly awesomer than making sense.

Speaking of which... I had a hilarious idea for a concept restaurant the other day. Morgan and I were discussing the relative efficiency w/ which we have been served our midday meals downtown (Quizno's: bad. Asia Ginger: staffed by an efficiency robot masquerading as a japanese lady) and he recounted how the dude at Quizno's had not understood what the sandwich combo was, like that thing on the menu that undoubtedly has a button on the till, and then gave him a fork with his soup.

Well shit, that makes perfect sense. But how about taking things one step further? How about an entire menu based around this? Bistro Dada. No, wait, that makes too much sense. Golf Umbrella Dada.

First of all, there can be no continuity between the dishes, no set of starters, no main plates, no consistent culinary style... but of course only so far, or that becomes a theme. Consistently inconsistent is the lofty goal for which we will strive day in and day out.

Second, as a bump to the inspiration, none of the utensils can be used to eat the food they're served with. A straw with steak, fork with milkshake, chopsticks with miso, a full formal dining lay complete with crab fork and escargot-poker-thingie for a plain ham sandwich on white hold the mayo. If the patron isnt confused as to how to even begin eating the food they don't understand, we will have failed as restaurateurs.

Third and lastly, there will need to be some manner of completely baffling public non-art/whatthefuckery, you know, just to really show the fallacious underpinnings of the entire concept of restaurants. I mean, come on. No there isn't a rest of that argument, its dada, form is for conformists. I'm thinking maybe a mime will have a table in the corner, just grating into a cellphone like Gilbert Godfried all night about intimate details of his personal life, or maybe none of the servers will be allowed to use the letter E. Regardless, nobody will know what the fuck is going on, and I will sit there laughing while dumping buckets of my backers' cash down a bottomless hole.

How fun does that sound?

Tags: blog, blogging, bloggers, dada, restaurants