matthearn.com

We have a significant problem in this country, people. SIGNIFICANT. And no, it’s not my usual beefs with people riding in the left-hand lane without passing, or people that are convinced that marijuana use leads to bus-station-bathroom-fellatio for cash. My concern today is very simple:

There are people in America today that don’t understand how fast food restaurants work.

And they aren’t just, say, the Amish, or people coming out of comas after 75 years. They are everyday, car-driving, cellphone-using, computer-owning people, who inexplicably get in front of me in the drive-thru at McDonald’s, get up to the menu, and only at that time do they consider what they might be in the mood for.

Yesterday, for example, I was behind a woman in a MASSIVE burgundy SUV, who pulled slowly into the Newark Main Street McDonald’s, which can, admittedly, be a challenge to enter. Because of the one-way situation on Main Street, there are two main entrances, each of which has its own drive-thru entrance, which then merge into one just before the menu and ordering point. This poor woman was slightly thrown by this and seemed to be about ready to park to collect her thoughts and figure out what to do next when she instead swerved back in front of me and drove over a curb to get back into the drive-thru lane.

Shen then crept forward until she finally was behind the car currently at the electronic ordering communication box. When they finished their order, she sat there for at least 30 seconds while she yelled at her children in the back seat. She pulled forward slowly to the box and began querying the poor employee about something, probably to ask if the Turbot was fresh or something.

4 minutes later, she had figured out what it was she wanted, ordered, and pulled forward. I, per my usual custom, had figured out what I planned to order before I left my house for work that morning, so I pulled up to the box, yelled “6 double cheeseburgers Diet Coke Thanks” and drove on. (I’m back on my Low-Carb jaun because it’s the only thing that’s ever caused me to lose significant weight and I’m pushing three bills again, so I order roughly 12 patties worth of meat and cheese and then throw the buns away. Wasteful? Hell yes it’s wasteful. But if God didn’t want us to waste food, She wouldn’t have given us hungry Ethiopian children to feel guilty about.)

Our hapless SUV-driving broad somehow was able to grasp the intracacies of the American monetary system, so she paid quickly and pulled up to the second window. I paid, and attempted to squeeze up close to her car so that the guy behind me might be able to reach the payment window, but the sheer size of her vehicle made it impossible. And so we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then I realized that I was caught behind one of Them. You know Them: they may be wonderful, charitable people, but they unfortunately suffer from the debilitating flaw of having to special order fast food items. Being a good, kind, Christian person, I am able to forgive these people. Not least because my wife is one of them. She doesn’t like chives on her Taco Bell nachos, which is a fairly minimal request, particularly at Taco Bell which handmakes your order on the spot anyway, so a special request doesn’t really set things back too much, although it’s slighly annoying because if I’m out picking up some grub and she’s not there, it’s an extra thing I have to write down or remember. I’m not a very good rememberer.

At McDonald’s, however, many sandwiches are premade and sitting in a warming device for a few minutes waiting for customers to order them. All of the basic sandwiches are done this way. You might be thinking, “Ew, that’s gross, I want my food to be freshly made!” Idiot. You’re at McDonald’s, about to pay $1 for a double cheeseburger that is made mostly of grade Q beef and oily cheese. If you want quality and freshness of ingredients, you need to go to Jake’s or someplace that doesn’t reuse floor sweepings as Special Sauce.

Finally, the woman managed to get her two Happy Meals and Big Mac with no lettuce but extra sauce and no middle bun and if you could brush the sesame seeds off the top and toast them a little bit and reattach them with an egg wash, make that just an egg-white wash, I don’t need the yolk fat, and actually I kind of would like the lettuce but maybe in a separate container with a few packets of salt oh and definitely no salt on the fries as that tends to dry my kidneys and I’m going to Hot Yoga this afternoon and can’t afford to be dehydrated, absolutely not, oh and I’ll take probably a bottle of water, oh that’s not included in the meal, well go ahead and give me a small diet soda, to take advantage of the meal deal and all, but if you could also give me a small bottle of water because the soda will undoubtedly be full of sodium unless you have some Pepsi Zero or something, oh you don’t, yeah that’s what I figured and oh back to that Big Mac if there’s any way you can put some extra cheese on it, yes, I’ll pay the 30 cents, of course, that’s no problem, oh and are the Happy Meals kosher at all, but if not that’s okay because we aren’t really observant. Then she checked the bags thoroughly twice. Then she slowly drove away.

I got my food and was out of the place in the wink of a lamb’s butt.

I guess what I’m saying is: the drive-thru is a place where speed counts. If you are slightly stupid, don’t really know what you want to eat (or have finicky children in the car, which amounts to the same thing), or have special requests, go inside to the walk-up counter, which can handle a lot of parallel processing and therefore can make you a vegan sproutwich Big Mac, or whatever, while I snag my #1 meal with diet coke and roll out.

Here are some basic rules to follow for Drive-Thru usage:

1. You need to know what you want before you get to the ordering box. Ideally, you’ll know what you want before you pull into the parking lot. If you’re like me, you’ll know what you want before you go to bed the previous night. Fast food menus don’t change very much; if you were there a month ago, you already know what they have. They don’t have a daily filet mignon special once a month for which you need to keep an eye open. I’m considering stopping at Wendy’s on the way home, and I already know that if I do, I’m going to order 5 junior bacon cheeseburgers and a Diet Coke. Just think ahead, damn it. Every minute you sit there staring at the menu is a minute that I’m sitting behind you wondering how hard it would be to convince a jury that delaying my french-fry-related gratification was severe emotional distress and resulted in me blacking out and strangling you with your own seatbelt.
2. Keep it simple. If you don’t like a certain sandwich topping, you can probably pick it off. Also, every special request you make basically doubles the chances that the employees will screw it up and you’ll have to go inside anyway and make them fix it. They don’t need any more opportunities for mistakes; I love them dearly, but one does not decide on a career in the fast food industry because being, say, a Forensic Pathologist was unfulfilling. I have witnessed two instances of McDonald’s orders having been supplied WITHOUT MEAT ON THE BUN.

   Even more important, while you’re sitting up at the window waiting for them to make a fresh batch of fries without salt on them, I’m sitting in the car behind you knowing that my order, which came straight from the warmer and is in plain sight sitting on the counter not 4 feet from you, is getting colder by the minute.

3. Have your money ready. Many fast food empires now offer the ability to pay by credit or debit card; I’ve read that some McDonald’ses on Long Island now have the ability to accept payment via EZ-Pass, which may be the greatest fast-food-related development since some bright-eyed intern at Wendy’s said, “Hey, is there any technical reason why we couldn’t make a sandwich with four 1/4 pound patties on it?”

   If you get up to the window and only then begin to get out your wallet, and then spend an eternity rooting through your ashtray for exact change, I might well get out and piss through your open window. It’s just a matter of time before I snap.

I just think it’s common decency to not make me have to spray asparagus pee all over your lap and expensive leather interior, you know?

Happy Happy, allzayallzez! I hope that 2006 is as righteous as 2005 was, assuming that 2005 was heck of righteous, and if it wasn’t, then here’s hoping that 2006 is a vast improvement.

I guess what I’m saying is: I hope you are well in the coming year.

Me? HW and I spent the New Year’s holiday at the beach with our usual crew again this year, and misbehaved admirably. Poor HW sadly had to remain sober the entire weekend, so I had to be sure to drink her share, which unsurprisingly led to my saying regretful things, but which VERY surprisingly led to little nudity on my part. Everyone else at the house thanked me for this.

On Sunday we just hung out and played a riotous game of football on the beach, during which I embarrassed myself athletically in my usual manner, although oddly enough my team did end up winning, mostly because Doug and Kris stepped up masterfully, and Pedram, Ryan, and Aaron contributed some good plays as well. I, uh, well, I laid a hit on a guy that may or may not have had something to do with Aaron being able to strip the ball out of his hands after he bounced off of me.

Monday I was sore and mildly overhung, so we wandered Rehoboth for a little while, hit up a maternity outlet at which Sarah bought some hott stuff, and meandered home, where we ignored the filth that coats all the surfaces of our house and sat down to eat food and watch TV for the better part of 7 hours.

In other news, Brian Smith has resurrected his website and promises that he’ll update it more than twice before disappearing for a year again. So, good stuff, there. And now that my busy Xmas season is over, hopefully I’ll have a night or two free to actually get some stuff up on my own website, instead of leaving you poor fools hanging for days on end and making you suffer through with just Achewood, Lileks, and Penny Arcade (all of which you should be reading daily (or thrice-weekly in the last case) ’cause that jaun is mad rad).

Game: on.

I hope everybody’s Christmas was festive as festive can be. I had my usual busy holiday, with three church services on Christmas Eve, followed by late night partying, and then two straight days of eating and drinking and opening presents. Totally righteous.

Friday I had off, so I spent most of the day wrapping presents and doing some light cleaning and making a massive standing rib roast (which ended up being delicious, as is to be expected since I’m awesome). Brian came over at about 2 of the clock so that we could repair his brakes, which almost ended tragicomically.

In order to get the heavily-rusted lugnuts off of his left front wheel, I had to stand on the spare-tire-changing-wrench in hopes that my massive weight would loosen things up. What happened instead was that the lug bolt simply sheared off the wheel. I had to send Brian in my car to Pep Boys (I didn’t want to leave my roasting meat) to get more lug nuts and bolts. He returned with what appeared to be identical bolts, but vastly more massive actual nuts, so now on each front wheel he has three old brown-and-rust-color nuts, and one massive silver nut that sticks out about an inch further than the others. Totally classy.

Anyway, we finally got everything apart, and managed to get the brakes changed in just a few hours, and I don’t think that Brian has driven into anything, so they must work okay.

Saturday I was able to sleep in (I was on call and got a bunch of annoying pages), and then did church-related things from about 3pm until about 12:30am, followed by drinks and snacks at Dana’s, followed by sleep.

Sunday morning we got up, did our own presents at home (I got official Napoleon Dynamite chapstick, ’cause my lips hurt real bad), then went to Sarah’s parents, where we exchanged gifts and had brunch and hung out for several hours. Then to my parents for dinner and companionship.

Monday I didn’t have to work, so we drove to my parents to do our fambly gift exchange, and then had dinner there with my grandmother and my aunts and uncles and whatnot. ‘Twas all GOOD TIMES, I tell you.

Nobody got me a new hat for Christmas, but I forgive them, since I didn’t ask for one.

OMG I am totally like so unbelievably sorry that I straight disappeared on allsayallz for the last 2 weeks. Work is gettin’, it’s gettin’, it’s gettin’ kinda hectic, plus Christmas just adds a level of business (not stress. Xmas is not about stress. Just lots of stuff to DO!) that keeps me a hoppin’, yo, with no time for my usual semi-frequent updates.

BUT! I do have a special reward for those of you that have been patient with my various incompetencies. HW and I had an ultrasound this morning, and through the magic of medical technology, a flatbed scanner, and the Eentarweb, I give you our offspring, who for now we are naming Skeletor Hearn:

Click the picture for the fullsize jaun. Right in the middle is the face, looking straight at you. To the left of that is an arm, upon which the baby is resting his or her head as if in the classic “Thinker” pose. This baby? He or she is a Thinker, dammit.

Before you ask, no, we don’t want to know the gender until it plops forth. I, however, think it’s a girl (just a hunch), in which case I’m going to spend the next 25 years browbeating all of my friends’ sons (since almost all of our child-bearing friends have had sons, with few exceptions). Earlier on, Brian brought up the possibility of his newest son (due the same week) and our suspected-daughter getting their nookie on, at which point I informed him that no one is allowed to discuss the possibility of sex with my female progeny until such time as I am dead. Knowing, of course, of God’s sense of humor where I am concerned, this merely adds to my hunch about the gender.

YAY FOR BABIES YAAAAAY me like

Can someone PLEASE explain to me why everybody likes the White Stripes so much? Ya know? What the hell. Let’s review. We have a brother and sister combo consisting of:

• The brother, who plays guitar mediocrely and piano at about the level of a 7-year-old with only two fingers on his or her left hand, and who also “sings” unintelligible lyrics at the top of his lungs.
• The sister, who plays the drums like she’s having some kind of seizure and can’t play a fill worth two craps in a plastic baggie.

They dress up like they’re going to crash a Goth wedding and record an album, and everybody’s like, “Oh my God! They’re the rebirth of music!” I saw them on the Daily Show last week and said “Man, this is the vaunted White Stripes? They sound more like the Skidmarks.”

I just don’t get it, is all.

WednURLsday this week consists of (drum roll, bitte):

• This great picture of your dad! Totally quality, thanks to the inimitable James Lileks.
• Dave Barry’s Annaul Holiday Gift Guide is out! And yes, the scrolling LED belt-buckle is an Xmas requirement.
• Josh and I mulled over this episode of Achewood for like 2 hours on Monday. (Seriously.) I think it broke us.
• Thanks to the Sports Guy’s Intern, I now have discovered ProTrade.com, and I may never work again.
• Today is the 64th anniversary of the Japanese Attack on Pearl Harbor. Just a thought, in case you wanted to learn something today that doesn’t involve dancing cats or small backpacks for dog poop.

So in order that the celebration of my ability to reproduce can continue and grow, I have created an Online Baby Pool Thing Wooooooo! Simply go here:

http://www.expectnet.com/

In the upper left, in the field labelled “Go directly to a game by entering the game name:”, enter “Dontrello” with the capital D since it’s all case-sensitive and might get confused. Once there, you can enter guesses as to when the urchin will pop forth, what its gender might be, and exactly how much it’s going to destroy HW’s poor loins on the way out. (Meaning, weight and length. Of the baby, not Sarah’s loins.) It’s good fun for all, I’m TELLING you. Do it. DO IT NOW.

In other news: websites that have names like expectnet.com, thusly making me forget and type in expect.net, irritate me. I should move this whole site to matthearncom.net and then set up matthearn.com such that it just has a big picture of a wang. Possibly my own; possibly yours. Who’s to know?

That is all.

Everybody talks about how awesome “naturalness” is. Like, when you go to buy food, you’re supposed to buy organic “all-natural” crap. Avoid preservatives, wear only hemp, drink only water, and smoke enough marijuana to choke a goat.

You know what I say? To hell with naturalness and healthy living.

In the past 5 or 6 years, I have taken certain steps to try and improve my health, usually via a “natural” method, and it doesn’t make a lick of difference. I quit smoking, and yet I still can’t climb 5 flights of stairs without having to stop halfway, hunch over, and spit on the ground for a few minutes. I started drinking more water instead of soda, and 1. I actually feel less moist (my skin is dry, my throat is raw, my nose is all stuffed up with dry snot) and 2. I can’t stop peeing.

(To be clear: what I mean is that I have to go to the bathroom constantly. Not that I’m sitting at my desk right now wetting my pants or jetting forth a continuous stream into a bucket. Although at least in those cases I wouldn’t have to get up.)

I’ve tried exercise, and it just hurts, and doesn’t do anything to improve my ability to take a breath or shed fat. I’ve cut my daily calorie intake to something around 1600 calories, which by my calculations means I should be losing about one pound a week, which means I’ll be at fighting trim sometime in 2008. Added bonus: I’m hungry every minute of every hour of every single freaking day.

So here’s what I’ve decided: screw natural. As soon as I can save up a big chunk of cash, I’m having all my fat just sucked clean out of my body. The only potential downside is the monetary cost, but you know what? 10 grand is a small price to pay for not having a gut large enough to affect local tides. (I’m told there is a slight risk of death associated with the surgery, but I risk death every time I sleep with a pregnant woman who wakes up in the middle of the night and flings cats at my head claws first. I no longer fear the Grim Reaper. I can take that boney bitch DOWN, yo.)

I’d also like to note that 1) food without preservatives costs more 2) goes bad more quickly 3) tastes no better and 4) has never actually been documented to cause cancer or HIV or syphilis or whatever. So I’m gonna continue eating as many pesticide-sprayed carrots as I possibly can, while crying.

Forsooth, let us forthwith listen closely to the brass tintinnabulation from the large sled in our barn.
Let it be agreed that the current climate is greatly pleasant such that were we to embark on a trip together in our horse-drawn runner-equipped snow-conveyance it would probably end with great mirth.

Without, unthawed rain appears to be settling soundlessly on the ground, and some erstwhile companions are inexplicably standing upon same and uttering strange exclamations of what I perceive to be joy.
Prithee, as I have said, it is sufficiently temperate in the out of doors that a quick jaunt in our multi-person sled would be of great interest to all parties.

Accelerate, you vaunted steeds, else I shall lay waste to your hindquarters with the leather!
Let us look upon the white material that surrounds us! It is indeed an astonishing, stunning thing over which we pilgrimage.

Damnable worthless animals! Do not your exhilarating fleetness diminish!
Intertwining our appendages gives me great pleasure.
We continue to smoothly navigate to the tune of December’s pallid scenery.

The faces of our collective assemblage have reddened significantly, and yet the selection of blankets and footwarmers seems to have been particularly ingenious, as my core temperature remains unmodified.
We two are particularly well nestled in warmth and comfort, almost as if we were priests of the same cloth, and those priests were actually winged creatures, if you catch my somewhat incomprehensible drift.

I submit that the proper course of action would be for us to continue forward on this path, ideally while producing tuneful melodies from our throats such as would please what gods there may be.
I believe that I have previously commented on the suitability of our environs for a equine-pulled trip, and while I hesitate to repeat myself, I feel it necessary to point out yet again the fittingness of my earlier statements.

I can’t begin to describe how awesome this site is, so I’m just going to give it to you and let you go on your way:

www.pandora.com/

In case you’re still here (although why you would be, I can’t fathom), I have just a few comments:

• Fall Out Boy is a good band, despite the fact that English is clearly the lead singer’s third language. This guy sings the phrase “We’re always sleeping in and sleeping for the wrong team” so that it sounds like “We’re always seeping in and seeping for a long team,” which is a wholly different mental picture.
• Pandora’s played a few songs by Dispatch for me. I have a lot of friends who say that Dispatch is the absolute shiznit, so I say this with great sadness, but nevertheless need to report: I’ve heard better music coming from my wife’s ass while she’s asleep.