"Every Man Thinks He Knows All About Women"

A 1951 article about the pervasive cultural practice of woman-blaming and woman-burdening.  Remarkable, and not something I'm accustomed to finding in mainstream newspapers from the early 50s.  I think it's notable that this ran the day after Christmas, a day when women are often particularly burdened by everyone else's desires and expectations.  "Every Man Thinks He Knows All About Women" by Jane Whitebread and Vivian Cadden (Washington Post, 12/26/51)

The Suburban Grocery Store; or, A Yuppie Conniption

Housesitting for my parents in the western suburbs.  Needed to get a couple things from the grocery store.  Facepalming ensued.

***

Sometimes, going to Jewel after not having shopped there in a long time can make you kind of grumblecakey.  

FIRST, because it's so expensive and you're disgusted with how much money you used to drop there every week.  (Now you do a lot of your shopping at local markets [how CONSCIOUS of you!], but you also buy a lot of your pantry items at Target and some other stuff at Costco [so don't go patting your yupster self on the back].)

SECOND, because it's SO MUCH JUNK. (It's not that you don't like junk food. You do like it. Which is why you don't need it in your face at every turn.) Plus, our global food supply chain is SO EFFED. 

THIRD, because you cannot find any damned shopping baskets. There are none by the door, and it's a one-way automatic door, so you can't even go back out to where the carts are, and you don't need a damned cart for the 4 things you're getting. There are no baskets by the other door either. There are no baskets under any of the registers. You ask where the eff all the baskets are, and the employee points to a stack of 3 dirty ones sitting against a random wall, and explains that they don't really keep many in the store. Because this is the western suburbs, where people regularly shop like they have a family of 80 and a hurricane is coming. 

FOURTH, because you realize you forgot the damned hummus as you're pulling out of the parking lot, and you need that hummus for a meeting. (Remember when you said 4 things? You meant 5.) And again, this is the western suburbs, so everything (or at least everything that's not a cutesy boutique in the historic downtown shops) is in a big box complex on major county roads with one-way exits and blocked turns and heavy traffic and it takes waiting for 2 different red turn lights, a U-turn, and a drive through a cratered parking lot of an abandoned strip mall to get back to the same damned grocery store. 

FIFTH, because you can't even FIND the effing hummus, because this isn't YOUR Jewel. You finally ask two employees where the hummus is, and they look at you for a second like they're not even sure hummus is a thing. Then they figure out where it is, and you go there, and you find the brand you want, but they have like 89 containers of the super spicy flavor and only a few of various other flavors, and they're all stacked mixed together at the back of the shelf, in no kind of order, with their labels facing the wrong way, so you have to dig just to find your GOD DAMNED ROASTED PINE NUT HUMMUS. 

But you finally find the last roasted pine nut hummus. And you relish in your little victory and say, "I am a ridiculous yuppie person."

Using Your Brain: On Homos, Popes, and Douches

I hate to tell you this, but if you think homosexuality is “evil” or “wrong,” or if you think everyone shouldn’t have the right to marry the person they love…I think you’re a douche.

BUT YOU CAN’T SAY THAT!

Why not?

BECAUSE MY RELIGION!  My religion tells me homosexuality is an abomination so you can’t think I’m a douche!

Nope, I still think you’re a douche.  Know why?  Because I think people should use their fucking brains.

You don’t get to hide behind forms of ignorance within your religion and then walk around with moral impunity.  You don’t.  I don’t have to be “tolerant” of your intolerance, and not being tolerant of your intolerance is not even close to real religious discrimination.  I don’t have to let you enact hate on people.

You also don’t get to play the “love the sinner, hate the sin” card with me on this.  You don’t get to insist that you love homosexuals but that you believe that a homosexual “lifestyle” is immoral.  You don’t get to say, “No no, I love YOU as a PERSON, I just think your life is sinful and wrong.”  That’s not love.  That’s hate dressed up in a polite hat.  That’s just hate without the guts to admit to it.  It’s COWARDLY hate.  Yes, my friend, it’s still hate – it’s just hate that allows you to be smug, superior, and condescending at the same time.

Do I think you’re purposefully being a douche?  Not necessarily.  Because hate isn’t always intentional or conscious.  You might think your hate is love.  It’s not.  And we should recognize these things in ourselves and try to be better.

Do I think you’re ENTIRELY a douche?  Probably not.  People can have douchey positions on things and still not be all douche, you know what I’m saying?  You could be otherwise a good person, but still be a real shitheel when it comes to this one thing. 

Which is why I facepalm every time someone defends the new pope’s comments on homosexuality by screaming, “BUT HE WASHES THE FEET OF AIDS PATIENTS!” 

One.  Stop equating AIDS with homosexuality, or attempting to appeal to my pro-equality position by insinuating that supporting AIDS patients is basically the same as supporting homosexuals, or that supporting AIDS patients in their capacity as AIDS patients somehow makes up for casting hatred toward a specific group of people.

Two.  GOOD FOR HIM!  That’s awesome and symbolic and I absolutely grant you that this pope will probably do more for the poor and vulnerable in developing nations than any other.  I look forward to the progress he can potentially bring to that area of social justice.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t think his positions on sexuality suck. 

I know, I know.  He’s the Pope.  The leader of the Catholic Church.  And the Catholic Church does not believe in birth control, homosexuality, etc.  Asking a pope to be progressive on sexual and reproductive rights is like expecting the Republican nominee for president to like big government.  If he believed in those things, he wouldn’t be nominated as a representative of an organization that expressly does NOT believe in those things.

But here’s the thing…many, many Catholics DO believe in birth control, in equal rights for everyone, including homosexuals.  In fact, providing equal rights for everyone is actually a very Catholic thing to believe in, philosophically speaking.  

If I’ve learned anything from growing up around the Catholic Church, it’s that cognitive dissonance doesn’t seem to cause much alarm. 

On the one hand, the ability to accept things that don’t always make sense is what allows for faith in the first place.  And this is not a bad thing.  It’s also a crucial part of other forms of belief, especially when it comes to things like art, and even history.  (And no, I don’t think religion and science have to be opposed on this front.)

On the other hand, though, the disinclination to at least recognize when beliefs are harmful or untenable even WITHIN the teachings of a particular faith, is at best naïve ignorance and at worst willful disregard.  It’s destructive.  And it bankrupts one of the most productive parts of faith – epistemological exploration.  Faith should be about questions, not definitive answers.  I think a lot of Catholics get this, and it’s a shame that the official Church often lets it be forgotten (or at least often pretends that it’s upholding the idea when it’s really not). 

When religion becomes more about doctrine and less about living faith, it turns into a standardized test.  Instead of teaching to the test, we should be encouraging the active use of our inquisitive faculties.  We should be finding ways to push our brains to think thoughts we haven’t thought before, because the greatest resource in the push for good in the world is the potential of what people are allowed to imagine.   That means allowing them to disagree without casting them out.  That means allowing them to think OUTSIDE Church doctrine, instead of only within its narrow confines.

So yes, in short, I think people should use their fucking brains.  And I think that, given the opportunity to use their brains a little more critically, more Catholics will come to the conclusion that denying a person dignity, autonomy, and equal rights specifically because of who they love is just plain unCatholic.  And I think this extrapolates quite nicely to other denominations and religions.

So I don’t think I’m out of line when I again tell you that if you think homosexuality is an abomination, I think you’re a douche.

That doesn’t necessarily mean I think you’re a bad person.  It means I think you need to use your brain with regard to this particular situation.  Don’t hide behind religious talking points or cheat sheets, or insist that the Bible tells you so.  The Bible says a lot of things.  Use your brain.  If you still come to the conclusion that homosexuality is an abomination…well…use your brain harder.  And if you STILL come to the conclusion that homosexuality is an abomination – not because an old dude told you so or because your family informed you that that’s what you believe (or because you just think it's "icky"), but because, after truly exploring the world around you and using your critical thinking skills, you decide that this position is the right one – well, I disagree wholeheartedly, and I’m disappointed.  But at least you used your brain!

Or maybe I am out of line, and I’M the douche.  You’re allowed to think that, as long as you use your brain to do it.

Jewelry Store Commercials; or, Gender Relations at the Mall

I know, I know, it's no secret that jewelry store commercials are effed up, and it's not even a secret WHY.  But still...I can't deal with them, especially now that we're in full-on Valentine's Day hysteria.  I don't think anyone who has spent any time working on gender and media will find any of this groundbreaking, but I just have to write it out.  My screed is in two parts.  Both take on gender, but the first concerns mostly narrative and performative absurdity, and the second concerns ideological assumption.  


FIRST: A rant on narrative in the most recent Kay Jewelers ad.



I can't find a video online yet, but for now, the basic premise: A couple is walking through the mall.  They head into Kay Jewelers. Man says, "We're just looking, right?" Woman insists, "Of course." They look at diamond rings. The jeweler explains these special certified diamonds. She tries on the ring. OMG it fits. Man says, "That's because I already got it sized." Knees. "Will you marry me?" She looks surprised. 



WTF? 


a) This is absurd, because who goes to try on rings and then is surprised about a proposal? I think the jig is up. 


OR b) Taking into account the fact that he's sort of standoffish about ring shopping at the beginning, this is still absurd, because his way of not tipping her off to a proposal is to act like he doesn't want to get engaged and vaguely imply that she's pressuring him? And, to be fair, she's dragging him to a jewelry store to try on rings despite the fact that he's expressed his unwillingness to get engaged yet? I hope you guys are very happy in your passive aggressive marriage lol.

My friend Alex pointed out,

"I can't believe your biggest issue with this isn't that the guy is proposing to her IN A KAY JEWELERS! Who does that? Especially since all other of their commercials are about a guy surprising a woman with something he bought there by himself, so based on what we know from these it's narratively inconceivable that these characters have shared some sort of 'special moment' at a Kay Jewelers prior to this proposal, which would be the only possible justification for proposing in a place that probably smells like the Auntie Anne's Pretzels inevitably being sold next door."


Hahaha fair.  The mall part DOES bother me.  But I guess it's all part of a really weird consumerist-heteronormative imperative anyway, so why quibble, intellectually speaking?  If you're going to symbolically buy a marriage, why not at a mall?  I mean basically the assumptions here are out of control, but the biggest one is that it's a man's job to propose, even if it's possibly based on a woman's demand, and it's his job to buy her a big assed rock in order to seal the deal. Her end of the agreement is to act surprised and dewy-eyed.  


I want to be clear that I don't really feel one way or the other about the practice of proposing with diamond rings.  I think people should do whatever they want on that front, and I can't say I'd hate it.  I don't think the act itself is inherently evil or unfeminist or superficial or whatever else.  What I'm objecting to is the imperative.  The taken-for-granted and compulsory nature of such symbolic performances.



SECOND: A rant on ideology in the "He went to Jared" model.


The current object of my indignation is the kind of commercial that basically says, "DEAR STRAIGHT MEN: YOU MUST FIND A SUITABLE FEMALE TO MATE WITH AND YOU MUST BUY HER JEWELRY OR SHE WILL BE PISSED AND YOU WILL DIE."



a) We'll just get the macro one out of the way - again, really gross consumerist-heteronormative cocktail going on here.  Apparently jewelry is only for straight people, and almost entirely for women.  If it's not for your wife/fiance/girlfriend, it's for your mother or grandmother.  And jewelry equals love, people!  They won't know unless you buy them shit.  You're a bad partner or a bad son or a bad grandson if you don't buy them shit.  Better get your ass to the mall.  (Note: I have no problem with jewelry.  I love jewelry.  I'm not pretending I don't buy stuff, or that I don't like getting stuff.  I have some awesome pieces of jewelry from my significant other that I adore.  But I don't think I should need them in order to know the state of my relationship.  I'm not trying to be smug or superior or to play the "I'm not a dupe!  I'm not a dupe!  You should know that about me!" game.  I do indulge in symbolic consumerism.  I just think it's important to think about all the assumptions that go along with it.)


b) These commercials treat men like helpless idiots.  Poor, stupid men.  But if he goes to Jared, we'll totally pat him on the head and give him a treat.   Good boy!  Frankly, some of these commercials even imply that men are inconsiderate jerks (but only straight, cis men, since there's nary a non-hetero or non-cis to be found).  So there's offensive assumption #1: Men are stupid and inconsiderate.  But the back side of assumption #1 is that, by assuming that men will be unthinking and uncaring boneheads, these commercials not only insult men, they also sort of naturalize the notion that men are unthinking and uncaring boneheads in a way that essentially approves of it.  Like it's "normal" for men to be unthinking and uncaring.  Because they're men!  Duh!  We should all just adjust to their (supposed) self-centeredness and then maybe just give them easy instructions on how to avoid pissing women off on consumerist holidays. So there's offensive assumption #2.  So the big old offensive nutshell: Men are stupid and inconsiderate (ouch!), but they're allowed to be because they're men, and we should continue to reinforce, if not celebrate, this notion (wait a minute!).  


c) And, finally, these commercials perpetuate the notion that women are materialistic and demanding.  We want shiny things, and if you don't give us shiny things, you are in TROUBLE and we will NOT HAVE SEX WITH YOU, so you'd better GET IT RIGHT.  You are a bad, bad partner and a bad, bad man if you don't get it right!  But the most annoying part about this is that it upholds the SAME assumption as above - namely, that men are "naturally" unthinking and uncaring - but then implies that the only time women should combat this is when it's time for presents.  Forget asking that people think differently or behave differently or question their assumptions in everyday gender relations.  No no, let's accept the status quo there, but then designate specific days when we demand recognition through shiny things.  The problem is not that your mother and your wife and your fiance and your girlfriend often get the shit end of power relations.  The problem is that you haven't given them enough jewelry on holidays.  That's what they're mad about.


CONCLUSION


So basically now I've dissected these things to the point of ridiculousness.  I don't pretend that commercials for mall jewelry are the place where gender activism is going to happen.  The purpose of advertising is to symbologize.  Often, although not always, it works to flatten difference in consumers, even while it hyperdifferentiates products.  I'm not going to pretend capitalism - or propaganda, if you're feeling feisty - is something it's not.  I'm also not going to pretend that I don't participate.  But, even if I don't expect these commercials to be a place where gender is questioned, they are still a place where gender is done.  Maybe sometime it will become profitable to undo gender in commercials - and there are of course a few shining examples that unfortunately prove the rule - but even then it would be an uneasy form of "victory," one that would be more about capitalized consumer affinity than progressivism, let alone activism.  For now, anyway, the work of undoing is up to the rest of us.

Academic Troglodytes

Ugh. Another professor who doesn't allow laptops.

Seriously, it's not charmingly Luddite, and it doesn't make me "think you mean business." I'm adult, and I am not going to be playing solitaire during class. I don't need you tell me how to most effectively engage in classwork. If I zone out, it's my loss.

Yes, I know how to take handwritten notes, and yes, I did it for years. I still do it on occasion. So let's just drop the "students don't know how to takes notes anymore" hoo-ha. I'm all for teaching students scholarly fundamentals, but sometimes technology just...you know...makes more sense. Especially in a very complex class. Guess what? I can take notes more quickly on a computer, which means I don't miss half of what's said because I'm too busy writing what was said before it. Better notes = better work. Also, if I need to take two seconds to look up a detail that will make my comprehension, not to mention my comments, stronger, are you really going to begrudge that?

Let's also dispense with this "postmodern babies have no attention span and will float into never-never land at the sight of a flashing pixel" malarkey. I'm perfectly capable of paying attention in class, and even if I do have brief moments of disengagement, as everyone does, do you really think not allowing computers is going to prevent that? In fact, it might make it worse.

There is nothing inherently better about doing things the hard way, and especially not when the results are inferior. I cook from scratch because the product is usually better, and the work is gratifying. What's better about taking fewer notes with less detail, and, meanwhile, missing important information? People use computers now. You're going to have to wrap your brain around it. Everyone will be okay.

I'm not some frenzied progressive who thinks anything traditional is naive or stupid. I cling to certain academic fundamentals too, and yes, I lament the diminishing grasp on writing mechanics, grammar, style, etc., among some of the students I've taught (no, not all of them). And yes, having the opportunity to go to college is an immense opportunity that shouldn't be squandered. But you know what? Working in a way that suits one best is not squandering.

Also, if you really do have a problem with advanced students not paying attention, maybe you need to take a peek at your teaching methods?

It basically comes down to having enough respect for graduate students to let them work the way they need to. It's condescending to insinuate that I have the attention span of a squirrel on meth. I didn't choose to go into a PhD program on a whim, or because I find this kind of work uninteresting. Moreover, I didn't GET INTO a PhD program by being a crappy student. Sure, there are plenty of grad students who zone out. Their problem. I'm here to do my work, and I don't need someone telling me how I'm allowed to process information.

Bally Total Fitness, aka the Corporate Panopticon

Have you ever walked into a Bally Total Fitness? It's a super creepy technodystopian cult. Everyone facing the same way while subsisting on weird powdered nutrition and making repeated Sisyphean movements while staring zombiefied to Bally-sanctioned TV and wide-smiling propaganda. Must...enrich...the body instrument...for...service to the fatherland. It's all very Teutonic or Prussian or something.



Discipline and Punish.



Everyone's checking out what everyone else is doing. Everyone is aware that other people are looking. So they push harder to prove their dedication. This isn't, by itself, a terrible thing, but it's all totally effed and creepy in the recycled air of this corporate fetish club run by the fitness industrial complex.

Names that come to mind: Jeremy Bentham, Michel Foucault, George Orwell...and you know...those other guys.

Heil Fitness!



I know that fitness clubs are bullshit. I know they find every way possible to screw you out of money. But I had 2 months before I had access to the university gym, so I just joined. You have to pay for 2 months minimum. (But they have no contracts now so you're not locked into a membership you don't want! Isn't that so very GENEROUS of them? EXCEPT THEY HAND YOU A CONTRACT AND A CONTRACT ID #. But there are no contracts.) Anyways, I knew canceling would be a bitch, so before I even signed the non-contract contract, I made very sure to grill the rep on exactly how to cancel and when to cancel to avoid getting billed for another month. She told me I just had to cancel before the new billing cycle, which starts on the 15th of the month. I just had to call. But I couldn't cancel in the first 2 weeks because that's the promotional period or whatever. So basically I was like, okay, so I have a 2 week window to cancel.

BULLSHIT.

Because she failed to tell me that I have to send a certified letter in the mail to the corporate offices to cancel my membership. It's the god damned digital age, and they want snail mail. Bullshit. PLUS, she failed to tell me that they need 10 days' notice to cancel. Plus the letter needs time to get there. So basically my 2 week window just went down to like 2 days. But of course I didn't know this. So I called my local club about canceling today, and they even told me, "Call corporate and they'll do it over the phone."

So after being bounced around to different corporate numbers, and not even being transferred to membership services, but being told to hang up and call another number (wtf...again, it's the digital age...you can't connect all the calls on one system? Of course you can. More bullshit and run-around), I can't even talk to a person. Membership services has like 4 automated options, most of which are about making payments. I push the key for membership cancellations, and all it says is that you have to send a letter. Umm, quoi?

So I called my local club again and bullied the drones to let me speak to the general manager. At first he reiterated that I need to send a certified letter in the mail, because the corporate office can't cancel over the phone because they "don't have the technology yet." BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I actually laughed at him. At this point he gave in and admitted that this is bullshit and that HE BELONGS TO A DIFFERENT GYM. He's worked for Bally for many years, and he's the god damned general manager of a location, and HE BELONGS TO A DIFFERENT GYM!!!!!!

So finally he told me to choose the option for auto-debit on the membership services menu, because that actually sends me to a person (because they'll talk to you if it means taking more of your money). So I press 3 and get transferred to a billing representative. This is the gist of our conversation:


ME: Hi Bally, I need to cancel my membership, and I'm really not going to play this run-around game. Just do it.

BALLY REP: Umm well you need to send a letter in the mail to corporate.

ME: Yeah, umm, that's bullshit. It's 2010. Don't believe you. Cancel it right now.

BALLY REP: Well, okay, I can cancel it right now. But I'll need to collect another month's membership fees.

ME: WTF? WHY? I've paid for 2 months and used LESS THAN ONE.

BALLY REP: Well we need 10 days notice to cancel, and by that time, it will be a new billing period.

ME: First of all, I was told I could cancel right away over the phone, so that was obviously a lie. Second of all, why do you need 10 days notice if you can cancel right now?

BALLY REP: Well it takes 10 days for us to process the cancellation.

ME: BUT YOU'RE DOING IT RIGHT NOW.

BALLY REP: (confused) Well...we need 10 days notice.

ME: BUT YOU'RE DOING IT RIGHT NOW.

BALLY REP: Well I can only do it right now if you give us another month's membership fee.

ME: BUT IT'S BEFORE THE NEW BILLING CYCLE.

BALLY REP: But we need 10 days notice.

ME: For what!? You're cancelling the thing RIGHT NOW. What are the extra 10 days for? So you can reflect on the cancellation?

BALLY REP: Umm I don't know...I just need $29.

ME: I hate you and you're stealing from me. This is racketeering. Tell your bosses they'd fit right into Chicago politics. Just charge my credit card and I never want to speak to anyone at your company again.

BALLY REP: I need your credit card number.

ME: What do you mean you need my credit card number!? You have it! You autodebit the shit out of me!

BALLY REP: Well I don't personally have it.

ME: AHHHHHHHHH!


I mean, I did apologize to her, saying that I know that she's not the one who creates the policies. And then I pulled out my super passive aggressive shaming techniques. "I'm sorry that you work for a company that doesn't give you the tools to do your job effectively." I love saying that. I mostly say it because I know that my call will be listened to by higher-ups because they pay attention to the crazies and angries. It gets out my aggression at the company while letting the poor drones know that I don't blame them for their complete lack of authority. I've been there. I've worked in plenty of retail and customer service jobs. I know what it's like to have your hands tied by corporate policy. That being said, I'm not just going to bend over because her job sucks.

So, Bally, you have my extra $29 dollars. I hope you get a paper cut and die of gangrene. You suck. Or, in Orwellian Newspeak, you are double-plus ungood.

My Indian Feud; or, Why Indian Food and I Are in a Fight

I’ve recently been trying to convince myself that I like Indian food. I’ve never been a fan, and I think that’s silly. There’s so much good Indian food out there, especially in LA, and it’s relatively cheap. I should be loving Indian food.

There are approximately 87 Indian restaurants within a one-mile radius of my apartment. They taunt me.

Every few months I get up the gumption to try Indian food anew. I get really excited about it. I ask friends for advice on what I should try. I am totally positive I am going to have an epiphany and love this shit. I WANT to love this shit. This never happens.

It’s not that I don’t like any Indian food. There are a few things I like very much. Samosas, obvi. Those things are mad-style tasty. I also tend to enjoy the stews, like lamb korma, etc. I could eat a metric ton of the various forms of naan and parathas. The desserts are awesome (even if I tend to find that if there are 6 desserts on the list, 5 of them will be some variation on starch-milk-cinnamon). I’ve also been known to dote upon the odd pakora or two.

However, in general, my tongue and my stomach just say no. My taste buds revolt once Indian food goes in my mouth. I think part of the problem is that I suspect that I may be one of these so-called “supertasters.” Basically, supertasters perceive bitter and sweet tastes more intensely than the average person. It’s genetic, and it’s related to the reasons why people like or hate cilantro or fennel (I hate both). Supertasters tend to prefer salty snacks, because the extra salt covers up the bitterness that exists in processed foods. Of course, maybe I’m not a supertaster and I just like potato chips. Whatever. All I know is I don’t like coriander (which is the seed of cilantro – other countries use the name “coriander” for both the seeds and the leaves), and I don’t like fennel seed. Both problems for Indian food. I also don’t enjoy curries all that much (I like some of the milder yellow curries). This seriously cuts down on my options. I can take these ingredients in small doses if there are other flavors surrounding them (for example, I like samosas even though there’s usually coriander inside, but there are lots of other notes and a nice buttery, starchy base). But, if there’s more than a bit, it’s all I can taste.

It’s not just the taste, either. It’s actually the smell that’s worse. If I smell Italian sausage cooking, I have to leave, because the smell of fennel seed literally nauseates me. My stomach doesn’t quite like the smell of curry or coriander either. So, I can’t really stand to be in an Indian restaurant, because even if I’m not eating these things, the place always SMELLS like these things, and it puts me off. So, if I get Indian food, I usually get takeout, which is, of course, not the best way to judge cuisine.

My biggest problem with the taste of Indian food (at least the Indian food I’ve tried, the “authenticity” of which I can’t really speak to) is that a lot of it tends to be lacking in base notes for me. All I taste are top notes (and many of them). I’m missing a brightness, a well-rounded attack on my palate. Again, I think it may be this “supertaster” thing – I overtaste the spices, and they dwarf the other flavors.

But, the other night I decided to try Indian food again. This time I went for Lawrence of India, because it got excellent reviews for its former location. I’m not very knowledgeable on the different regional cuisines of India, but this place is a southern Indian restaurant. They even serve beef, because the owners are from a Christian part of southern India (big crucifix on the wall, btw).

I was totally optimistic about Lawrence of India, if only for its hilarious name. I wanted nothing more than to love this place and have a new favorite takeout option. I ordered a bunch of things so I could take a broader survey and really give this stuff a chance.

I also wasted $25. The only thing that was good was the samosa. The lamb biryani was fine I guess. The keema naan was blander than bland and extraordinarily greasy. The pakora and the onion bhaji were DISGUSTING. How can you make fried vegetables and onions disgusting? They tasted rancid. The pakora didn’t look like any other pakora I’ve seen (not that I’m an expert). Instead of fried little pieces, it was like big globs of who-knows-what vegetable something, and it looked more like soggy tempura than pakora.

First of all, this place did itself absolutely no favors from the beginning. I ordered the food, and they told me 20 minutes. I walked in after 25 minutes, because I like to give them time to make it, but I don’t like to wait too long and have my food be cold. The food wasn’t ready, which, you know, fine. I waited at one of the tables. And waited. The owner brought me an iced tea, which was lovely. I’m thinking, okay, the dude is nice and this tea is delicious, so I’ll just be patient, and maybe the food will be worth it. 35 minutes after I ordered, the owner told me my food was ready. But when I got up there, it wasn’t my food, but some other dude’s. The owner asked what I ordered, so I told him, and he looked confused.

Then I saw a post-it with my order sitting on the desk, not having been entered into one of the order tickets. He quickly covered it up and told me my order was coming in two minutes. I asked, “Really two minutes, or fake two minutes?” He confidently responded, “Really two minutes.”

10 minutes later, he came over to me and said, “Okay, I lied.” “Yes,” I said. “I pretty much figured that out from the beginning.” Then he gave me some story about how everything was done except the keema naan, and that as the cook was finishing it, he accidentally flipped it into the garbage can. WTF? I just said, “Uhh, whatever, how much longer?” “I’ll check,” he says, “because I don’t want to lie to you.” How charming of him.

Finally they give me my food. 55 minutes after I ordered it. I didn’t get pissy. I just oozed disappointment. Like a parent shaming her child, not with yelling and punishment, but with the simple statement, “I’m disappointed in you.” The food did not do anything to restore my confidence in the possibilities of Indian cuisine.

I had such high hopes for you, Lawrence. You’ve let me down. How can I trust you in the future?