We were raised to believe that we can do anything that we want and that indulgence isn’t a bad thing. All of us that have stress look to relievers that fix the crushing pain of our existance. “Ultra-premium” alcohol made from the by-products of cheese production, neoprene sacks filled with a viscous polymer, “FUN”-sized portions snack food all try to buffer the crushing reality of the work-a-day life. Institutions of stress-relief all seem to temporarily assuage the rage. Everyone knows that they have to put down the beer, hit that last golf-ball, or wipe the smell of the sex-worker off before going home. The fun pizza parlors or restaurants of our youth were something special and to look forward to. As adults, restaurants are enhanced by the variety of cheese that one can get on a nacho platter or the being imported all the way from the wine region of California. We don’t have the excitement for extra spicy chicken wings and four cheese nachos as kids love video games and a ball pit.

Instead of cursing what is out there now, a friend of mine and I decided to do something about it. In combining the healing powers of group therapy (inspired by the reality television show “Starting Over”) and food. Tables would be set up according to issue or emotional need. We haven’t figured out if the wait staff would moderate or we’d have some trained professional at each table. Set menus would be according to the various moods.

“Light” consisting of simple sandwiches, salads, assorted fruits and cheeses. Big portions perfect for that sense of well being that can only be attained by non-spicy foods.

“Comfort” American classics like pot pie and macaroni & cheese. This menu is served in small portions so that the diner can eat and not feel guilty and on the same token complain about the amount of food rather then their problems.

“Crying” Choose 3 sweets: pastry, ice cream, chocolate du jour.
Mix them, match them… maybe get three of one kind.

We came up with the following names for this restaunthapy:

gab ‘n gob
chat and snack
eat ‘n greet
food ‘n freud
chow chow
tea and sympathy
the healing table
deep fried issues

I came across the Bjork “Big Time Sensuality” video a few days ago. Since then I’ve had a huge revival for the wonderfully quirky Icelandic singer. It turns out that she has had somewhat of a same turn of events as well. Her song “Army of Me” is being covered by several artists and the proceeds will be going to UNICEF. To inject my own cosmic theory into I understand this to be a sign to go to Iceland. Bjork gives to UNICEF. UNICEF was established on my birthday. I must go to Iceland.

I thought that the flight was reasonable and the lodging a tad on the expensive side, but I thought it would be a great destination. How many people out there wax longingly about the old cities of Europe? Breaking out of the Euro-bore attitude, I thought I could experience life and wind up with stories about Reykjavik. Furthering my research on Iceland led me to various travel sites on the Internet and I found some disturbing posts. Some complained about the US$5-9 beers. Other travelers talked about sticking close to the traditional menu to save money. One traveler was so bold to say that Iceland makes a trip to London look cheap.

The prospect of eating mutton and reindeer meat didn’t phase me, but the thought of having to pay out the nose for salad greens and coffee made me wonder if people from other affluent countries swarm to Iceland. Tourists with bundles of cash and adventurous spirits find themselves wherever I go. There are the Belgians and French in their chill outfits. The Spaniards with their tanned innocent faces almost timid in crowds of non-Spanish. The Italians constantly on the mobile phone all the while smoking like there’s no tomorrow. The British bitching about… everything. The curious Taiwanese youth with an even more curious budget. The Japanese of course, are everywhere.

Could Iceland be the one place that these people aren’t interested in? I hope the cold climate during our waning summer days would be the last thing on tourists’ minds. I’d hate to find out that the rotted shark meat is a thrill that many people are seeking.

Just recently my brother and his lovely fiancee were magically transformed through the power of ceremony and lackluster banquet food, into a married couple. I witnessed this from within the wedding party of what could possibly be the largest crowd they will ever have to entertain. Revelers and well-wishers from contrasting paths all converging into one room warmed from the open bar, garrulously mingling from the sheer emotion, and puzzled by my bitterness.

It was obvious that these people were glad to see another milestone in my brother’s life, and they only attended because he had a significant enough impact on their lives. As I, the reclusive and silent brother looked onto the crowd, I had to ask myself, “Am I impact resistant?”.

With all the success that one can amass in a lifetime, there’s no other way to get more people to focus on you for such a long time. Sure there are exceptions; one can develop a charismatic sectarian persona, or organize a party for the sale of purses, plastic containers, and sex toys, but there’s no comparison to a wedding. The union predates civilization because even though we didn’t have many reasons to stay faithful to one another, we wanted to ensure that we would procreate with just one other. Men’s base instinct isn’t to nest, and I think that men only attend weddings to confirm that that the groom is willing to leave the realm of choice and plenty. The single men look on with pity and the already married men whisper under their breaths, “sucker”.

I am a horrible cynic and the world feeds that little monster in me every day. Unquantifiable amounts of entitlement and exuberance expressed in all forays of life only makes the beast angrier. This website being my only outlet, one can say that each and every blog entry is a soupçon of its excrement. This wedding really didn’t turn me on, nor did it have anything to feed my inner monster. Does this mean that weddings are some kind of mood stabilizer? Perhaps… or maybe I this just a sign that I’ve been impacted.

Are your world views getting more mature and optimistic? Only your inner cynicism-beast knows for sure!