When young, do we ever know how we will end up as adults? I remember my life as a boy in the woods of Pittsburgh, building forts, planning attacks on other forts built by rival neighborhood gangs, and I don't think I ever thought I would end up as a burger critic with a pant disorder. But that is how it is.
There's a new "retro" diner called Golden Diner downtown, below Canal and near the water. As soon as a diner is meta and is paying homage to the golden age of diners, it's no longer a diner. Golden Diner has a burger, with some sort of "housemade" special sauce, and you can order it "deluxe." The place is filled with cool people and loud hip hop music is blaring -- wow, it's so cool that they play hip hop in a "retro" diner. The burger arrives and is quite rare, comprised of aged cuts of beef. The special sauce is stupid. It's really not a special burger. The fries are pretty good.
Afterwards I stop at Macy's to check out the Dockers Department. I currently own a pair of 36x34 Slim Tapered All Season Tech Khakis in grey. They are some of my favorite pants -- the fit is excellent. So why not get another pair? I grab some in a different color and try them on: what the hell! They fit completely different! The pants hug my thighs and look ridiculous.
What a miserable day -- an unmemorable burger and bad pants. I should have stayed a little boy playing in the woods.