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Sunday, August 4, 2019

The Critic

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.