02.14.06
It's Valentine's Day?
I realized that I haven't updated this thing for a while. A few weeks ago I had something
on my mind, but now it's gone. It's sucks because I remember it's good. So instead
of a real "update," I'ma gonna let you read this article about In-N-Out that I like.
WHEREFORE THE DOUBLE-DOUBLE?
By Joe Christiano
Long after I had forsaken fast food, I occasionally found myself sneaking past the farmers' markets, gourmet delis and organic gardens of my Berkeley home to a guilty pleasure--10 minutes up the freeway. There, amid a depressing stretch of big-box discount stores and assorted chain clusters, stood a place whose uniformity I didn't find sterile or soulless, whose quickly prepared food didn't leave me feeling toxic and poorly nourished, whose abundant presence throughout the Western landscape didn't inspire despair or shame or a longing for prelapsarian Contra Costa County. That place was In-N-Out Burger--as good a justification as any for the westward course of the empire.
Besides the consistently good food and aesthetically pleasing setup, In-N-Out Burger stood out from other brand-name establishments, but I wasn't sure why. After enjoying a particularly transcendent takeout order one evening, I went to my computer, wiped the Double-Double essence from my fingers and hit the Internet.
Within seconds I learned that the company had been family owned since its inception 58 years ago. Its business philosophy was to "give customers the freshest, highest quality foods" (unfrozen, additive-free beef, fries cooked in pure vegetable oil, buns built from "old-fashioned, slow-rising sponge dough") and "provide them with friendly service in a sparkling clean environment." I discovered with shock that the company paid its employees $9 an hour to start (store manager salaries average slightly less than $100,000 per year) with full benefits, ample vacation and retirement packages.
They cared about quality. They cared about their employees. They cared about the well-being and satisfaction of their customers. All this with an unpretentious menu of burgers, fries and drinks--period--that didn't pander to trendy diets or novelty fare. No giveaways, no movie tie-ins, no commercials appealing to the repulsive boor that the Devil's Own is trying to make the American male standard. It now was obvious why In-N-Out locations, on any given day and hour, were always packed.
In-N-Out was now my not-guilty pleasure. And on each subsequent visit I enjoyed my repast, noting the genuine good spirits in evidence on both sides of the counter. Here was an American institution whose success was a direct result of its philosophical and ingrediential integrity, and everyone who followed the familiar directive of its giant yellow arrow and gathered in the gleam of its red-and-white interior could taste it. Like Coney Island, baseball or "Born to Run," In-N-Out Burger was high-grade popular culture with a democratic inclusiveness that reflected and amplified the grander institutions that defined us.
I was a believer. And like all believers, my faith was tested. During one of my visits, I discovered the Bible citations that the company stealthily prints on the edges of its burger wraps and bottom-rim interiors of its drink cups: NAHUM 1:7; PROVERBS 3:5; REVELATIONS 3:20. Implicit in my support for the separation of church and state is my support for the separation of church and burger; God doesn't belong in the Pledge of Allegiance any more than the Virgin Mary belongs on a slice of melted cheese, and if my glorious secular paradise was in truth a beard for Jesus, then it would be free-range turkey burgers from here on out. To inspire my renunciation of In-N-Out, I looked up one of the passages. It was not what I expected:
REVELATIONS 3:20--Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.
This simple invitation to communion was so in keeping with the In-N-Out brand of welcome that I immediately laid down my ax. Private or public, I prefer my assembly places free of cant, but if one must proselytize, then concrete demonstration and playful, Easter egg-scatterings of Bible referents is the way to go. With a happy heart, I let In-N-Out slide. We have lived in harmony ever since.
But once again my faith is being tested.
In-N-Out co-trustee Richard Boyd recently filed a lawsuit in Los Angeles County Superior Court alleging that Lynsi Martinez, the 23-year-old sole heir to the family business, and other corporate executives are trying to accelerate her takeover of the company (which will not fully come into her possession for a dozen more years), install top management and quickly expand the reach of In-N-Out beyond its 202 locations in Arizona, California and Nevada--and possibly force out 86-year-old company matriarch Esther L. Snyder, her grandmother.
This strikes me as heresy. Esther Snyder opened the first In-N-Out stand in 1948 with her husband Harry. Harry Snyder died in 1976, and their son Richard took over. In 1993 Richard died, and his brother Guy took the reins. In 1999 Guy died, leaving Esther, already an octogenarian and entitled to shake her fist at the sky alongside Job, in control of the company. Without compromising the high standards of quality that had been in place since day one, the business expanded under her watch. She remains company president to this day. But in the eyes of Martinez and company, the lawsuit alleges, grandma is an impediment to significant growth. Snyder's response: They "only want me dead," she has been quoted as saying. (The company has since sued Boyd, alleging fraud and embezzlement. Boyd's attorney called the allegations "totally baseless and demonstrably untrue.")
The whole thing seems sordid, ugly and, worst of all, familiar. It stinks of a monopolizing American greed that won't be satisfied with local success; it must be national, it must be global, it must be viral. Remember King Midas? Everything he touched turned to golden arches.
So In-N-Out now stands at a crossroads. Today as I wait in line at the drive-thru, I wonder which way that giant arrow will point. Will the course of empire take it eastward, bringing Double-Doubles to Denver, Des Moines and Da Bronx? Apart from making those of us in the West feel a little less special, that wouldn't be such a bad thing, unless in the Starbucksification of In-N-Out Burger, something gets lost. If the old-fashioned, slow-rising sponge dough goes, then so goeth I. If celebrity hotties on TV begin dribbling special sauce down their chins, then none will dribble down mine. I don't think I'm alone in this.
There are few titans of integrity in this country standing firm against the corruptions of capital. In-N-Out, for the time being, is one of them. Faithless friends, there is still reason to believe. For that, I raise my milkshake to Esther and submit the following:
SONG OF SOLOMON 2:15
Go ahead, look it up.
West Magazine (February 12 2006)
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06.06.06
I GOT ADAM!
Look at all this crappe my mom has:
Clockwise from top left: LIghthouses (nuff said); a basket of fake plants; porcelein rabbit figures. glass eggs, and ceramic themed tea sets.
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09.11.06
I want a new puppy
Well if you haven't heard, Max died July 3rd. And I really wish that wouldn't rhyme. I also wish
that I didn't have a habit of never posting, but when I do, it's always some special day.
The last time was 06-06-06, which wasn't really that special, because it was in fact
06-06-06, not 6-6-6. This time it's the fifth anniversary of 9/11. Don't worry I'm not going to
reflect on it and tell you exactly what I was doing when it happened, because everyone
else does that and it's annoying. We all know what happened five years ago today, and
we'd rather keep it five years ago.
So basically I just want a new puppy. My mother will not get another one ever because
she wants to get new furniture and hardwood floors. She's going for that country cottage
look. You know, that white and light blue plaid pattern, light wood surfaces that appear to be
worn, but really you just bought it at ikea last week, and baskets of fake plants look. Yeah, she likes
that shit. And dogs are more likely to get it dirty, not because of the light color tones, but
because it's so ugly they want to destroy it.
I really hate this font.
This is not any better.
This entry is really boring too. But please forgive it, I'm just bored out of my mind. My headphones
short-circuited, and now they don't work. I'm just waiting for parents to go to bed so I can
go downstairs and eat something. I'm avoiding them because they always pull me into
conversations that last about three times longer than they should because they're such bumbles.
Half of this entry is me just repeating things I've said on aim to farfa and becky. Like this:
my parents probably think I'm a ferret or some weird little rodent, because when I don't have anything to do, I just stay in my room all day until they go to sleep, and around this time of night, I'm constantly poking my head out my door to see if they're gone or not.
Here's some pictures that are hopefully more entertaining than everything I just wrote above:
Jared Leto losing best rock video at the VMAs.
Brenden Urie of Panic! At The Disco after being hit with a bottle on stage. That's what happens
when you go on after Slayer. By the way, for it's 3-D re-release, the new Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack
is going to feature covers of Danny Elfman's classics by Panic! At The Disco, Fall Out Boy,
Marilyn Manson, Fionna Apple, She Wants Revenge, and others. Tim Burton is rolling in his grave... :D 2006 is either the
best or worst year ever.
Vincenzo Iaquinta and Gennaro Gattuso having some fun
As long as we're still on soccer, the one you've seen all summer. France played Italy
last week for the 2008 Euro qualifiers. France won easily 3-1. And I knew it. Just like I knew
from the beginning of the world cup that Italy would be claiming the cup this time around, whether
I liked it or not.
from Don Hertzfeldt's L'Amour
I wish I had made the original. I just added the rainbow.
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