Forget the Colonel’s eleven herbs and spices. This stuff supposedly tastes like the inside of Toru Hagakure’s socks:
At first glance, the menu at Japanese takeout chain Tenka Torimasu looks incredibly simple. They serve karaage (Japanese-style fried chicken), karaage bento boxed lunches with rice, cabbage, and potato salad, and that’s all. But there’s a hidden depth of variety at Tenka Torimasu, because of how many different flavors of fried chicken they offer.
Want teriyaki fried chicken? No problem. Neither are curry, wasabi, sweet chili, ponzu, or plum. And as this month, you can also try girls’ sole flavor.
Just to make that clear, that’s not “girls’ soul” or any other representation of the concept of youthful femininity, but “girls’ sole,” as in “this fried chicken tastes like the bottom of a young woman’s foot.”
Definitely don’t get the extra crispy.
It’s been almost a quarter-century since I was thirty-nine, same age as hometown homie Jack Benny, but I remember spending a lot of time thinking about being forty. So I can still appreciate this observation by Shailaja V:
When I make up my mind to learn something, I go all in. It’s almost as if this ‘learning demon’ possesses me and I fill myself to the brim with everything possible. Don’t worry, it’s a harmless creature.
I am not known for going all in. Still, at the age of 42 I got this insane idea that I ought to have my own little section of the World Wide Web, which barely existed the year I was 39. And, demonically enough, I still have it.
“That song isn’t mine anymore,” said Trent Reznor after hearing Johnny Cash’s cover of the Nine Inch Nails song “Hurt.”
Wonder what he might have thought of this?
And I’ve gotten raspier over the years. Wonder what’s going to happen to this young lady?
I mean, God forbid she should end up sounding like me.
“The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore,” recorded at a Four Seasons session in 1965, was intended as a Frankie Valli solo release. It didn’t go anywhere, but the Walker Brothers, a British Invasion group who were not from Britain, not brothers, and not named Walker, topped the British charts the next year with a splendidly-overproduced cover.
Last week, we got to hear the song in a suitably bleak arrangement, courtesy of Saddest Clown Ever Puddles Pity Party.