One of my favorite movies in high school was Better Off Dead, an absurd John Cusack 80s angst classic that I still love today. In it, Lane (John Cusack) is plagued by a pair of Japanese oddballs who are constantly challenging him to drag races and who learned to speak English by impersonating Howard Cosell. Some of the funniest scenes in the movie are the ones where they’re tearing down the street with the Cosell-ites doing running commentary on the P.A. system that’s inexplicably attached to the top of their car. (Wow, that’s a long setup for what is almost certain now to be a disappointing story…..)

Today, John and I went to a new “Nuevo Latino” restaurant near our apartment (Is saying “new Nuevo Latino redundant? I can’t decide,) to have our Last Dinner As Just Us before John’s college buddies descend upon us tomorrow and we start running a hostel out of our home office. The place was nicely all done up in cool colors and subtle Latin music and $10 mojitos, and was all in all a very pleasant place to eat some enchiladas. But I couldn’t quite enjoy our experience because our waiter was just like those Howard Cosell-taught Japanese boys in “Better Off Dead” except it appeared that he had learned to speak English from Rod Roddy. It was totally surreal, and John and I had to stifle laughter every time he asked us “hoooooow’s everything going? Grrrrrreat!” I kept waiting for him to invite use to “coooooommmme onnnn doooowwwwwn!” It was really quite funny, though now that I write it I think maybe you had to be there.

Someone reminded me today that when I head to New York at the end of the week (a) I will no longer have Law Firm to buy me swank lunches, (b) I will have to start making food for myself again, and (c) I will no longer have any income (stupid public interest law with its stupid unpaid internships.) No more new Nuevo Latino, or three-course midday meals, or evening events featuring open bar and heavy appetizers. Back to my standard teacher salary dinner: a bowl of honey nut shredded wheat and a piece of fruit. Since all of my clothes are starting to become a little tight and I refuse to buy new ones, this is probably a good thing, but it makes me a little sad nonetheless. I hereby vow to savor all 4 of my remaining ridiculous lunches with lawyers. I will order a salad and a dessert. I will pick the swankiest spots I can think of, those Chicago restaurants that John and I will probably never be able to afford on our own. If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll even give updates. Although, as Maggie is quick to point out, No One Cares What You Had For Lunch, so maybe you’ll just have to use your imagination.

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