I Never Planned on Filming Myself While Eating in My Car, but Here We Are

Smash that “like” button and be sure to gimme a follow!

Some of my first memories are of my parents either telling me to not under any circumstances eat whatever fast food we’d just acquired while still in the car. Or, conversely, allowing it, but acting like doing so was some kind of act of extreme rebellion — a secret to be kept from the other guardian, which was going to be hard to achieve if I spilled anything (as was my prevailing tendency) on the goddamn upholstery (the exact opposite of a red herring, whatever that might be, maybe a dead giveaway) yet again.

I loved eating in the car. It was instant gratification. You got what you desired (probably) and devoured it immediately. The concept of delaying gratification and the merits of doing so had yet to make sense to me — and to be frank, I still struggle with it to this day.

Another very early memory is of a time when my mom was driving somewhere far from home, for what I cannot recall, and our car broke down, and the local police took us back to their station to wait it out while our dad came from work to pick us up. And one of the cops gave me my first ever Mountain Dew.

You’ll never, ever be as happy as you were the moment right after you took your inaugural sip of Mountain Dew. Or maybe you will, but just not in the same way as you were at that extremely pivotal point in your life. Once you “Do the Dew,” there is no turning back. It’s a whole paradigm shift and it cannot be undone; a unique kind of euphoria I’m not entirely sure can be replicated. But one thing I’m sure of is you will undoubtedly be chasing that dragon for the rest of your life. The closest I’ve come to achieving a similar brand and level of bliss has been either walking into an elementary school Scholastic Book Fair with weeks of allowance in my pocket and a dream in my heart, or the first time I redeemed a BOOK IT! voucher for my very own free personal pan pizza (with any order of like $20 or more; that’s how they get ya). I don’t know. It’s a toss up.

I’m hesitant to apply too much meaning to these memories, but they do live rent free in my head. So it’s far from outside the realm of possibility that they may in some way factor into where I find myself now:

Which is eating fast food in my car while washing it down with a frighteningly robust styrofoam fountain cup filled with Mountain Dew — and so help me god, if any of you give me shit today about how Baja Blast beats the original, you better get right with your god, because I will blow a fucking gasket.

You’re entitled to your opinion, sure, but wrong is WRONG.

I hope that doesn’t get me censored or canceled or flagged or anything.

But you’ve got to stand for something or you’ll fall for anything.

And also, thanks for tuning in! Happy you’re here. Smash that “like” button and be sure to give me a follow. I’ll follow back. I’m not at all above a quid pro quo situation.

Normally, I film these things when I locate the perfect parking place and the lighting is just right, and then meticulously edit them before distributing my often divisive opinions, my smokin’ hot takes (the Mountain Dew flavor debate is just me getting started, friends), on exciting new fare from various fast food restaurants to anyone in the public who feels like watching them.

i do this in hopes of garnering a legit social media following, an achievement I deeply desire for reasons I have yet been able to properly articulate and don’t want to examine with too much depth. I suppose I just think that people are passionate about, and care about, the same things I care about, like food that is best pre-gamed with a line of Lipitor snorted straight off my dusty dashboard, and I crave lively discourse and connection. Also, partially to attract the attention of said fast food restaurants, who I’d think would then find it in their best interests to hook me up with some sort of enticing endorsement deal. Who doesn’t love free shit?

But this early evening, we’re doing it a little bit differently. I’m coming to you live from my Toyota Corolla. This steel steed’s got more than 200,000 miles on it and I plan to ride it straight to glory. Or to hell. Whichever comes first.

And I’m parked down the street from my home. Used to be I’d shoot these mostly in the driveway of that home (because doing it in the parking lot of the restaurant itself seemed somehow depressing), but my better half kept recognizing I’d pulled in after a long day of work and would come out to see what I was up to if I hadn’t come inside in a timely fashion. This would, I think you’d understand, totally interrupt my flow and general vibe — forcing me to cut at an inopportune time, like when I was in the middle of a super-eloquent missive on how and why a rib sandwich on offer for a limited time from an unsung hero of fast food joints completely put the tried and true McRib to shame. (This place and product does exist, but I’m not going to mention the brand again because, well, they showed that episode no love. Not even a like! So fuck ’em, that’s what I say, even if their sandwich slaps.)

I could tell you this i what I’ve always wanted to do, but that’d be a huge lie. I don’t think anyone anywhere near my age could have grown up desiring this or thinking it was something they’d do, filming themselves with a mobile phone contraption while they ate something and broadcasted it into a digital void full of strangers in hopes of getting reactions and maybe some adoration. But the world is a strange place. I often wonder who started all this — whose initial idea it was, or why it has taken off in the way it has. I could probably research it but I know I won’t. I’ll just keep riding some random person’s coattails, and marveling at the notion that someone like my young niece might aspire to one day do something like this, but that by the time she’s old enough to even drive the world will have moved on to different and more fleeting fads than we can fathom.

Anyway. I’m going to eat this sandwich now. It’s probably getting cold. Which could skew my whole review. And I want this all to come from a pure, unbridled and partially non-biased place.

But before I do, feel free to weigh in in the comments regarding what song by The National I should listen to after I’m done filming and ready to levy some heaving sobs in this here sedan.

It’s a tradition unlike any other, and I will not be taking questions.