Ray's Place: Gift Giving Guide For Dorks; Bored of Dinner; Why I'm Always Happy (Patreon)

Yo-chachos! Last time around Nice Pete stepped in for me, which was great, but he said I had some rash? And that was why I couldn’t do my advice blog? Strictly speakin’, that ain’t true, but I certainly ain’t callin’ him wrong. I musta’ sent him mixed signals on what was goin’ on with me. Probably an embarrassment thing. Or if I did tell him, he was a gentleman and didn’t mention the specifics. But it wasn’t an STD or anything! 

Deal was, some guys from the club invited me on one of those ten-speed bike outings, the kind where everybody dresses like Asshole Spiderman, but it was my first time doin’ that so I made some rookie mistakes. You know how they got those shorts with the baboon-ass padding? Well, when I put those on and they were all snug, I got kinda horny. After a little while of pedaling I ended up chafing myself pretty bad, and had to take the shorts off and just make a sarong outta a French flag I found at a thrift shop along the way. I got home alright, but I was so frustrated at razzin’ my camper that I took the week off from the column. 

Anyhow, as you can tell, I’m back in the (not-bike) saddle! All healed up and ready for rumpus. And if anybody wants to buy some slightly-horned-in, baboon-ass bike shorts, I got a sale! The sale is that they are free, and in a ditch somewhere west of Threadville. Real, real close to a thrift shop.    

Okay, on to other folks’ problems! This will be a nice change of pace.  

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Ray, I need your help. I have a colleague who is an excellent and smart gentleman. He is also retiring and I need to get him a gift. Now, one of the things that makes him a great colleague and a genuinely good human being also causes a problem here; namely, he has no known vices for me to cater to. Normally I'd go with an unusual local amaro, [but] my colleague doesn't drink. He also doesn't eat much, or go to shows, or anything like that. He's a private dude, very practical, and doesn't need or want desk trinkets or tchotchkes. He rides his bike and does fancy woodwork. So... Ray, what should I get a gentleman like this on a work-related Occasion that is just personal enough to impress, but not so personal it gets weird? —B Dub

Dear B Dub, 

Oh, you’re friends with Beef too? Just kidding, he don’t ride on a bike or slice wood into a banister. But I get you: if you ain’t share an interest with a person, it can be damn hard to understand their tastes. Like how we can’t see that a bee knows a flower is actually silver. 

Couple years back, I wanted to do somethin’ real special for Beef’s birthday. Somethin’ that would have my DNA in it. Anybody can buy tickets for a Royal Princess cruise (which he would hate, btw) — I wanted my gift to be somethin’ that only me, Ray Smuckles, who is also his main Epitaph Grade Honcho, could give him. Somethin’ that would touch him in the heart. But what do to? 

CD-ROM drive faceplate personally engraved by Axl Rose? Turns out Beef don’t like CD-ROMs anymore, and at this stage in life he is no longer impressed with Axl Rose.   

Arnold Palmer dispenser, always got the juices chilled and in the right ratio? Nope, he’s watchin’ caffeine and sugar. 

A dope-ass hat from Antietam Battle? I could afford it, and I know he likes small weird history hats, but it turns out he was more into Battle of Jutland at the time, and Lyle had found him this sick beret with a bullet hole in it. 

I had to rely on goin’ back to logic. I thought to myself, “What does Beef actually need? Other than a do-over on most aspects of his background.” And then it hit me! A decent foreground. We’re in what they call the “experience economy,” where folks don’t want a bunch of Temu clutter they feel bad about throwin’ away next week, so I hooked us up with a Two Dudes’ trip to a place where we can make a new memory together: Burger King! Every dude gotta eat, and Beef’s been a lifelong diehard about that flame-broil flavor spray they put on the patties there. Simple! Ain’t gotta be some yacht with a boat inside. Just a time of knuckleheads, surprise candle in the Hershey Sundae Pie!  

So there you have it! Just take your monk-ass friend out to a meal. Maybe, like, a hand-crafted meal where the chef did all kinds of pain in the ass stuff to make actual real bread and slow-pickled dandelions or whatever…stuff a guy like him would appreciate. A place where the chef wears a denim apron with just one brown leather shoulder strap. 

-+RAIIIIIIMENT de la FRAAAANCE+-  

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Hey Ray. I enjoy taking some time on the weekends to make a nice meal - maybe fire up the grill or braise something in the oven. Weekday meals, on the other hand, can be a severe drag. I don't want to spend the entirety of what little weeknight free time I have cooking, and eating out or getting Door Dash is expensive as the Dickens, so I end up falling back on the same three or four simple weeknight meals over and over, which in turn ends up making those meals a bit of a bummer. Any philosophical suggestions or go-to recipes? Please help make weeknights suck less. — Cymbaline

Cymbaline! How you livin’?! Listen, I respect that you got chops on the weekend, but don’t got weekday hours for cookin’, or weekday ducats for hog-tyin’ prime slop to some Joe’s fender. (Whew! That creative writing website I read in 2007 is finally kickin’ in!) And I’m glad you gave me the “philosophy” out, rather than havin’ me degrade myself comin’ up with “six tips for easy sheet pan suppers.” So, here’s a little philosophy: 

Can you afford to be sad every weeknight? No, you cannot. We sprang up on this earth to have a jazzy old time, and for pretty much all of history until now we couldn’t really have that jazzy of a time. (War, famine, unmarked cliff, etc.) So it is your J-O-B and duty to have a constantly jazzy time, for all who could not glizz a rizzdog before us! 

I think you see what I’m gettin’ at here: hotdogs. There’s as many ways to zhuzh a weenie as there are maps of the ocean. Takes ten seconds to cook a hotdog, less if you’re fast. Chicago dog. Broccoli cheese dog. Pizzaiolo dog. Rain forest dog (pretzel stick horns). Double-trouble dog (plain dog where the condiment is a bunless second dog, laid on top). 

There, first week’s free. TALK. TO. THE. JAZZ. MAN.  

-=RrRrRrrtummyrrrumbleRRRAAAY=-

PS: I asked Téodor to degrade himself by comin’ up with six tips for easy sheet pan suppers, so I’ll let you know when he’s done. Shouldn’t take long. Hope you like ten pages of recipes that totally miss the mark. Why do I pay that man. 

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Dear Ray, I've always admired your totes rad, keep on truckin' spirit. Every day, I get up and look at the news and go "Hey, what the fuck? What the fuck, man?" How do you keep going in this worst timeline? — Bruce

Dear Bruce, 

Oh, can’t help it. It’s genetic — not from dad’s side though, that’s for sure. Those Smuckles dudes wake up in the morning and slam their arm straight down on the nightstand, snapping it (the nightstand) right in half while still laying on their back, eyes closed, teeth clenched. Back yard at their house always looks like a truck hit a kindling stand.  

Mom’s folks though, peaceful as can be. Savvy, shrewd, and calculating, but hella pacifist and always lookin’ to the bright side with a hum in their heart. I guess that’s what made dad so curious about mom: he couldn’t understand someone who didn’t destroy everything around them, but guessed that might make for a good wife. Evolution bein’ the gravy that sells the cheap meat of history, I took after her, and lord knows the world don’t presently need more destruction.

True story: I looked at a news website last week and it was like a thousand zombie hands reachin’ outta the screen and grabbin’ for my brain stem! I took a drive and looked at a mountain for like an hour, just smoothin’ my soul-dander. Then I had beef stroganoff at a roadside cafe. How awesome is that!? Life is my JAM!

—Rumtickle-my-Tum!—  

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Confidential to PoastmanToastman: A grackle is a bird. No idea what a greckle is. I’m gonna suggest that we reserve that word for a really long-fingered demon, the kind whose body mainly looks like twisty tree branches, and who is always cacklin’. Hope this helps.     

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