REVIEW: I Dream of Weenie

Times are tough. We are all bogged down. Each day an endless stream of information bombards us and we are left to wonder, why? At once it seemed so easy to flow through each and every day of our small, short lives with little effort required of us at any point. What happened? Where are we? These questions, which we have all been asking ourselves, probably shouldn't be answered. Gearing ourselves up for disappointment, lack of concrete answers, and isolation and humiliation is commonplace now. It is August 2017. The air is hot, perhaps the hottest it's ever been, some are saying. What need have we for air quality anyway? Whether or not humans are overheating the planet is irrelevant. All life ends. It is not a matter of when, and it is certainly not a matter of why. It simply is. Some call it nihilism. That is their right. I, however, see cause for celebration. Nothing matters! Hedonists rejoice! Eat wieners!

After having come to this realization one Wednesday morning, my skin drenched with sweat and my clothes soiled from the smell, although not permanently - nothing is permanent - I found myself outdoors in a semi popular part of town, Five Points. Here is where the proverbial angel headed hipsters gather and drink, most assuredly talking about the newest ales, whether pale, Indian, Arctic or otherwise, and no doubt gossiping about the try-hards, the who's whos and the who's nots. This day, however, was relatively quiet around the five intersecting streets. School was in session, the kids were all gone. The adults came out, alone. Thankful. A smog of euphoria weighed them down. Some sat with their dogs on small patches of grass, others slipped into one of the many bars along the streets for one quick glass of something that can make them forget their selfish existence. I came across the I Dream of Weenie van, which is parked, permanently (in a sense), on a lot next to a coffee house. It is an old fashioned, VW thing - a relic from the past. An artifact from a time best forgotten. Maybe I am a masochist, or was in some former life, because I approached the van, my mouth watering for a savory dog. I needed it, as I often do.



The line was short. I snaked some poor child who wanted a can of lemonade. It was for the best. Life is unfair and cruel. I didn't exactly relish the opportunity to give this kid such a lesson, but it clearly needed to be done, and I don't regret it. After briefly examining the menu I knew I had but one choice - a dog called the Rebel Yelp. It is a regular dog topped with jalapenos, onions, mustard, and something the locals invented called Tennessee Chow Chow. I have lived here for years, have explored the ins and outs of this city, and consider myself to be "in the know" about all of the most important things here, but as I walked the surrounding areas with my specialty dog, among the rows and rows of new condo buildings, shops selling trinkets and various other useless Nashville paraphernalia, signs for colon therapy centers and so called bakeries, I noticed traces of whispers trailing from the lips of each passer by. I heard the words "Tennessee Chow Chow" over and over. Suddenly, this thing that I had never once been aware of was everywhere. What did it mean? I tried not to think. I went about my walk.



Quickly I realized that nothing I could do would get me away from this chatter. Every way I turned I heard something. I saw police swarm a homeless man inside one of the bars, with the barkeep following the crowd outside and saying they did not need to press charges, but would the cops kindly get the man the hell out of his sight. The homeless man, beaten down by time and age and countless years of half smiles assuring him that they carried no cash, but trying still to convey some amount of empathy, told the police he might want to press charges on the bar for always being rude to him. This sort of liberal thinking, of course, gets us nowhere, and was certainly not going to be the magic that lifted this man from poverty. No sir. He needed to know what a good day's hard work would do for him, as we all do! Apparently the police brigade thought the same thing, and violently but decisively throwing him in the back of the cop car, assuring him his rights existed but did not matter because he carried no political power nor money to buy their influence. A crushing sight to behold, but somewhat necessary given the current climate and culture we have brought forth for this stupid world. But as the door to the police cruiser was a fraction of an inch from closing, I heard the vagrant cry out something. The words were immediately recognizable as "Tennessee Chow Chow".

My heart raced. My mind raced. My sweat stained clothes were again becoming drenched in fresh sweat. I found a restaurateur down the street - one with notoriety but for what I will not say. He told me there was no such thing as Tennessee Chow Chow. Or if there was, it was certainly of no importance. He had never heard of it at the very least. The way his face contorted as he spoke was even more cause for anxiety. There was nothing I could believe from this man. He knew something about Chow Chow, and he knew I was getting close. But I became discouraged. This endless net of seemingly meaningless, but somehow meaningful, clues were getting me nowhere. Whenever hot dogs were brought up, I stayed quiet. When the word chow arose, I left the room. When people asked how my hunt for the meaning of chow chow was going, I deflected. After all, what was the point? Even if it were true, that Chow Chow was some sort of higher level hot dog topping that none of the most elite chefs in the world were able to identify, or perhaps were unwilling to identify as to keep themselves safe, or else I was losing my mind. I was going mad and taking everyone I knew and loved down with me. Those were literally the only two options. I chose to submit and to try and never think of it again, which is how I got to where I am today.

Overall, the Rebel Yelp hot dog was anything but a letdown. The wiener itself bounced around my mouth while I chewed with sheer delight. The jalapenos were spicy, yes, but added a necessary zest atop the mountain of onions and mustard. And, although I would rather not discuss it in any greater detail at this moment, yes, I enjoyed the Chow Chow immensely. If you are wondering what this life is all about, or perhaps you have evolved into a higher plain of thinking and know there is nothing to life, this dog is for you. It is for all of you. Sure, this place is in a hippy bus, and hippies represent all that is wrong with the world that lives outside of pure capitalism, but dammit if the hippies don't know their way around a wiener. The others I dined with shared this delight with each of the specialty dogs they ordered. It seems anything from this place will be satisfying. But remember, some things in life are simply not worth exploring. Some questions are better left unanswered, for if you find out something you don't like, you still have to live with a truth that you might feel you cannot stomach. Going down the wrong paths will lead you to a life of guilt, shame, humiliation, and, worst of all, aimlessness. You are powerless in this world. Death is the only certainty of nature. Forget all else.