Brooklyn has saved me from Friendly's

While driving from Rhode Island, where my mother lives, to Brooklyn we stopped for lunch at a Friendly's somewhere in Connecticut. The kids were all atwitter with the lunch and dessert options, but I was depressed because I'm having trouble with the franchise world that the suburbs have been for a long time, where profit mongers load up products with the cheapest, most superficial and unsustainable kinds of mood boosters. Some of us throw these poison offerings at our kids and wonder why they're little monsters. Oh the ruts we're in.

I ordered the vegetable fajita and shared it with my mother. As I bit into the "spanish rice" I was jolted by the terrifying amount of salt in it. At that moment, my son who is 7 suddenly uttered the word "saltanic." Sometimes the universal mind speaks plainly.

We sure have our work cut out for us. But at least there's no Friendly's in Brooklyn. They can keep the expandable temperature sensitive plastic straws that change colors. At least I won't see one of those by the side of the road here. Perhaps the makers of the junk even mean well in some small way, but the artifact of someone's 3 seconds of excitement will mar the landscape for an eternity.