Sticks to the ribs

A couple of weeks ago Joe and I saw something dismaying up in New Hampshire. It was a Saturday, pouring rain out, the day after the Green Day show, and we had slept until noon. Around 3:00 we were kicking around the Portsmouth/Newington area and we went to lunch at this rib place called Smokey Bones. My Cobb salad and Joe's baby back ribs were good, the ambiance was rustic and comfortable, and we liked it overall, except for one thing: they have little speakerboxes on all the tables, with channel guide, so that you can tune into TV while you eat. That just really seems to take things one step too far. It's one thing to glance up a couple of times during a meal to check the score of the Red Sox game (because come on, it's the Sox), but isn't the point of going to a restaurant to talk to the people you're with? I keep picturing tables full of pasty people snarfing platters of barbequed meat with their glazed eyes on the TV and one ear cocked to the little box to hear how the Nascar race is going.

Augh. Life in America is altogether depressing sometimes.