danny rosenberg

Soggy Waffles

Welcome to Soggy Waffles. Here’s how these bite-size, digestible movie reviews work. Every movie gets a haiku. That’s one movie, 17 syllables. Every movie gets a short write-up. I’m talking so short that you should be able to completely syrupize a plate of waffles in the time it takes to read the write-up. If not, then I’m not doing my job. This is my take on the movies I see, not a chewed up and spit out version of anything you’ll find online.

 And finally, every movie gets a Soggy Waffles rating. The scale is as follows:

1 = The Frozen Waffle. The type of waffle that you can still taste the freezer burn when you bite into it. That bite was so traumatizing that you it might be awhile before you can safely bite into another.

 2 = The Soggy Waffle. You don’t need a pick-axe or other climbing gear to attack this waffle, but the pneumonic device you learned in elementary school to memorize the cardinal directions still applies: Never Eat Soggy Waffles.

3 = The Microwaved Waffle. This is the type of waffle that won’t stick with you for the rest of your life, but damn you enjoyed it nonetheless. Not every movie can be a Superbad.

 4 = The Crispy Waffle. Oh yeah, it’s not the best waffle you’ve ever had, but it’s pretty close. This is the type of movie that cracks into your End-of-Year best list, but doesn’t quite make it onto your Best of All Time.

5 = The Toasty Waffle. This is that from-scratch, special recipe, best-you’ve-ever had waffle. The kind in which the waffle is so good that the act of adding chocolate chips, butter or even syrup would be sacrilegious. You can never eat it for the first time twice, so savor it when you’ve got it.

Logo and illustrations by Adrienne Luther.

Logo and illustrations by Adrienne Luther.

Welcome to Soggy Waffles Reviews. Here’s how these bite-size, digestible movie reviews work. Every movie gets a haiku. That’s one movie, 17 syllables. Every movie gets a short write-up. I’m talking so short that you should be able to completely syrupize a plate of waffles in the time it takes to read the review. If not, then I’m not doing my job. This is my take on the movies I see, not a chewed up and spit out version of anything you’ll find online. And finally, every movie gets a Soggy Waffles rating. The scale is as follows:

Soggy_Waffles_Draft-08.png

1. The Frozen Waffle

The type of waffle that you can still taste the freezer burn when you bite into it. The whole experience is so traumatizing that it might be awhile before you can safely bite into another.

Soggy_Waffles_Draft-07.png

2. The Soggy Waffle

You don’t need a pick-axe or other climbing gear to attack this waffle, but the pneumonic device you learned in elementary school to memorize the cardinal directions still applies: Never Eat Soggy Waffles.

Soggy_Waffles_Draft-03.png

3. The Microwaved Waffle

This is the type of waffle that won’t stick with you for the rest of your life, but damn you enjoyed it nonetheless. Not every movie can be a Superbad.

Soggy_Waffles_Draft-02.png

4. The Crispy Waffle

Oh yeah, it’s not the best waffle you’ve ever had, but it’s pretty close. This rating is reserved for the movise that crack into your End-of-Year best lists but don't quite make it onto your Best of All Time.

Soggy_Waffles_Draft-01.png

5. The Perfectly Toasted Waffle

This is that from-scratch, special recipe, best-you’ve-ever had waffle. The kind in which the waffle is so good that the act of adding chocolate chips, butter or even syrup would be sacrilegious (but obviously you still do). You can never eat it for the first time twice, so savor it when you’ve got it.

JB's Best Man Speech

Hi everyone, and thank you all for humoring one last speech tonight. And if this is your second or third time hearing me give a wedding speech this year, thank you for indulging me as I find *another* way to make one of the biggest nights of my best friends’ lives about myself.

The year is 1997, and it’s the first day of day care at the JCC. I step into the classroom holding my mom’s hand, anxiously eyeing my surroundings. My new teacher greets us warmly and extends her arms for a hug, but I refuse to leave my mom’s side. I stay frozen in place until a boy with bright blue eyes and a full head of curly hair bounds over to us, and hands me his red Power Ranger toy as a silent offering of friendship. I let go of my mom’s hand to take it, and for the rest of that day, that year, and the 30 that follow – the two of us are inseparable.

As you might have guessed from my expertly-executed foreshadowing and the context of why we’re all here tonight, the boy in this story is, in fact, JB. But what you might not have guessed, is that none of this actually happened, and I completely made this story up. 

According to the developmental psychology class I took in college (yes, I like to remind people that JB isn’t the *only* one of us with multiple degrees) – memories don’t form until around the age of three. So because JB and I really did meet when we were one-and-a-half years old, it’s fair to say I have no recollection of my life without him in it. In the same way that my parents have always been my parents, JB has always been my best friend – and being JB’s best friend has always been a major part of my identity.  So not to be dramatic or anything, but this kind of feels like the speech I was born to write (or maybe that’s actually JB’s eulogy – just kidding, I’m going first). 

One of our families’ favorite stories takes place at a Thanksgiving party when JB and I were two. The adults sat in a circle around the room, and us kids were instructed to find our parents and sit in their laps. For reasons unbeknownst to everyone including me, when it was my turn to find my parents, I skipped right past them and plopped down in Dave’s lap instead. 

I love this story because it illustrates how the line has always been blurred for where my family ends and the Bush family begins. Growing up without any extended relatives in town, JB’s family became my own: his parents, my parents; his cousins, my cousins (shout out to Max and Nate); his Nana, my Nana; his sister, my sister, too. In fact, Becca and I were *so much* like siblings that, when we were little, nothing would upset Becca more than when I would tease her that I’ve known her parents longer than she has. So, Becca – never forget – I’ve *still* known your parents longer than you. 

Although you could say this made JB and I like brothers, we were never outwardly competitive in the way that brothers so often are. We each had our own lanes, and our differences were complementary: JB was good at math and science, and I was good at reading and writing. JB was good at basketball and soccer… and I was good at reading and writing.

Sometime around when we got our first flip phones, JB started to end calls with a casual but sincere “Love you” to me whenever it was time to hang up. We were 12, and I felt awkward saying it back at first, but then it became a sort of in-joke, and then it became normal. It’s something we still do to this day, and usually I don’t think twice about it. But after talking to  Josh, Luc and Daniel all separately on the phone recently, all three told me they loved me at the end of every call. Even though JB wasn’t present for any of these conversations, his presence was felt in our exchanges of affection, and it’s there every time I tell one of my friends I love them, because JB normalized our ability to express our love for each other.

What I’m saying is, JB is a lover, and no one knows this better than Kara Kahn. 

Kara Kahn, the horse girl from HBHA.
Kara Kahn, the girl Daniel has a crush on.

Kara Kahn, our friend from BBYO who we run into at KU.

Kara Kahn, the girl *JB* has a crush on.
Kara Kahn, the girl JB just asked to be his girlfriend. 

Kara Kahn, the girl JB is oh shit, totally head-over-heels in love with. 

Kara Kahn, JB’s fiance. 

Kara Bush, my best friend’s wife. 

Time, curious time. Isn’t it just so pretty to think, Kara, that after a lifetime of knowing each other, we’ve gone from acquaintances to friends to family in what feels like just a blip? Where once we only ran *into* each other at parties, now *you’re* the one hyping me up before a night out I’m dreading, and *you’re* the first person I want to debrief with after we get home (yes, we *will* be debriefing later tonight). 

As we got older, people always told JB and me that our friendship was special, but because it’s all I’ve ever known, it was hard for me to understand that not everyone has a friendship like ours. But watching you two together over the past seven years, I think I finally get it, because I’ve seen firsthand how not everyone has a relationship, like *yours*. You share a strong moral compass, an innate desire to always achieve perfection (for better and worse); and you share your love of community and family, both of which have expanded significantly yet effortlessly as your relationship’s deepened and lives continue to blend. Everyone here is a testament to that, and so is your perpetually full Google calendar, which gives me full-body anxiety just to even think about.

You’re the busiest people I know, and also the best. I’ll love you both forever, and I can’t wait to grow old together. Everyone please join me in raising your glass to Kara Bush and my best friend, JB, and let’s say together: L’chaim.

Danny Rosenberg