Can I get something started for you?

"Good evening, sir. Welcome to Applebottom's. My name is Misti and I'll be your food and fun facilitator tonight."

"Well, hello, Miss Misti. Go ahead and call me Hank, or just keep calling me sir, because I am more than willing to be your knight in shining armor."

"Yes, well, Sir Hank, would you care to start out with something to drink? Perhaps one of our signature Applebotinis with a twist of cinnamon?"

"Darlin', I am already twisted enough. Mm mm. Why don't you just bring me an Amstel Light and sit your little Applebottom down right here next to Sir Hanky Panky."

"Sir, this is hardly appropriate behavior for a restaurant setting. Please contain yourself. Now, how about an appetizer? Maybe something like our Leaning Tower of Onion Rings. It's a four-star customer fave!"

"Misti, you bring me those onion rings and I'll provide the tower for a little ring toss, if you know what I mean, sweet cheeks."

"I'm not sure I do...but I'll take that as a yes. Have you decided on a main course? Our special tonight is sizzling beef fajitas, with your choice of flour or corn tortillas. Just look at this beautiful photograph of it on my specially laminated vest."

"Honey, I'm looking right through that beautiful vest of yours to a main course I'm much more interested in. Now, how about it, doll? Just back it on up over here and I'll definitely order up something!"

"Oh, Hank baby, here I come!"

"Wait a minute, you're not supposed to say that! Remember, this time you're supposed to be a clueless, but sweet, waitress, and I'm the boorish, obnoxious customer."

"I know, honey, but you're just so hot, I just couldn't hold back any longer. Maybe we should try the policewoman writing the speeding ticket for the confused foreigner or the Russian soldier barging in on the peasant girl."

"We've already done those, baby. Let's try the other idea we had. Okay, ready? Knock knock! Pizza delivery for the newly widowed socialite!"

"Do come in..."

I'm pretty sure cheeseburgers used to taste better

Another one bites the dust. Another icon evaporates into the ether of childhoods past. Maybe I'm being a little dramatic here, but yesterday brought the news that a northwest icon, the original Red Robin restaurant in Seattle, has been condemned to the wrecking ball.

The Red Robin chain still operates in approximately 270 locations, so it's definitely not like an asteroid wiped out this dinosaur, but another quirky, creaky, cramped old building is going away for good.

The parking was bad and the site wasn't exactly an easy one to navigate without swinging a couple of U-turns. The last time my family and I visited the original RR, I slammed my daughter's fingers in the van's sliding door, so my ongoing memory will be of shutting the door, hearing a blood-curdling scream and jerking my head back over my left shoulder to discover four fingers swollen like Jimmy Dean sausages, poking at me from an unnatural angle. Let's just say she's not as nostalgic about the demise of this place.

Other deceased, iconic restaurants of my past have preceded Red Robin:
There was Shakey's Pizza.

And Farrell's Ice Cream Parlour.

Each of these locales was a fantastic kid's birthday destination; each was furnished with turn-of-the-century, parlour décor. Shakey's featured an entire party package, plus it had a clear glass wall next to the kitchen, where you could witness your pizza being assembled (It was also where I lost my video game virginity to a game called "Pong."). Farrell's provided a free sundae on your birthday, delivered by three or four waiters, one wailing on a bass drum. They also had a huge ice cream offering known as a "Pig Trough." If you finished the entire thing, it was free.

Another nearly vanished icon is the classic American drive-in. You simply drove your automobile into a stall adjacent to the restaurant, rolled down your window, pushed an intercom button and ordered from the menu, which was attached to the intercom unit. Before long, a waitress would walk, or roller-skate, up to your car, delivering your food on a special tray which attached to your window. Boom. Instant car picnic. In my hometown of Auburn, Washington, XXX Root Beer ruled the drive-in roost:

Nowadays, it's not a "drive-in," it's a "drive-thru." Folks don't even take the time to eat in a parked car; now, we have to eat while driving. Not  a good idea, especially with burgers or burritos. Every sit-down restaurant serves up "pig troughs" for every meal. A visit to Claim Jumper or Cheesecake Factory guarantees a date with about five thousand calories. Where pizza actually used to be served in small, medium and large sizes, it's now offered up in large, extra large and UFO quantities.

Even the large chains which have weathered the cultural storm have re-branded themselves for a new America. We no longer have time to say "International House of Pancakes" or "Kentucky Fried Chicken." Nope, now it's simply "IHOP" and "KFC." I'm sure some of the other fast food giants would have shortened their names as well, but thought otherwise because:
-shortening "McDonald's to "MD's" is just too ironic.
-shortening "Pizza Hut" to "P-Hut" sounds like a tropical urinal.
-shortening "Taco Bell" to "TB"—accurate, but bad.

Life is far too short and much too important to spend much time lamenting stuff that isn't around anymore. It just seems like the new stuff isn't as good.