Oh yes!!

Oh hi. How’s it going? Yeah, fascinating. Anyway, I’m doing pretty, pretty good. Yes, it’s that time of the year when one should be enjoying the finer things in life: cigars and cribbage, no lines at the post office, soul replenishment. But this bold lifestyle isn’t for everyone. For example, yesterday I had to go to a “gamers” store to buy anintricate and engaging board game of medieval resource cultivation and road construction. I got there about 3, and as luck would have it, I was just in time to enjoy a riveting 30 minute long battle between two pewter Star Wars characters and a half bag of Doritos. Of course, if I was still employed I would not have gotten the instant acceptance that arriving unwashed, unshaven and working on my third day the “Wish I ‘ere ‘fishin’” t-shirt got me. It was probably the highlight of my life up to this point. While I’m not entirely clear on all the details it seems that Bobo Fett is trying find the orb of Zhor which acts as some kind of counterfactual truth maker that allows him to alter that unfortunate episode with a carbonate blinded Solo and the pit of Zarlac.

I’ve also spent a lot of time thinking about stuff, live evolution. It’s bullshit. I also think that I probably should invent some kind of device that makes living with a dog easier (suggestions welcome).

you can make lies real

Well, I’ve stuffed my briefcase full of office supplies and I’m ready for my goodbye chocolate cake. That’s right my bitches, I’m out of here. Back to the wide open world of casual employment and soul improvement. It’s been too long since I’ve spent upwards of 4 days wearing the same clothes. Too damn long. And just in case you think I’m not serious about being awesome once again. Understand this, I have already grown out the fingernails on my right and have begun laying the groundwork for a new language I intend to create over the course of the next couple of months. In closign, I will be drinking wine in the shade all afternoon just like a grad student.

WTFood??!

Back in college, I had a roommate who enjoyed the very specific movie genre of "dinner with friends." About once a month we would sit around a watch a movie that placed a high priority on the making, display and reception of food. In every instance this was performed within the troubled relationships of upper middle class white suburbanites. These movies ruled for many reasons not least of which was the great cooking montage that combined the excitement of a battle scene and the sensuality of the unbinding of Gwenth Paltrows gubbers in Shakespeare in Love. In a word, these movies ruled and all who watched had a good time. All except on roommate who took these films to be less of a good time as a warning and prophecy of what life may become if one is not vigilant and, above all, doesn’t become a career-douche. After we’d finished a particular thrilling tale of foie gras and the banging of your husband’s best friend and co-owner of their successful software company, a fellow faithful viewer turned to me and said.

....flashback....

Fellow Faithful Viewer:If I ever turn into that you have to kill me.
Young Naive Future Working Boy: What the banging?
F.F.V: Goodness no, that’s fine. It’s the food man the food. They’re all such assholes sitting around talking about food.
Y.N.F.W.B: Oh don’t worry about that. That’s just movie world. Real people don’t sit around talking about food. It’s like Spiderman or Gwenth Paltrows ta-tas in Shakespeare in Love. It’s all smoke and mirrors to give the appearance of reality.
F.F.V: I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.
Y.N.F.W.B: No I saw them once on a website, they weren’t as awesome. I was going through a very heavy Gwenth Stage, pre-Sliding Doors and-
F.F.V: No, the food, man, the food. I think people do sit around talking about food and thinking about how to make food.
Y.N.F.W.B: That’s obviously bullshit. Come on, let’s recruit other roommates to go out. We can drive home drunk like we always do.
F.F.V: Good idea.
........

I’ve never forgotten that night, mostly because it was one of the few times I didn’t get really smashed for no good reason. But the conversation also played a role. I couldn’t believe F.F.V. was really concerned about such a reality. It seemed so foreign so ridiculous, petty and banal that I thought even F.F.V. wouldn’t have a problem avoiding such a fate, if such fate even existed. Surely, nobody really masturbates over food and wine in such a way, I mean, talk about compensating.

The other day I received a communication from a hairy man who studies philosophy at the graduate level on the east coast who shall remain anonymous talking about a recent dinner with friends: We served bruschetta, veal marsala, asparagus, mushroom risotto, pear and gorgonzola salad, and poached pears, and had several bottles of sturdy Napa cabernet.

And that was it. Nothing about going to strip clubs or throwing bottles off the roof or trying to beat up the guy driving your drunk asses home. It was just a dinner party. And the most intoxicating element was the food.

But that’s not the worst of it, the worst of it is that not only did I respond, but I felt compelled to explain my own future forays into culinary titillation going into great detail about an impending meal at a cutting edge restaurant at the end of the month which has "a quail egg ravioli is to die for."

You have my permission to kill me, anytime after June 25, because, well, my life won’t be complete without that ravioli.