#375

Know what? Double post today. Post #374 was insufficient for this day's needs. Started okay, but my justifiable rage became unbanked and resulted in tomfoolery. It must stand, for I hit that publish button and that's that, but I can double or even triple post if I want to. I'll write posts all day if I feel like it. 

Anyhow, I hadn't had a smoke. Trying not to have a smoke. But now I've had a smoke, and now I want to write a nice post, with fun jokes. 

Fucking pathetic.

*

Had an idea for a deconstructed pizza resturant. Oh, it's so beautiful in my mind. 

Picture this: you are drawn towards a modest little building. The sign out front merely boasted the letters "PZ", but it is clearly a pizza place--there is a picture of pizza on the sign, and one on the window, which looks beautiful and hot and crusty and does not obscure the red-and-white checkered tablecloths and little tabletop waiters full of dressings and bottles of red pepper flakes. 

You enter. There is no such classic scene. The window was some kind of blind hologram. There are only bare formica tables and hardbacked wooden chairs. The walls are glaring uninterrupted white; there are no plants or other decorations. Only the tables and chairs and the double doors leading to the kicthen. There is no music. An impeccable "mater d" glides you to your table before you can turn around. 

Once seated, the server offers you a list of the pizzas of the day, Relaxing slightly, you make your selection. 

In a trice, a plate is brought out from the kitchen. On it, in spare yet artful arrangement, are one of each of the uncooked toppings that would have been on the pizza you ordered. A glass full to the brim of steaming pizza sauce is placed next to it in front of you. As you process what is happening, the smell of hot, melted cheese is piped into the dining room.

After almost two whole minutes have elapsed, a bill totaling one hundred and eighty-seven dollars with gratuity included is placed just within reach of your hand, opposite the glass. 

God, it's so pure I could cry.

(insert joke stolen from Jeremy Clarkson marveling at the circumference and unflagging tumescence of my genius)

*

I also have a plan to save America with a nationwide network of federally subsidized diners--a freestanding, unkillable diner for every single neighborhood, every housing project, every town too small for much else. Carbon-neutral buildings surrounded by carbon-fixing native groundcover, serving better-than-organic and sustainably farmed produce, animal products, and grain preparations, available to the community at fixed prices twenty-four hours a day.

Delicious grits and eggs served with top-notch butter and real coffee all for a buck fifty. A well-paid server with a pension and all the health insurance they will ever need is happy to top you off, calling you "hon", or "darlin". Later, you can come back for a big delicious sandwich made to order for four bucks; the cook remembers you and tips you a wink and a spatula salute. Sheeit, you'll splurge today: return once more for a chicken dinner of half a bird, roast potatoes and green beans, and a piece of pie homemade the night before. Seven dollars even. Take the drumstick home for a snack tomorrow.

Nice. Oh, and kids under twelve eat free off the actually legit and thoughtful kid's menu. 

*

That second part wasn't a joke, just a dream too beautiful to live, I guess. It's funny, everyone I've ever told about it loves it, some people even cry a little bit. I bet if we took one of those so-precious nationwide polls, this idea would meet with approval so universal it would break records. But we live in the world that we have. Not so much the one we'd like to have.

(insert stolen Jeremy Clarkson joke about how my genius triggers seismographs and immaculately impregnates fertile organisms that draw too close to its magical influence)

--JL

#176

Sometimes you have a sandwich for breakfast. Today was one of those days, for me. I was able to enjoy it sans the appellate gaze and meaningful shifts in body position that the family dog accompanies my every meal with, for he was out on his walk.

Did you know that begging, to a dog, is like going to work for a human person? My dog stretches carefully, shakes his head a bit, does everything short of punch a clock and put on a cute little uniform before he sits down as close as he can get to me without losing a good angle for his giant sad brown eyes to peer without cease at my face, trying out a running gamut of pitiable and adorable facial expressions and even going so far as fretfully whining as he shifts from side to side on his butt that he sits on kinda sideways. He also licks his little chops. 

*

Today's sandwich was two pieces of regular supermarket sliced bread, one of the fancier brands, toasted, some French butter melted onto the bottom slice, a sweet cherry tomato about the size of a superball sliced and laid out, three and three quarter strips of applewood bacon grilled and cooked again slow in its own fat so it's dark and crumbly and dry on the outside and redolent with moist lipids on the bite*, as much baby spinach as I could get on there, and then I might have fried an egg but just put the top bread on and ate it.

Only better bread could have improved that sandwich. I'll coddle myself an egg later and eat it with spices. Or I shall cook a small amount of chicken meat.**

*

For a while now I've been needing to go and purchase clothing from a thrift store or two; a few t-shirts, maybe a pair of pants or shorts. I've had excellent success buying socks and underwear and solid black t-shirts online, but while I shall sometimes indulge in the odd internet purchase of a more "signature" garment, on the whole I prefer to venture into my analog environment and see what's what. 

One reason is that in an analog environment your girlfriend can come and look for stuff too, and then you can grab dinner somewhere. It's the meatspace advantage. 

*

Clothing! That is some high-concept shit right there. Mark Twain quote. 

*

Been playing it solid dark colors or white tees for a long minute now, with only the odd emblem or pattern to break the chromatic monism. I feel like I may have mentioned this. Today's aim for the wardrobe is the infusion of some linework, some multicolored affairs, perhaps a cool design or the exact right band or movie or provoking concept. Perhaps I will find a shirt with a meme on it. Perhaps a fine tie. 

*

The anime Kill la Kill involves itself deeply with clothing, and is extremely high-quality. I don't very often watch anime twice--I can count 'em on one hand--but I'd watch that again anytime.

*

Cool cool. I forgot to drink coffee earlier, which is weird. I fell asleep on the floor by my desk. The dog curled up to sleep by me, and before two minutes had elapsed he was up and barking loudly at stimulus I could not fathom. Such is coevally evolved interspecies cohabitation.

Look. He is a very good boy.


--JL

*my dad had cooked this ingredient before I got up, props to the old man

**I defrosted a frozen cornmeal-crust mushroom pizza. Some of the mushrooms were porcini. I may seek out pork and string beans, or eat a pork fried rice at a Chinese joint tonight for dinner. Some days are just like this, just eating pig all the time, pig flavors, collecting pig grease in a little jar, etc.

#116

My job is something I take very seriously. This is true about whatever I do which I call work, which includes even my play, but I refer specifically to the job with which I generate capital and pay tax with.

Feeding people is a holy task. That's how I see it. Can't put food out lightly. Can't disrespect the product, disregard the result, or let people eat garbage. People are down to eat garbage, will even yammer about their right to eat garbage. You're still wrong to feed it to them.

Food is literal, and also a metaphor. Food is everything. Gotta eat.


--JL