|The banality of emo
||[Sep. 26th, 2005|12:23 am]
The American Caliban
I was looking at the OC Weekly for the first time in forever because it was their 10 year issue. Some great stuff, like a history of their investigative reports. Jim Washburn's attempt to lengthen his penis with a weight on a rope was hilarious and I'd forgotten about it. And then I'm paging through the ads for head shops, bad restaurants, and whores ("Date 25 young Russian women on this trip: GUARANTEED!") and I see the ad for the Mouse of Blues and wait, hey I know those people. Looks like Gina AND Jackie in the ad. Boy I hope the Mouse paid you a nice fee on top of your waitressing salary for that picture! Also, Gina has an entire pizza in front of her. Maybe that's how they got them to do it.
I really like the people who work at my two local grocery stores. They're just solid, likeable folks. When things aren't busy I stop and talk to them for a few after I've got my stuff.
I made chicken noodle soup today, with orzo pasta and a leek and thyme and a finely chopped onion and black pepper. I also made fresh cornbread. Unfortunately we were out of eggs so I made the cornbread about 15 minutes ago when I got back from the market. But we had a delicious carrot and cabbage salad with a basil olive oil dressing. Cooking is a good place for me. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It's a made thing, that I can make well. And I can share it with others and get an ego stroke when it turns out well. There's nothing else like it for me. It's my refuge.
Beauty is bad for me. Really, really bad. I can't have it,, I can't stop wanting it, and I know I shouldn't want it and beat myself up about it.