On Food and Writing - Perpetual Musings

Unbenownst to me, it is mid 2009, and I am in the midst of applying for a pile of money I probably won't win. Not to be defeatist, but I don't usually win cash. I win things like parking tickets and someone else's cold. It's not pessimism, it's reality. So this is more of an academic exercise on how to apply for things. This actually is a good thing. If irritating.

So I have to fill out a section on the writing I have done and realizing that the includsion is a bit sparse, I thought, cleverly to myself, 'oh I shall use my blog'. And then I realized that the last post was in 2008.

Having only 160 characters is what makes twitter so popular. For 160 characters everyone is a writer. Even I can put thought to a 160 characters of script a day. Those of you who use more than that on twitter are only contributing to the problem.

So we have caught me in the most vile twists of procrastination I have experienced since College. Which means that no matter how much older I get I am still ill-behaved. and lazy. I just want to take a nap.

So for a writer, I really haven't written much. But I HAVE! I keep writing reports and plodding away at the book and sending letters to my friend who has stomach flu. And parts are funny.

Behold:
I'm reading this book called the Julie/Julia projects about this crazy woman (who I think I know she looks so familiar) (Julie Powell do we know her?) and she lives in long island city and she mentioned this place on Steinway street called Western Beef. Maybe this is not a topic that holds fascination for you now but when the crackers have stabilised and you have paid your restitution to the the gods of mobile gut fuckery you might lift your head from the porcelain alter and have a think? Because it sounds AWESOME. like i want to visit and bring the blood of a vegetarian and lay it out for sacrifice.

This is funny stuff? Right? I am hilarious - very occasionally- to my best friend and usually when she is so under the weather that any attempt at humour is faced with grim determination and a mental tally of how she'll sooner or later get even. I may have just hoisted my own petard.

But The Point, Ladies and Gentlemen of my Imagination, is that putting your writing on a blog is a form masochism anyway. Some stuff rises, most of it stinks - I mean sinks- and I'll still have to go write my grant application having lost 14 minutes to waffling over my own navel.

That being said, I have gone all up in the woods about my cooking lately.
Curing my own bacon (seriously.) , baking my own bread, whipping my own mayonnaise, and stock! Gallons of it. I could sail away. I don't know if this is in response to a kitchen the size of which i have only seen professionally and it is all mine or if I have just had it with the supermarket.

Both?