Priority Use

I'm too full to sleep. I hate being full, really.

Well that was last night. But, I decided to go to bed despite being full. Today, though, I came to the realization of why I like to eat. My family has trained me to eat well. For us, eating is fun. Really, really fun. Take for example, yesterday. Yesterday, my aunt and uncle wanted a bottle of wine. Well, when normal people want a bottle of wine, they go to the liquor store. Or, if you don't live in Colorado, you can even just go to the grocery store. These places have fine bottles of wine (I've been told), no different than anywhere else. But, no grocery store was good enough for our wine consuming experience. Instead, we went directly to the source: Chateu St Michele. Yes, we went to the winery to buy the wine. We walked in and were offered a glasses of chardonay and just browsed the nice little shop deciding what to buy and whether or not we wanted to go in on a tasting (we decided not to). Two bottles of wine were enough.

Example number 2: Last night for dinner, we went to a fabulous fish restaurant. Well, actually it wasn't that fabulous, but it certainly had potential. There were about 20 fresh fish on the menu served pretty much any way one's little taste buds desired. I chose grilled with tomato relish (which, unfortunately wasn't very good). Then, after being full enough, we ordered dessert. I took the opportunity thinking that people were going to share with me. "Unfortunately," I had to eat the entire upside down apple pie with pecan topping and cinnamon ice cream all by myself.

This morning I woke up early with my grandma. We went through my photographs and she enjoyed them very much. She invited me to go out and buy rolls with her. We only eat good bread in my family--not to be a bread snob or anything, but I think I actually am. Anyway, we needed rolls. Again, most people would just go to any old grocery store and buy a loaf of wonder bread. Not us. Instead, we drove about 10 minutes to another town to find the best bread selection. This reminds me of Christmas. Somehow, my grandmother found the only bakery open on Christmas in the uber-Christian town of New Orleans. She ordered rolls (regular old dinner rolls--that were really, really good) to be baked on Christmas and we went to pick them up that morning. We also bought a croissant and shared it on the car ride home. My grandma and I have good food adventures.

Now, we are packing up our bags to, ultimately, buy fish. We will have fresh fish for dinner tomorrow night (hopefully). Again, any regular family (are you sensing a theme?) would go to the grocery store and buy a nice slab of frozen filet. Not us. We are driving to a town on the coast that's a bit under three hours away. We will stop and have a picnic on the beach when we get there. My grandma woke up early to make roast beef (yeah, I thought it just came in little slices from the deli case, too) for the sandwiches, by the way. Then, we are staying in a little hotel this evening and waking up before dawn to get on a fishing boat ALL DAY LONG. Yes, we are catching our own fish. My aunt is making me try this fishing thing, though I'm not sure it's going to go over well with my overly sensitive emotions. The limit is 9 fish per person. Thus, we could potentially come home with 90. I am planning on catching my quota. Apparently, it is rockfish season--bottom fish, as I'm told. So, I guess that's what's for dinner tomorrow night.

It's on to breakfast. Who knows what fabulousness is in store for me now.

It is past midnight and I am being assaulted by the incredible fragrances of tomatoes, parsley and garlic, waiting for my lasagna to bake. I made the mistake of telling a friend of my mom and I who is visiting with his wife and baby that I need to practice my lasagna skills last night at dinner. Well, to be truthful to the actual chronology of the situation, I made the mistake of bragging about my family lasagna to a friend of mine. I told him that I make a mean lasagna and so he is holding me to a dinner when we get back to Chicago. Anyway, I am a little partial to my mom's lasagna. I consider it to be the best, in fact. So, I was a little stubborn when this visiting friend offered to teach me how to make his lasagna. I shrugged it off, and hoped that he would forget about it the next night. Well, I came home from dinner with friends tonight and it turns out that my wishes were far from granted. He told me to go to the grocery store, buy the ingredients and we would get cooking. Well, an hour and a half, $70 and a six pack of Fat Tire Ale later, we got started. He doesn't have much of a recipe for his sauce, but I put my recipe memory to work--I am a cook by looks, really, not by words. We made a meat sauce and a vegetarian sauce--two lasagnas in the end. It was great. I am at such peace in the kitchen. Friends, conversation, music, smells. I love to cook. For me, lasagna is a food of childhood memories. I remember my mom making it for me on special occasions. My favorite part was getting to eat the noodle scraps--dipping the ends in the homemade sauce that my mom had set to cook all day. So, tonight, I really wasn't complete until the 2 lasagnas were in the oven and I relieved the pot of all the scraps, piled on a bit of sauce and Parmesan cheese and went to my room to taste the masterpiece. The sauce that we made was amazing. Just the right amount of everything. Well, I would have put a bit more garlic, but really, it was fabulous. Although I am willing to keep my mind open, I anticipate that the actual lasagna will pale slightly in comparison with my mom's. I really just like her construction. But this sauce, man.

Oh, time to put on the final touches. Cheese. Cool. Then eat.

Good night.

It has finally started to cool down a bit. More than a bit, really. A lot. The storm rolled in on Saturday afternoon and it was marvelous. I was lying in my bed trying to take a nap when I just had this overwhelming sensation of that smell of rain. The weird thing is, it wasn't raining. It doesn't rain much here. It has been getting cloudy in the afternoons, but the temperature only drops a few degrees and the cloud gods just tease us with one or two drops here and there. But, Saturday, the heavens opened up. After a few seconds of the fresh smell, I heard the unbelievable--buckets of water pouring on of the roof above my head. It continued to rain for about 15 minutes. I just sat on the porch and listened. Sat on the porch and watched. Amazing. So, yesterday, it didn't get too hot, either. It sprinkled on and off all afternoon. This morning, I woke up to a refreshing world of cool. I couldn't help but to jump out of bed (ack...I actually had bags under my eyes..that's a first, and NOT something I'm looking forward to dealing with for the next 80 years of my life!), get on my bike and go. It's amazing what a 20 degree drop in temperature does for my morale.

I saw the most depressingly motivating film today with my dad. I recommend it to everyone, but be prepared, emotionally, to see this. On the surface, it was about racism. But, beneath the layers, it was about how we all connect, good and bad, black and white. Anyway, after the movie ended, I was an emotional mess. I was in tears and didn't know what to do. Meanwhile, my dad is Mr. Perfect--always glass is half full, self-help guru. He kept trying to get me to see the other side of the picture--life has good and bad--well, I was completely frustrated. Sure, life has good and bad. But, I feel like I live in a perfect town shielded from all that is bad in the world. I feel like people walk around self-absorbed in their perfect worlds trying to forget about all the bad that permeates every moment of the day. Of course, I am not saying we should all be depressed and sad and lonely. I think we should be happy, of course. But, I also think that people like me should recognize their privilege. The privilege of security. I don't know what I really mean. Recognize that we live in a community and that we all have some sort of "duty" to everyone else. Maybe one duty is just to stop and recognize the ingrained stereotypes that we might have. The way we look at people and perceive exactly how they are just by the job they work, the color of skin they wear, or the car that they drive. Of course, I am just as guilty of these good vs bad thoughts. This black vs white. I think that we should all just think about our actions, not just do. Think.

So, to get out my main point. Now, I am motivated. Well, I am usually motivated to do something good. But, now I am even more motivated. I don't know what, though, and this is the problem. I don't know what or how to do something good, but I know that I need to do something.

Okay, this is complicated. And, I know I didn't make any sense at all. I am trying to write and be serious. But, there is a crazy conversation of 3 drunk people next to me and I don't know how to get their voices out of my head. And, they're sort of making me mad. You know? Why can't they be serious? I feel so serious and why can't they just be serious? I guess I'll have to sort all of this out. I'll come back to this later.

My mom took a critical thinking class a few years ago. She comes back to her textbook often, and the subject of "critical thinking" comes up all the time. We seem to argue more and more each year and she's always trying to get me to read this book. I don't know why I find it so horrible, but I do. Maybe it's just me being stubborn, I don't know. I feel like I can hold a conversation and have a good discussion with most everyone, but for some reason with her I just get so defensive. I feel badly that I drive her crazy. Well, that we drive each other crazy. Anyway, I'm getting off topic. The point is, that she finally got me to read 3 pages of the book this morning because we'd just had a bad conversation. So, I read the pages and tried to have the conversation with her again and I went and screwed it up within 3 minutes. Jeesh. I just don't learn. Maybe it's cause she's my mom and I'm too hard on her, I don't know. Maybe I want things to be how they are not and I'm not letting it go, I just don't know. But, every time I come home I tell myself that I'm going to be a good, nice person to her and I go and screw it up within a day. Okay, now that that's off my chest, I'm going to go out and attempt a normal conversation yet again.

I have been reading the same book for about a month now and I'm only half way through. I'm not enjoying it very much, but it's a "classic," and for some reason this makes me feel like I should at least give it a second chance. And, a good friend had recommended it to me, so I sort of feel personally atached to it. I mean, it's his favorite book, so yeah. Anyway, it's really confusing and I'm already not the brightest reader in the world. I'm the kind of person who often reads pages twice and has to sit down and think about what just happened in order to understand, so add a bit of complication or take away a plot that goes from a to b and nowhere in between and I'm completely lost. But, I continue to try. So, my mom picked up the book this morning and read a couple paragraphs and was able to connect it all for me. I mean everything. Sure, the details are all still a little cloudy, but her 5 minute interlude cleared up so much. I don't know where I missed the lesson on being a good reader. I like to consider myself a fairly intelligent person, but, I mean, really. This is kinda ridiculous. I think what it comes down to is that I just want things to be easy. When they're complex and complicated I don't know what to do. Or, maybe I just don't like the book. I guess that's okay too.

Last night I played "little girl" with a friend from high school. I had asked if she wanted to go for a run with me this morning a few days ago. The plan was to go for a long run and it has been undeniably hot here (99, 101 crazy), so she suggested that I spend the night at her house and we wake up early to run. It was cute and a lot of fun. We were both tired and were asleep by 1:30, but it was fun to do the slumber party thing of way back when. My house was always the slumber party site, though, so it was odd to be somewhere else. Anyway, we woke up this morning and were exhausted. My legs were really sore, too, so we ended up not going very far. At 8:30 it was already horribly hot, and we didn't last. Afterwards, we headed off to a new Panera. She had received a coupon for 3 free bagels so we took advantage and had a great FREE breakfast and it was a lot of fun. We shared 2 bagels (sharing is always better, I think), and sat on some comfy chairs and chatted for a while. Her mom's boyfriend ended up there at some point too, so he sat with us and shared bites of his cinnamon roll.

Her mom was my hs English teacher and she stays fairly caught up on people's lives. I don't have particularly good memories of high school, so when I come home I don't care to relive that period of my life, but she is very good at catching me up. I couldn't believe how quickly I had forgotten so many people. I hardly even remembered the names that were behind thrown back and forth as if I should have known. At the same time, I have this disgusting addiction of looking at my yearbooks at least one time every time I come home. It just feels so weird. Looking through the glossed pages at people's pasted smiles and trendiest wardrobes never ceases to make me feel uncomfortable. In an odd way, that part of my life doesn't seem real to me. I don't feel like I ever really belonged in high school. Not the sort of belonging that includes having friends, a niche, a role, because I really had all of those things, but more like I feel like I sort of skpped that stage of development. I was a little kid, and then I was older. But, I don't think I was really ever a "high-schooler." In fact, I'm pretty sure I found it all pretty ridiculous from day one.

I just found a blog devoted to cupcakes. How fabulous is that?

cupcakestakethecake@blogspot.com

It's the middle of summer. I have no job. I just returned from a 4 month escapade across Europe. Yet, all I can think about is how much I have to do, and how little I am actually doing. I was 5 weeks into training for the Chicago Marathon (yeah, I didn't tell anyone about it for fear of failure...) and I went to register about a week ago and the registration was closed. Although I was bummed, really bummed, it was also sort of a relief to be honest. Sometimes I do things for reasons that I can't always explain. Training was just another thing that I had to think about. Another committment that I had made for myself that threatened to fall through--another way to make me feel like I was failing at life. No, I don't feel like I'm failing at life, that's not what I meant. Really, honestly. But, I don't feel like explaining myself, really. It's just that I'm feeling so overwhelmed and I don't know how to calm myself. Usually, I would make a list or I would just get to work, but nothing I have to do is list-worthy. It's not little things to just cross off to make me feel accomplished. I know I just need to break it all down and I'll feel better.

All my friends are out doing amazing things this summer and I can't help but think how I might possibly be setting myself up for a job disaster next year. Couldn't I be interning in NY to make contacts for the job search? Researching in Chicago to get a nice recommendation for grad school? At least studying for the damn LSAT's? I know, take a chill pill. Whatever.

So, I'm in pretty deep with this podcast devoted to food and culture (eatfeed.com). It's really fabulous and I'm really excited, but it's also really overwhelming. I just expressed interest in a woman's show back in March and now she has me listed as an Assistant Producer on the website. She wants me to start lining up interviews and creating my own shows. It's really great and I'm so excited, but right now I just feel like I'm in some sort of limbo.

I think what it comes down to, is that I just have to start something. Sitting here thinking about what I need to start is no good. And, the oddest thing is, that I'm usually not like this. I'm usually a "doer," and now all I want to do is nothing. We'll see. I think I'm really just exhausted. That's all. Maybe I just need to take it easy on myself for a little bit. Not beat myself up for not doing enough. Just do what needs to be done.

So, I always think of things to write, and then I forget when I go to write them. I even made myself a nice little blog entry to remind myself of what I wanted to say. But, now it doesn't mean as much, and I don't feel like writing it.

So, now the most current topic is my upcoming arrival into the good ol' U S of A. I waver between excitement and dread, but mostly, I am feeling good about coming back, but also know that it will be hard and that I will have to readjust to a lot of things. I feel silly even saying this, though. For one, I haven't been gone that long. And, additionally, it's not like I went anywhere all that exotic. I guess it's just the idea of coming back and getting reacquainted to the things that I know in the US that worries me a bit. I am just different here, and it worries me to come back and find out that I am still the same.