And here I am. It's 1:40 in the afternoon, and I guess I should be hungry, but really I'm not. I listened to some music, watched a ballgame on television, and dicked around on the computer for about three and a half hours. That doesn't really take a lot out of you. Still, though, something primal deep inside me said that it was time to eat. I stumbled on downstairs in a pair of jeans I'd been wearing for four days straight and a Superman tshirt I really need to replace because the logo's washing off. I stick my head in the fridge, and even though there's plenty to eat, everything in the fridge is a component of some greater meal who's label probably reads, "assembly required". I don't know how to assemble a meal. Why does modern day society assume that I know how to assemble a meal? There's probably enough crap in my kitchen to make Rack of Lamb for sixteen people, but I wouldn't know it. I just see endless piles of packages and fruit. That's something right there. Fruit. Even that needs work before eating. You have to wash the damn things before you eat them. What the hell is that? Isn't this America? Didn't I just get that fruit from Safeway or Lucky's or whatever? Isn't there some kind of Health Department somewhere that doesn't let people sell dirty or unclean food? That apple should have been ready to be eaten the second I put it in the bag. End of story. The one meal that I can successfully conjure is a bowl of cereal. That's the most preparing I'm willing to commit to for a meal. Bowl. Check. Cereal in bowl. Check. Milk in bowl. Check. Eat. It's simple. It's easy. It's the only way to live. Nothing needs heating, mixing, stirring, simmering, or sauteing. It's in the damn bowl - it's ready to eat. Beautiful. I'm getting off target here - let me realign. So, I grabbed the stuff that's pretty much ready to go. Two cups of pudding and a can of Guinness. I pulled down a stein from the cupboard, and fixed the Guinness proper with one hand, while scrambling in a drawer for a spoon for the pudding with the other. I got the beer ready (you don't pour a Guinness, you make a Guinness - funny how I had time/patience to do that and not something substantial), the pudding, and the spoon. And that was it. Back up to my room I went to write this. It's not that amusing, I'm sure, but I'm a guy. This is how guys work and think. We don't care what we wear, eat, or drink. Just so long as it gets done. Aftermath Pudding and beer. One needs little else. |
