Daze & Bake

Sigh.

I completely understand why artists drink. 

Logifornication

I think I just figured out why Hank Moody and Karen Not Moody can never be together. I’m too tired to explain now and am writing this post mainly as a reminder to myself but here’s a hint: Lacan.

L.

Humanity

I spend a lot of my time confused about what people want from me.

Forks

At some point in our lives we all come to a crossroads, a certain fork in the road after a) having a Eureka! moment or b) being completely crushed by life. Well friends, I have hit the aforementioned fork and the prongs are staring me right in the face. 

I’m a student, undergrad, in English Literature (I have a blog, surprise!) and facing my third year of non-stop speed-reading, essay-writing and word-hyphenating calling my outlook bleak would be a very big understatement. You see, I haven’t the passion for literature that I see in some of my classmates and, though I am usually very good at faking passion, my passion for faking passion has run dry. Allow me to explain.

I watch the Food Network sometimes (okay, often.. okay, a lot) and one of my summer favourites is the competition-based reality show The Next Food Network Star. The show pits a dozen or so professional or home cooks against each other to see if they have what it takes to host their own cooking show. The ideal candidate is likeable, eloquent and (this is the big one) a good cook. There are camera challenges, cooking challenges and at the end of every episode, one contestant is sent packing by a panel of judges. It’s the American Idol of Food and Simon is played by Bobby Flay. Now, one of my favourites on the show was Mary Beth a food writer and home cook from DC, every time this woman spoke about food my mouth would water and my heart would ache. She made it to the top four and upon elimination, spoke about passion and that very few people find theirs, let alone get a chance to turn it into a career. She cried and said that she felt lucky just to have been given the opportunity to do something that she felt so strongly about. I want that. I want to feel so passionately about something, I’m tired of apathy and indifference.

I could care less about what the hell Philip Roth was thinking when he created Peter Tarnopol or the role of the fop in 18th century plays. I can’t imagine a future of writing and reading about things that I do not care for. Simply put, the passion is gone, Literature, we were good for a while, maybe even great, but I think it’s just our time. This is where the fork comes in.

I spent the summer baking my way through cookbooks and taking pictures of it. I love, aime, piace molto, baking and having others tell me that what I made was good. One particular white & semisweet chocolate chip cookie with caramel and pretzel bits went over especially well. I am not going to lie, I love the compliments but even more so, I love knowing that I had a good time and did a good job. An A on a paper, although a good job, has never given me that same feeling. My options at this point are:

a) drop out of university and register for culinary school

b) complete my degree, go to graduate or law school aka make my mother’s dreams come true

c) graduate, register for culinary school and marry the two by writing about food a la Anthony Bourdain

and because d is always a joke,

d) drop out of university and set off on a Diners, Drive-ins and Dives tour of America.

If there is one thing I have gathered from my 16 odd years of schooling it is, “When in doubt, choose C”.