writing, reading ,and stuff
-Got a good quick start with writing today...sometimes that doesn't work well at all.
-have not decides who the killer is or if I wish to attempt a whodunnit, or more of a crime story.I'm better with characters than plots.
-Still reading Anthony Bourdain's "Medium Raw"...I like it a lot, overall. Special mention to the chapter on St. Barth's and the coked-out gf, the "Douchebag" chapter, the thoughts on Top Chef, and Justo the fish-scaler. The initial section on the early-days joke that morphed into cable colossus Food Network is good too, if only because Bourdain has such an expressive vocabulary of repulsion. But really I don't care about his feelings about each individual "bobblehead" or him doing the Cordy thing every few pages and being all "Can't I have layers?" because he softened some stance or other, or because hating their shows doesn't really mean wishing for their painful deaths. Even if she cooked like Julia Child, I think Rachel Ray would still bug Bourdain for the same reasons that really chipper people bug me. They smile too much about EVERYTHING, they expect you to be as happy as they are, they usually want to touch you too much, and their sense of humor generally sucks. If I met someone like Rachel Ray on the street, I'd probably automatically deduct ten IQ points myself, and that has nothing to do with cuisine(coming as I do from a "scratch open the box" legacy,) but my bone-deep belief that smiley people are idiots.
I'm thrilled that you have a daughter that you love to bits, for real, AB. A fatherless daughter
like me can't read that too many times. But if I read one more essay from a hipster about "I was cool, then I had kids..."my antacid will stop working. Also, it's not cool to fuck your daughter's head up to prove a political point, even if the Big Bad Golden Arches started it.(And, you know at some point, she'll eat it anyway, right? Either to piss you off, or because she'll pick friends you don't know. My mother didn't eat that till she was about sixteen, but she had a minor binge when she did. She's over it, for the most part.
-have not decides who the killer is or if I wish to attempt a whodunnit, or more of a crime story.I'm better with characters than plots.
-Still reading Anthony Bourdain's "Medium Raw"...I like it a lot, overall. Special mention to the chapter on St. Barth's and the coked-out gf, the "Douchebag" chapter, the thoughts on Top Chef, and Justo the fish-scaler. The initial section on the early-days joke that morphed into cable colossus Food Network is good too, if only because Bourdain has such an expressive vocabulary of repulsion. But really I don't care about his feelings about each individual "bobblehead" or him doing the Cordy thing every few pages and being all "Can't I have layers?" because he softened some stance or other, or because hating their shows doesn't really mean wishing for their painful deaths. Even if she cooked like Julia Child, I think Rachel Ray would still bug Bourdain for the same reasons that really chipper people bug me. They smile too much about EVERYTHING, they expect you to be as happy as they are, they usually want to touch you too much, and their sense of humor generally sucks. If I met someone like Rachel Ray on the street, I'd probably automatically deduct ten IQ points myself, and that has nothing to do with cuisine(coming as I do from a "scratch open the box" legacy,) but my bone-deep belief that smiley people are idiots.
I'm thrilled that you have a daughter that you love to bits, for real, AB. A fatherless daughter
like me can't read that too many times. But if I read one more essay from a hipster about "I was cool, then I had kids..."my antacid will stop working. Also, it's not cool to fuck your daughter's head up to prove a political point, even if the Big Bad Golden Arches started it.(And, you know at some point, she'll eat it anyway, right? Either to piss you off, or because she'll pick friends you don't know. My mother didn't eat that till she was about sixteen, but she had a minor binge when she did. She's over it, for the most part.