Yellow Dessert: An Aversion

Yummy?! What LIES.

[WARNING: Please prepare yourself for unabashed opinions regarding all things to do with bananas, lemons, custard, quite often meringue, and I am sorry to say it, vanilla cake.]
...

[No. Seriously, take a moment for yourself.]

All good? Okay. Here it goes.

Reader?

I HATE YELLOW DESSERT.

[...She ducks her head. She looks up... Checks her surroundings. She pauses.]

....aaaaare you okay? ...Do you need another minute?

Banana?! YUCK!

Look. I am sorry. But in truth, if you are going to do dessert, don't you think you need to do dessert at 100%? You need to be in the 95-100% certainty category of enthusiasm, you need to be able to say "YES. I want that, I need that, and I am going to savor every mouthful-- every freakin' second of that delectable dessert otherwise what are you doing? WHAT. ARE. YOU. DO-ING?

It’s funny — as a child, no one ever notices desserts being trendy, (one just notices dessert, and perhaps that it is either good or not so good, and that you won't even tolerate lemon Starbursts and feel grateful your Dad likes them best...). But for the past year, this yellow dessert business has been everywhere--the new “it” dessert, the stylish old-but-new thing every hip person pretending not to eat carbs wants to be seen consuming.

It has come crawling out of the woodwork like tropical pests on a mission to contaminate the dessert cart, leaving respectable berry crumbles, apple pies and chocolate tortes cowering in horror. I know that yellow dessert has been around as long as bananas have! I know that! It's just that yellow dessert appears to be all the flippin' rage right now and one cannot get away from it. [She narrows her eyes with suspicion, a look of having eaten something disgusting all over her as she recalls a recent lemon meringue pie peer pressure forced feeding situation...]

You can KEEP your Lemon atrocity!!

The thing is-- I like bananas just fine. They are great. I enjoy lemons. Delicious. I have an intimate relationship with vanilla. I have nothing against fruit! I respect fruit!

But if you are going to spend the calories and time and energy on that extra course, I just don't understand why you would waste that special moment on something the same color as a legal note pad! As the middle traffic light! As Sponge Bob Square Pants...

Give me a break.
And basically let that break be made of crumble or chocolate.

Ahhh London: The Cat Call

So it went like this:

Creepy Youth in Car: Hey BABAAAAY!

[Al glances sideways with her signature "Oh my God he isn't referring to ME is he?" eyes]

Creepy Youth in Car: Yeah babaaaay that is RIGHT! I AM TALKIN' TO YO'!

[A firecar siren is heard in the distance...]

Creepy Youth in Car: HEY! it is comin'' fur YOU girl! CUZ YOU ARE SO SMOOOOOOOKIN HOT YOU'RE ON FIRE!

[Al is moved. That was actually a tremendous utilization of a chance opportunity. It deserves more of a smirk than a scowl. Smirk is granted.]

Creepy Youth in Car: WOO HOO!

[The Creepy Youth in Car drives off along West Green Road, ignoring the fact that a fire siren is something that is not in fact a toll of a proverbial "bell" announcing the arrival of a "hot" female, but is in fact a fairly serious social indicator of... a fire...]

Vin Diesel: The Facts

The Fast and the Furious was on today. And it reminded me of a few given FACTS about the bad ass action hero superstar-o-rama that is Vin Diesel. I gave it some thought, and here are the facts:

- There is no theory of evolution, just a list of creatures that Vin Diesel allows to live.

- Vin Diesel's hair is too afraid of him to grow.

- When Vin Diesel goes to donate blood, he declines the syringe and instead requests a hand gun and a bucket

- Vin Diesel is the only man to ever defeat a brick wall in a game of tennis

- Vin Diesel can set ants on fire with a magnifying glass... at night....

- If you were to lock Vin Diesel in a room with a guitar, a year later you would have the greatest album ever; it would sweep the Grammys. When asked why he hadn't done this before Vin would reply "Because Grammys are for queers." Then he would eat a knife to show the seriousness of his response.

- When Vin Diesel does a push up, he isn't lifting himself up, he pushing the earth down.

- Vin Diesel coined the phrase "I could eat a horse" after eating every last unicorn in existence.

- Vin Diesel can win a game of monopoly without owning any property.

- In an average living room there are 1,242 objects Vin Diesel could use to kill you... including the room itself...


...It's just the facts, ma'am.

Skippy Vs. Jif: A Tawdry Tale

America has had it's debates over the years, it's share of very public divides.

Do we or do we not secede from the Union?
Do we or do we not get involved in WW2?
Chocolate or Vanilla?
Pepsi or Coke?
Rachel or Monica?

But. I present you now with a controversy of cosmic import. I lay before you one of the most hotly debated issues in America:

Jif or Skippy?

I know, I know. One sounds like a bathroom "cream cleaner", the other like a benevolent fictional marsupial, but it is not the end of the dilemmas. Crucially, and perhaps even more importantly,

Smooth or Crunchy?

That's right. This is about peanut butter.
(Discuss...)


Now there is Reduced Fat Jif, Skippy Super chunky, Natural Skippy (with "no need to stir" which is a categorical LIE let me tell you)... the choices may never end. Will the debate only be made more heated and vehement? Will Skippy and Jif continue to divide our nation, continue to rip apart families by now offering MORE choices?! MORE opportunities for us to deviate from the simplest of all foods?!

Has there ever been an issue more contentious? Has there ever been a food so fiercely disputed? ... What was that?! ... I'm sorry, did you just say YOU DON'T KNOW?! Well, LISTEN! This is controversial food talk people, dust off your Debate Team jackets and break open your accordian files, spruce up your hand-me-down briefcases filled with sources and o-rings and note-cards and get ready to kick some peanut buttery ass because this is serious stuff. Don't take this lightly. That's right. Take it like a man...

Some of you out there might think that the two brands both have their virtues. That they are both synthetic vats of trans-fats and hydrogenated oils. That they are, frankly, extremely similar in most ways. And you might be correct.

But. Skippy vs. Jif is a true dilemma, people! Families have been torn apart, friendships ended, and states gone to battle over this crucial issue (in fact, speculation that the civil war was on the verge of re-ignition in the late 1970's due to a peanut butter misunderstanding between visiting relatives in Georgia is still yet to be determined).

So. Let's make a list shall we?

Skippy's virtues:
- Creamier texture,
- Great spread-a-bility (even in "Crunchy" PB)
- Melts to almost liquid on toast (which is dreeeeeeamy), thus "mixable" with jams/jellys
- Very light and (i.e., not too "heavy" in the savoury sense)
- Whimsical blue lid

Jif's virtues:
- Terriffic peanut(-ier) taste
- Great "biting" texture perfect for "off-the-spoon" consumption
- Sliiiiiightly sweeter (especially their Reduced Fat Jif, which has extra sweeteners in it)
- More and larger peanut pieces (in "Crunchy" PB)
- Whimsical red lid

Tawdry Points...

Jif takes the time to print a label that blantently plays upon one's ignorance. A few years ago the label listed this: "Made with no partially hydrogenated oils!" Intrigued, since Jif is a lowest-common-denominator PB that has always contained three lousy ingredients: refines salt, refined sugar and hydrogenated fat, one thinks to themselves, "How exciting! Jif got rid of the rapeseed oil! It will be less rancid and toxic and solid—both in the can and in my blood stream! Hurrah!"

Then one picks up the product and reads the label and it says, “Contains less than 2 percent fully hydrogenated oils (rapeseed).” Unbelievable. They’re bragging that they don’t have partially hydrogenated fats, because they have fully hydrogenated fats! I guess they’re hoping the "choosy moms" who buy the peanut butter are dumb enough not to investigate.

So. Jif. Liars.... Whatever.

But. BUT... no one, NO ONE I TELL YOU, can deny the fact that as far as stories go, Skippy's conception wins it with a tale of (ongoing!) seven-decade-long lawsuits, a comic strip, and an insane asylum. I mean.... please. That is amazing...

Via Wikipedia:

“Skippy” was first used as a trademark for peanut butter by the Rosefield Packing Co., Ltd., of Alameda, California, in 1933. Percy Crosby, creator of the “Skippy” comic strip, had the trademark invalidated in 1934, but Rosefield persisted after Crosby was committed to an insane asylum, and its successor companies, most recently Unilever, have been granted rights to the trademark over the objection of Crosby’s heirs. There has been much litigation on this point over the decades, some of which remains in progress.

Oh. WOW.
and, from the Associated Press:

Monday, April 5, 2004; 4:59 PM

ANNANDALE, Va. - For nearly 40 years Joan Crosby Tibbetts has waged a one-woman campaign against the makers of Skippy peanut butter, claiming the name was stolen from her father’s popular Depression-era comic strip. The U.S. Supreme Court ultimately refused to hear her suit against Skippy’s manufacturer, a division of the multinational conglomerate Unilever. But Tibbetts, 71, said she’ll continue her battle in the court of public opinion.

“This case involves a very important principle … ‘Thou shalt not steal,’” Tibbetts said Monday. “If this case is allowed to disappear and they succeed in shutting me up, who has won? These big corporations that believe they can just wear others down.”

Tibbetts’ crusade began in 1965 when the state of New York tasked her with administering her father Percy Crosby’s estate. She had not seen her father since 1939, when Crosby’s wife divorced him and took the children. Crosby died in December 1964, after spending the last 18 years of his life in a mental hospital, his cartoon character by then largely forgotten…

Her research led her to the conclusion that the trademark for Skippy peanut butter had been improperly obtained by the Rosefield Packing Co. She has waged her campaign ever since, a few episodes of success interspersed with endless legal wrangling and frustration.

She acknowledges crusade’s toll - financially, emotionally and physically. She also has been subject to nasty e-mail comments, including one writer who hoped she drowns in a giant vat of peanut butter.

So, there you have it people, what shall it be? The Red Lid, or The Blue? I will admit here and now, that I am a connoisseur, an aesthete, if you will, of both brands, grabbing "American" peanut butter where I can and when with glee in my heart and a spring in my step (not entirely unlike a certain superheroic kangaroo...)

Now.
Some might say that the crunchy/smooth debate is a matter of not only preference, but a matter of the specific use of PB. For me, I am of the latter party. Celery? It has to be crunchy. Sandwich? Creamy (with raspberry jam). Cookies? Creamy. Off the spoon? Crunchy in summer, creamy in winter. But all of that, it must be understood, is just me. This is something that must be decided within yourself, it is like choosing a religion, it has to be a spiritual calling of sorts... and I understand that some people are die-hard creamy/crunchy fans too-the-DEATH... and while naturally I respect your (possibly radical) adherence to your party of choice, I reserve the right to play, (as they say), for both teams... (hm...)

What does this say about The Silber? Perhaps simply, that she loves her peanut butter, and appreciates it in all it's forms and brands-- like fine cheeses or wines, The Silber appreciates the subtle complexities each brand and style of peanut butter can offer. She makes a judgment about the moment at hand, then utlises an appropraite sampling catered to that moment. She is not a creature of indecision or maliable loyalties, The Silber is a gastronome in the world of the pulverised peanut... an epicure... a specialist... a buff...

One might wonder why in this time of credit crunching, real-estate collapsing, apocalyptic economic crisis, swine flu, global warming and all around pessimism, just why one should take the time to ponder the intricacies of such a subject.

I riposte with this: isn't it refreshing to dwell on the infintesimal details of peanut butter selection rather than dwelling on all the doom and gloom?

Answer: Yes.

So. Just so I don’t leave you without a peanut-y taste in your mouth, here is a (sliiiiightly sexist) Skippy peanut butter television commercial from the 1950’s. Don't let it stick to the roof of your mouth.

Enjoy.



Oh! And! Have you been here? (My friend had this to say: "I had their daily special, The Johnny Appleseed: bagel, freshly-chopped apple, peanut butter, and optional cream cheese. A bagel so life-enhancing it fueled a whole day’s working around Manhattan – but that is NOTHING to the glory of Bea’s of Bloomsbury’s new peanut butter brownie: chocolate brownie simply oozing with peanut butter AND peanuts! Genius!")

The Reese's Peanut Butter EGG.

Oh my GOODNESS.

Easter is not really a celebratory holiday, (even though it is the the most important religious feast in the Christian liturgical year), the crucifixtion of Christ is doesn't really get people jumping in the aisles, but hey. And the non-religious aspects of it have crept in like so many other traditional holidays, to open the season up to all people religious and non-religious alike: the celebration of Spring, accompanied by pastel-colored candies and chocolates galore, as well as a mythological rabbit bearing chocolate symbols of the equinox. (By the way, did you know the modern English term Easter developed from the Old English word Eastre, which itself developed prior to 899. The name refers to the goddess Eostre, who was celebrated at the Spring equinox? Amazing.)

Anyway! Now. Even though Easter is verrrrrry early this year (The Paschal Full Moon was early, thus the first Sunday after spring became Easter Sunday), and the 12 inches of snow Detroit received lat night isn't very SPRING-like, one can still enjoy the most important, the most momentous arrival of the Spring Season (and no it's not the new Vera Wang line). DRUMROLL PLEASE...

THE REESE'S CHOCOLATE EGG.
TA-DA!!!

Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups are magical, there’s just no question about it. We all have happy childhood memories of indulging in rich, peanutty treats at Halloween, birthday parties, or pressed into Christmas cookies? Yet I testify that Reese’s only reaches its apogee of peanut-butter-goodliness but once a year; hold onto your hats people, for Reese’s Egg season is upon us. Ohhhh yes.

That’s right. When the rest of the world watches for blossoming flowers and baby ducks, some of us know Spring has arrived when the stores stock a certain type of egg. An egg that promises sheer joy and decadence, all for under a dollar.

What is it about the Reese’s Peanut Butter Egg that makes it so vastly superior to other incarnations of Reese’s cups? It could be the perfect peanut-butter-to-chocolate ratio (some scientists claim that more chocolate is better); however, true Reese’s devotees usually agree that the savory, rich peanut butter ought to be the dominant flavor.

Perhaps it’s the shape of the egg. The inviting, soft curves are somehow more appealing than the standard, sharp-edged sides. Though the edges are very very tasty, doesn’t it always seem like little points of the cup always stick to the paper? NOT the egg - it just slides off that little tray and sighs its way into your mouth. [*sigh*]

Some people explain Reese’s Eggs’ irresistibility with the freshness factor. Well, how long ago do you think those Eggs were produced? We know they can’t have been made more than a couple of weeks ago (it wasn’t too long ago they were producing Valentine’s hearts, remember).

But really, the reason is irrelevant. The fact is, Reese’s Eggs are MADE OF MAGIC, and one of the most Candy Addictive pleasures of Spring. Thus, I honor the Reese’s Peanut Butter Egg with my highest praise and recommendation. Try them, and just try to get enough of The Egg, and you will see what I mean. Enjoy. Mmmm...

The Fog

"But you see, I have, let's say, sixty years to live. Most of that time will be spent working. I've chosen the work I want to do. If I find no joy in it, then I'm only condemning myself to sixty years of torture. And I can find the joy only if I do my work in the best way possible to me. But the best is a matter of standards--and I set my own standards. I inherit nothing. I stand at the end of no tradition. I may, perhaps, stand at the beginning of one."
--Ayn Rand, from The Fountainhead

I just have to say it. A life in the theatre is a arduous, repetitive existence. It consumes you, it drains you like a vampire. Your life is backwards: constant measuring and metre reading of how much energy you must conserve and utilise at the end of every day. You miss the daylight. You miss office hours. You miss your friends, your family.

The rehearsals are always a positive act of creation, my favourite part really. Six weeks of bone crushing mental and physical labor. Art. Delving, thinking, creating, problem solving, risk taking. Feeling inspired and motivated and alive. Falling into the kind of deep sleep only full living can achieve. But the 8 shows a week into infinity thing... is more than numbing. At times it feels soul destroying.

And nothing prepares you for it. No amount of training could ever communicate how much focus and stamina and mental health it requires. Truly, the last thing I really remember, it was July. Where did it go? It is all a grey mush of headscarves and dancing Jews...blah.

Yet, I swear, I commit to every second of the work, at times I am moved, at times I still feel a love for it. But I've done it over 300 times. Today I sang Far From the Home I Love and I thought to myself "Self, you sang this one year ago today. You stared into Henry's eyes and wrestled with him for control and won. You did it all as you are doing it today. Well. With love. For the 300th time. And in the same costume. Save the gloves. You asked for longer gloves." (Because no one gets on a train to Siberia with gloves that don't even cover your wrists...)

The thing is this: I have worked my entire life, all twenty four and a half years, to be exactly where I am at this moment-- at the top of the profession working on Broadway (or as is the current case, the West End). And after all of the sweat and struggle and tears, I have arrived. I am here. And it is a little disappointing. Some days it's just a job like any other. And it's heartbreaking. And I can't help but admit I want more.

But perhaps this is the true gift of Fiddler has bestowed upon me. It has given me the vision and the courage to have new goals, higher standards, more specific desires. To be a creator. To voice and articulate in every way possible, my own vision of this world, of human nature.

Yes, I have awakened inside this fog. I have struggled through the mist, fought and stabbed into the invisible sky, and won. Won what, you ask? A jewel of knowledge, I shall answer you. The fog has narrowed the focus on the work I want to do. The work I do not want to do. The things I will never do again. If an artist reveals his naked soul in his work, I must strive to do nothing less. Ever. What have we but our integrity? And I will run dry, I will run out of fuel if I continue to give cheaply to others that which I do not have; that which has not yet been created by me. Creation comes before distribution- or there will be nothing to distribute. The need of the creator comes before the need of any possible beneficiary.

And so to The Fog. Again.
For another day.
Fight the Fog Silber!
Fight it Reader!
Fight.

"In the name of the best within you, do not sacrifice this world to those who are its worst. In the name of the values that keep you alive, do not let your vision of man be distorted by the ugly, the cowardly, the mindless in those who have never achieved his title. Do not lose your knowledge that man's proper estate is an upright posture, an intransigent mind and a step that travels unlimited roads. Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish, in lonely frustration for the life you deserved, but have never been able to reach. Check your road and the nature of your battle. The world you desired can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible, it's yours."

Condensed Film Scripts: Catwoman

Ostensibly based on the DC Comics character and starring Halle Berry, the film resembles next to nothing of its source material ("Catwoman In Name Only"), which is most definitely not for the best.

In this "piece," Catwoman has super duper cat-person powers, (which she lacks in the comics), and her lycra catsuit is replaced (though sparingly) with slashed leather trousers, a bra, and a mask-cap---thingy. She leaps from rooftop to rooftop in stiletto heels, and we watch on (in simultaneous wonder and disgust) as her costumes get skimpier as the movie progresses.

One of the choice fighting scenes makes use of a face beauty cream that when applied gives the wearer invincibility.

There are so few words, but the most apt would be: “ Me-ouch! ”

* * *

Part One

Patience: Hi, I'm Patience Phillips-- a shy, sensitive artist woman who can't seem to stop apologizing for my own existence. I work as a graphic designer for a mammoth cosmetics company on the verge of releasing a revolutionary anti-aging product run by two evil people. Sorry if that was long. Sorry. Really sorry.

Part Two

(Later, at THE MAKEUP FACTORY, Patience is delivering her artwork. She stops suddenly! Accidentally overhearing the following...)

Health Inspector: this anti-aging product is UNSAFE!

Sharon Stone Evil Makeup Corporate Person: What do you mean?

Her Evil Husband: This is a very very dark secret indeed Health Inspector. No one must know! WAIT!! WHO IS THAT LURKING IN THE CORNER?!! PATIENCE PHILLIPS?! That shy, sensitive artist woman who can't seem to stop apologizing for her own existence? GET HER!

Sharon Stone Evil Makeup Corporate Person: PATIENCE PHILLIPS MUST DIE.

Patience: Oh no! I am in the middle of a corporate conspiracy!

(Patience runs into a large waste water pipe, where she is trapped, and they flush her into the river, where she drowns. This is where we all hope the movie is over but then...)

Part Three

Egyptian Mau Cat: I have been watching you for DAYS Patience Phillips, and for some unexplained reason, I coincidentally knew that you were about to die and luckily made it here just in the nick. I have "special" powers that are given only to a few deserving potentially sexy women after they die... most of these woman are more confident and successful that you, but you will look great in the outfit.

(Patience is reborn with new sexy catlike powers.)

Part Four

Catwoman: What a mystical twist of fate! I now have the strength, speed, agility and ultra-keen sexy senses of a cat.

Egyptian Mau Cat: Yes. That is the idea. You see, I am a cat... so... hence, the powers... right.

Catwoman: Patience and Catwoman are two completely different people, yet WE ARE ONE.

Egyptian Mau Cat: How confusing...

Catwoman: I seek sexy sexy REVENGE for those who murdered Patience. Meow! Hiss!

Egyptian Mau Cat: Steady there.

(With her newfound prowess and feline intuition, Patience becomes Catwoman, a sleek and stealthy creature balancing on the thin SEXY and yet again SEXYTHIN line between good and bad...very bad...)

Part Five

(Her adventures are temporarily and shallowly complicated by a burgeoning relationship with Tom Lone (Benjamin Bratt), a police detective who has fallen for Patience but cannot shake his fascination with the mysterious (and highly sexy) Catwoman, who appears to be responsible for a string of crime sprees plaguing the city.)

Patience: Catwoman's wild side is beginning to have more influence over me!
Catwoman: Now I will begin to follow my own sexy rules.

(Look out world, sexiness has never acted so badly.)

YES-vember!

Ahhhh autumn. My favourite season. The colours, the smells, the quality in the air. So often people view autumn in a negative way: the end of long, light-filled days, and the beginning of dark, impending cold.

I see more! Autumn ushers in some of the most glorious, fiery foliage; crisp, brisk air; warm, delicious jumpers, and the heartiest food of the year. Mmm! It is also a time of nostalgia, reflection, and change. Autumn summons tremendous positive emotion within me, and I encourage everyone to bask in it's MAJESTY...
...Bask...
....bask, i said....
...um, are you basking....?
Good.

So farewell summer loves. Hello autumn. Hello you!

Autumnal Notes:

1. Find THE jumper to get you through the winter


2. Make chicken stock once a week. It's essential cold battling equipment, and the best nutritoius warmer in the world!


3. Order logs


4. Love your root-veg! (Remember the basic rule of thumb: anything that grows above ground you cook in boiling water, anything below ground you start from cold water).


5. Start planning your winter dinner parties (Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hogmany, [Robert] Burn's Night)


6. Dust off the FONDUE SET!


7. Renew your search for the perfect baked potato. Is it King Edward, Maris Piper, or the Mighty RUSSET? (High starch content is apparently the key to a good baker...)


8. Try Grouse or pheasant. Why not?


9. To celebrate autumn, get a chunky jumper on & go and cuddle someone. If you are going to cuddle them for a long time, and they are a work colleague, ask permission first!


10. Make PUMPKIN PIE! And PECAN! And Chicken and Mushroom! In fact, make all the pies!


11. Bye bye Museli, hello porridge!


12. Make the seasonal herb swap. Out with summer herbs (mint, basil, chives) and in with more robust cousins (thyme, rosemary, sage).


13. Bulk up on beta carotene (pumpkin, squash, sweet potato) to set you up for cold!


14. Bring on the baking! Nothing like walking in to a warm kitchen smelling of cake.


15. Make sure you're eating well and your digestion is good, because that's the root of your immune system strength. (Autumn food is hearty: squash, apples, beans, beef, lamb)


16. Nostalgia often reflects the mood of autumn. I know everyone has their own way of exercising nostalgia trips. I like looking through old letters, albums, music, photographs. The other day the light hit a certain way and a wave of nostalgia hit me reminding me it was autumn. A little bit of "retrospection" does the body and soul good.

And finally a word or two from Keats to his friend Reynolds after enjoying a lovely autumn day…

“How beautiful the season is now--How fine the air. A temperate sharpness about it. Really, without joking, chaste weather--Dian skies--I never lik’d stubble fields so much as now--Aye better than the chilly green of the spring. Somehow a stubble plain looks warm--in the same way that some pictures look warm--this struck me so much in my Sunday’s walk that I composed upon it.”

Have a lovely Autumn...

Feelin' Blue?

You feeling blue, a little heartbroken, a touch rejected, or perhaps just flat out grumpy?
In need of a perky pick-me-up, a touch of inspiration?

Well. Look no further.

Put down your tissues my agitated friend!
Turn off Bridge Over Troubled Water!
Pack up your sorrows, lift your weary head and just think!

YOU COULD BE THIS KITTEN:


There! Doesn't that feel better?!

Yogurt. Covered. Things

Almonds... Oh the wonder...
Cranberrys.
Brazil nuts.
The savoury and sweet sensation of the yogurt covered cashew.
Your average raisin variety.
The slightly more exotic pineapple or apricot.

What can I say?

My love for them is deep
... and it is real.

Today I am...

Who am I today?
Or rather what label, what category, is preferable?

"The actor" is very in at the moment.
"The American" is all the rage!
Or how about "The one who is never on time"?
the female?
the liberal?
the realist?
the aquarium hater?
the one who with the "crackerjack" vocabulary?

I'm asking: what does any of that mean?

I have unpicked my brains for this.
I have glided along the thoroughfares of spiritual banality, the cobblestone alleys of indifference an arrived Nowhere: a town like any other.

But once, way back, I tasted the flavor of a star spangled sky; brief and fleeting, and not to be found in any store claiming thirty-onederful flavors; only in a country momentarily brought to its knees by darkness. Oh pure and unassuming sky, better than any carb-free sandwich, you allow us to fathom a night without power; terribly alone with only our inflexible and intolerant personalities for company.

Mabelline mascara

NO CLUMPS OR YOUR MONEY BACK.

... I want my money back.

"Maybe she's born with it..." Or maybe it's just made of LIES.

Sometimes I have a really short attention span...

...I really do.

Condensed Film Scripts: The Last Samurai

In case any of you missed this uh, AWESOME film, I thought I would save you the trouble of having to endure it. Life is too short. (This might have to made a serial...)

The Last Samurai

MAN: Please go to Japan and show them your awesome ways!
[wields sword with awesomeness]

TOM CRUISE: I will be better than all the stupid Japanese Samurai 'cos I am awesome.

SAMURAI: You fight so awesomely well that we will train you to be the best Samurai!

TOM CRUISE: Yes, I am that friggin' awesome.

[later...]

TOM CRUISE: I have become the best Samurai ever, and am totally more Samurai than the rest.

GIRL: I love you whitey Samurai.

The End.