Today, fresh and free of burden or structure, I elected to concoct a vat of stew.
Cooking while I work.
Not entirely.

Not really.

Not not really cooking.  Not not not really working.
A lull in effort of sorts.

And not a can of stew.  Stew from a recipe.
A real recipe involving multiple, sometimes complex, steps.

Steps involved chopping and peeling and browning and the laborious art of ‘waiting‘.

Once the chopping and peeling and browning was done, the waiting would begin.
The recipe said so.  In the recipe the waiting is cleverly called, simmering.
Of course, the recipe wasn’t ALL bad, the waiting and simmering would occasionally be interrupted.

Each interruption a precisely timed rouse, a call to feed the brew.

And the trouble with simmering?
The trouble with simmering is all the waiting.

Look out the back window.  Fucking mess.  Leaves and grass.
I should do that.
Run to the front window.  No better.  More leaves, more grass.
I could do that.
Run upstairs.  Toys, toys, toys.
This needs to be cleaned up.
Run downstairs.  Timer reads 48 minutes.
Run to the back window. The deck.  One 12′ board still missing.
I couldn’t just leave to get one..?
Run to the front window.  Nothing, nothing, nothing…more leaves falling.
Is it that cold out?  Ugh, I hate that cat.  Oh, UPS!
Run to the front door.  Act nonchalant, I just happen to be standing there.
Wait.  Simmer.
Run to the front window.
UPS leaving the neighbors.  Ass.
Run upstairs.  Something, something, something.  Room to room.  There must be something…
Yoink.  Multi-month olde copy of WIRED.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Run downstairs.  Timer reads 45 minutes…
Everything is spinning.

Concentrating, focusing, waiting.  Simmering.
Simple skills, skills of which I am uncapable.

Making a stew is much like completing a solo 24, entirely in your kitchen.
In 2 hours.
And, just like every solo 24 attempted, I wish I never started.

Finally.

The plan is more simple now.
Two bowls.
Each to be consumed between here and then.  Together they will provide ample impetus for this evenings rainy ride.

Then.

During the consumption of the the first bowl.

There was an accident.
A horrible, painful, terrible accident.

Without warning and entirely somehow, during attempted consumption, a semi-large orange’ish missile impacted my upper forearm.
It took a second to register.
The chunk of stew lay motionless on my arm.

A flaming, scalding chunk of CAAARRRRROTTTTT!

I tossed the burning morsel across the room.

Too late.
You bet it fuckingwell hurt.

What you are looking at (highlighted by a red glow, for ease of viewing) is the permanent remains of what was the offending root.

Fortunately I am right handed.
And the remainder of the meal was significantly less eventful.

While I ate my stew.  My delicious dangerous stew, I got myself caught up on things.

Internet things.

Blogs and posts and other anti-social medias.

• THAD is propping the heck out of the Empire down there.
  Except today.

• The ANTI-RACE portion of DelStalk now has an official Manifesto.

• FINALLY.  Ages after it was asked here, SOMEONE legit, asks the question “What the fuck was the point of that?“

Incredibly satisfied.

My stomach.  My mind.
Both I could easily vacate.

SEAN RUPPEL HAS BEEN TAGGED IN FACEBOOK…

I know what Sean looks like.  I don’t NEED to see Sean.  Sean hasn’t RSVP’d to DelStalk…

Still I click that link.  Then another. And another.

The images that the Canadian Cycling Association doesn’t want you to see!

THE SHOCKING AND DISGUSTING FML CONCLUSION TOMORROW.

Careers WILL be ruined!

This entry was posted on Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009 at 17:12 and is filed under DelStalk AntiRace, General Stuff. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.