My Body Is Built Out Of Meat.

2

January 28, 2010 by sandwichcontrol

Lately I have come to the realization that although I love food, I don’t know nearly enough about it. I know enough to talk about it in a shallow, likes and dislikes kind of way, but that is about the limit of my food conversations. This has made the scientist in me yearn for research. I’ve been reading a lot. I’m reading The Nasty Bits by Anthony Bourdain right now. I’ve also been consulting Irma a lot as well. Articles in the New Yorker, Wikipedia, Nicky the Cook. My resources are tired of me bothering them constantly. Google should buy an ad from me, I use them so much.

My biggest problem is the desire. I desire to take in all of this information, but I can’t. Not as fast as I want to. There is just so much information and knowledge and I want it all right now. I don’t want to wait to build the little connections between point A and point B and point C. I want to just know them. Growing up, the superpower that always impressed me and that I longed for the most was the power to absorb knowledge by touching books. He did that in the Meteor Man, right? If there is anything that I will regret when I die it is that I did not learn nearly as much as I wanted to.

There is so much knowledge out there. At the end of the day, the vast amount of knowledge and learnable skills leaves me feeling very tiny and insignificant. I am but a fleck of carbon waiting to be recycled.

I got kinda deep there for a minute. Whoa. Maybe it is Albert Camus coming through to me via the ghost phone. It is the 50th Anniversary of his death this month. He is calling me from one step beyond. I know that Camus would have dug Madness. I don’t know why, but I know it.

Okay, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah. Information. Right, what this really boils down to is this: There is a first edition hardcover copy of No Reservations by Anthony Bourdain on the clearance rack by the cookbooks at Books-A-Million for $8 and I cannot buy it because I instituted a personal book buying ban on myself until I get my giant stacks of books read down to under two feet. It is killing me knowing that it is sitting there waiting for someone to buy and it can’t be me. On the other hand, if some person were to buy it for me as a gift, I could not possibly turn down something so generous and spontaneous.

Well, the clock bells are chiming which means it is time for work again. Until next time, may the ghost of Albert Camus remind you to not take candy from a Stranger. More soon. ~SC


2 comments »

  1. nicky the cook says:

    In your defense, I tire easily. ”Y”, there is an fucking ”Y” in my name!

  2. All right already. Jeez. I think I have fixed all of the misspellings. They should all end in “y” now.

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