July 13, 2007

Taking Pain Playfully: the Art Thereof

What, there's a lump on your eyelid too? Now that's a coincidence. Perhaps we should go to the doctor together. Doctor fieldtrip! It'll be like when we were in school and going on a class tour to a petting zoo, only there'll just be the two of us and it will be medical treatment we're after, not miniature goat-touching, and we won't have any wham bars or boxes of juice. Actually this is crap. Let's go to the petting zoo! You lead the way, because I can't see a thing with this growth in my eye.

I've said it before: I have a special love in my heart for Adrian Mole. Me and Aidy, we go way back. One time, Adrian makes an American friend called Hamish Mancini. When Adrian informs his grandmother, Edna May Mole, that Hamish is staying with them, she decides she won't be coming over for her dinner as she is simply too old for Americans. That passage made me laugh my head off, because I know exactly what she means. We cooked for a bunch of Americans last night. WHY ARE THEY SO DAMNED ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT EVERYTHING?! As demonstrated by the lunch-box episode, I am quite an excitable soul, but they make me look like a corpse. Although I can't blame them frankly for being excited about the dessert I made: chocolate fruit fondue. Being presented with an enormous paltter covered in fresh strawberries and pineapple plus a big bowl of chocolate sauce does rather make you feel as though all of your birthdays have come at once. (Actually if all of my birthdays ever came at once, I would know I was shortly about to die, so I wouldn't be too happy about it. )

Here's a window into a difficult topic. Speaking of birthdays and dying, my grandmother died there on my birthday. Only joking. I got a letter this morning in the post from Hodges and Figgis, informing me that at 11pm tonight they will be selling the new Harry Potter book, for which I have already paid a deposit, and which they failed to mention in the letter, and for which I fear I may have to fight. Too many whiches, ha ha ha! Oh God I need a holiday. Anyway, I won't be queueing up for the book tonight, because I am not INSANE, but I will be buying it next week, and it is possible that I will go to see the new film today. I may be some artsy fartsy up myself pseudo intellectual postgrad leeching off the state wannabe floppy-haired leather patch elbowed pipe smoking Dante quoting wet liberal, but a good yarn about teenage wizards isn't beyond me, no sir.

neuro-praxis -- deed done is well begun!

Mass Hysteria

I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have purchased another two bento boxes (one of Snoopy design and one of Nightmare Before Christmas design) through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words and on my credit card, in what I have done by buying them and what I have failed to do by not having a good reason; and I ask blessed Mary, ever virgin,all the angels and saints, and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God, and also to buy me more bento boxes God forgive me for saying that.

neuro-praxis -- In the name of obsession, no sun and a thermos purchased, amen.

July 04, 2007

For The Plebs

And then I thought to myself, it is unfair of me not to share the amazing aesthetic pleasures of my bento box with everybody else. It's downright selfish. What these people need, I said to myself, is a little excitement in their miserable lives; those miserable lives filled with drudgery and the foggy thinking that accompanies a mid-range IQ and a third-rate career.

Ladies, I present to you, from the luxuriant setting of my kitchen table next to her matching carrier bag and a strategically placed vase of flowers: Bento-Praxis the first.

I'n't she pretty? It's rare that I go so girly but well you all know. I have a bit of an obsessive problem with this lunchbox. It has become more important to me than my marriage.

These beautiful little bitties are saucepots. That's right - saucepots. That sounds a bit rude too, but it's really not. They're just miniature pots for what one ought to be putting their sauces in. No hanky-panky there, no sir. These are some straight-edge punk saucepots.

This is the box all spread out. (This is beginning to sound like a thirteen year old boy describing down the phone a feature he found in a skin-mag to his best mate.) See all the compartments? Each one of them is filled with joy. Or love, whichever you're craving the most.

And last but not least: a tribute to the vegan lunchbox, although utterly sacriligious as my lunch contains pig. Sorry, vegans.

In this lunch you will see the much revered ham sandwich on wholemeal bread with the crusts cut off. INDEED. To the right of this the wily eye will spot a tiny pot filled with home-made salad dressing (wholegrain mustard, olive oil, honey and balsamic vinegar). In the second layer there is a crispy cos salad with tommatters and peppers. Lounging around the box in the typically nonchalant fashion of uneaten fruit you'll find a plum and a pear, and of course a pot of chocolate Alpro Soya; a treat too delicious for you to imagine, so don't buy any.

Now. That's my good deed done for the day.

I am feeling particularly cheerful this evening, as a I enjoyed a rather encouraing meeting with the supervisor of my research master's degree. He was so enthusiastic about my ideas that he kept shaking my hand and saying, "Welcome aboard!" and "Bless you!" It was great! I got access to the library and had my first real day of academic work in years. Boy, am I ready for this. Getting a bento box and entry to a dream master's all in one week is beginning to frighten me though. Is my husband about to die? I mean, how can things be this good? I am of course joking. My husband will never die; the details are fuzzy now but I think it was part of the marital agreement. Most of that wedding stuff is a blur: everyone was weeping and gnashing their teeth. You know what these events are like! It's all black dresses and tea and sandwiches back at the house. Pure depressing.

neuro-praxis -- neuro gives; praxis takes away