February 2014


And that’s why I’m glad I have a blog.  Because on Facebook, any conversation–literally, any conversation–inevitably turns into a conversation about food.

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“Country XYZ might go into civil war.”

“That sucks.  Their government is messed up.  I love XYZian food!”

“Me too!”

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“I had a great workout today.  I feel so healthy.”

“You go, girl!  You know what else studies have shown is good for you?  A diet of lard and bacon.”

“Mmmmmm, bacon.”

“Bacon.”

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“I feel depressed.  There’s an emptiness in my life.”

“Awwwww, you need chocolate.”

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*cute picture of goats*

“Goats are tasty!”

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“What’s the meaning of life?”

“I thought it was bacon…?”

Either we’re a society obsessed with gluttony…or, bacon really is the meaning of life, and I’ve missed out on it all this time.  Not sure which one is the case.

 

 

 

So this is what it’s like when your favorite city becomes a minefield, every place you go a reminder of what you’ve lost.  The park trails you used to hike.  The scones you would eat in the morning.  The police horses sneaking nibbles of grass through the fence, the cormorants over the cold river.  The streets which were white that last time you got snowed in together.

I will forever love my rainy little town, but right now every moment in it brings a tiny explosion of pain.  In time, I will be stronger again, and Portland will turn back from a minefield into a city.

So the Stephanie Miller Show was discussing Philip Seymour Hoffman’s tragic death recently, and one of the guests was explaining the dangers of heroin.  How with heroin, you never quite know what you’re injecting into yourself, or how good/pure/lethal it might be.  And then she made the comparison to alcohol–when you see Bud in the store, you always know what you get, and there’s no such thing as bad Bud.

As a beer lover, I feel I have to correct that statement…it would be more accurate to say that Bud is always bad.  In fact, Bud is always terrible.  However, I agree that it’s terrible in a way which is consistent, and which won’t kill me.  It will also never shock me by tasting like a delicious craft brew when I open one up.  And while Bud isn’t dangerous, you might waste your life drinking bad beer…a fate not much better than death, in my opinion.

 

What will those be like, I wonder?  Will there be little child dancers fighting the evil Pink Triangle trying to recruit them into homosexuality?  Will the ladies of Pussy Riot perform a touching song about how beautiful life can be in a gulag?  Will Putin ride out on a horse, all macho and bare-chested?  What about Edward Snowden in a bodysuit?  Toilets that will actually work?

Honestly, at this time, unless the opening ceremonies include a festive parade of happy gay people with their newly adopted stray dogs, I really don’t wanna watch ’em.  The idea of Putin’s Russia putting on a show about world peace and love is too ludicrous for consideration.  I had a difficult time watching the Beijing Olympics because I have a problem with how that country treats the Falun Gong and Christians–looks like these Olympics will be an equally painful event.