For it is a human number
Its number is six hundred and sixty six"
~ Iron Maiden (and possibly the book of Revelation)
It finally happened. I skipped around so many days that I have no idea whether or not I'd be done now. Oh sure; they're all numbered as posts, but some of them were not done on the day that they should have been, so now I'm sitting here thinking about the fact that I may or may not have been done with this little segment of the assignment yet. But none of that really matters, does it? I still have another day to do!
I went to class today. I'm not exactly sure why, either. I went all the way up there to only be in the room for 20 minutes. Seriously. I suppose that it wasn't all bad. I got to talk to my professor after class - we will call him Mr. Nameless- and I found Mr. Nameless to be completely different than he is when I have him for other things. He informed me that my ability for levity and the fact that I have an extremely extroverted personality will suit me well in his current course. In other words, he's given me Carte Blanche as far as talking during class and arousing the interests in the other students to do the same. As with any situation where I get to talk a lot, I think I'm going to find this to be a spot of fun. I feel the need to go on record (as I often do) and say that in lieu of what others may think, I don't actually enjoy the sound of my own voice. Indeed, I just like to share the ideas that are in my head and I may or may not have some sort of of hyperactivity disorder, which may or may not cause me speak at great length, without taking breath, or publishing run-on sentences to a writing instructor that will undoubtedly grade me poorly on such things. But I digress, yet again.
Tonight, there will be meatball subs. They seem to be a house favorite, though for the life of me I can't understand how this house eats so much ground beef and acidic tomato products. It might be that I'm getting old, or it might be that the culinary profession is wearing on me, or whatever...but I honestly just can't stand it. Sure it tastes good, but it makes my veins feel like they have frying oil pumping through them and anything with any form of acid in it (citric or otherwise), just makes me feel like I'm trying to digest glass, sand, liquid razors and a school of piranha. Aside from that jazz, I do like the way that said products smell as they cook. Italian food, real or faux, smells absolutely magnificent, should you get the combination of ingredients right. Regardless of my willingness to put up with it or not, this particular dish seems to make the entire household happy, so I consider it my duty to partake of it with them. After all, the whole reason I learned to better myself in the pursuit of culinary mastery was to make other people happy. Well....I have about 20 seconds left on the timer for the meatballs. That doesn't leave me a lot of time to come up with a particularly clever closing quip, so I will simply say that it has been a pleasure, and that I look forward to writing again in the morrow.
Only possible response to the last graf:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.scribd.com/doc/8950730/Robert-Crumb-Meatball
As long as your levity stays serious, it will work for you here too--but levity always tries to stray from the straight and narrow, doesn't it! It forget sometimes that humor is too serious to joke about.
I think that is the first time anyone has ever posted Crumb at me. Always a good read.
ReplyDeleteI'm also up for whatever you decide to throw at us. I would honestly like to think that I'm capable of handling whatever the assignment may be, but I'll have to see for myself. After all, I can't see the future and I seem to have misplaced my Magic 8-Ball.