Today I Bought Carmine Instead of Dinner
Sep. 25th, 2002 08:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinueShe awed you with The Pants Agenda. . . She scared you with The Telecom Conspiracy. . . But nothing can prepare you for . . . STARVING ARTIST: THE POST-GRAD YEARS.
SEE Romie's quest for nutrients!
FEEL Romie's need for vitamins!
HEAR Romie complain about her hunger
IN HIGH-DEFINITION STERIOPHONIC SOUND!!!!!
Something I have noticed when cataloguing my life is that I tend to live with cooks. I'm not talking about people who can cook -- I can do that myself, and very well at that. I'm talking about people who love to cook, who enjoy cooking, who are providers. My mother is one of those people, one of those people for whom the entire day leads up to six o'clock when she commences final preparations for the evening meal. I brought my own school lunch all the way up through senior year, (when The Parents moved to Boston,) packed with eggplant paremsan, or shrimp diablo, or turkey a la Russe. After a year of a cramped kitchen and microwave dinners, I left for college - where I immediately fell in with Raine, who both worked in the cafeteria and was willing to prepare all my meals.
Back in Dallas again, Stretch was taking a year off to do full-time housework - dinner every night. Then I moved in with Val, for whom cooking has no equal but gardening.
I'd like to re-stress that I can cook. Well. It's part and parcel of being an artist and a gourmand, not to mention an above-average chemist. Moreover, it's something I take pride in; it pleases me greatly to present others with a fine meal, aesthetically arranged on the proper place setting. I can create a multi-dimensional dining experience. I can cook.
The difference between "can cook" and "does cook" is a vast one, especially when you consider that I am the same Romie who goes into hacker mode when presented with any problem and can forget to eat for days at a time.
Thomas is picking up Val's slack the best he can, popping in at odd times with macaroni or a peanut-butter sandwich and saying "Romie. Consume Food. Now." And I do remember about once a day to go grab a hamburger or something cheap and fast, thanks to a kick in the stomach by my rabid-hyena metabolism and general high level of physical exertion.
All I can say is, I think everybody's looking forward to Friday, when I begin to work in a dining establishment that will force me to try all its wares.
SEE Romie's quest for nutrients!
FEEL Romie's need for vitamins!
HEAR Romie complain about her hunger
IN HIGH-DEFINITION STERIOPHONIC SOUND!!!!!
Something I have noticed when cataloguing my life is that I tend to live with cooks. I'm not talking about people who can cook -- I can do that myself, and very well at that. I'm talking about people who love to cook, who enjoy cooking, who are providers. My mother is one of those people, one of those people for whom the entire day leads up to six o'clock when she commences final preparations for the evening meal. I brought my own school lunch all the way up through senior year, (when The Parents moved to Boston,) packed with eggplant paremsan, or shrimp diablo, or turkey a la Russe. After a year of a cramped kitchen and microwave dinners, I left for college - where I immediately fell in with Raine, who both worked in the cafeteria and was willing to prepare all my meals.
Back in Dallas again, Stretch was taking a year off to do full-time housework - dinner every night. Then I moved in with Val, for whom cooking has no equal but gardening.
I'd like to re-stress that I can cook. Well. It's part and parcel of being an artist and a gourmand, not to mention an above-average chemist. Moreover, it's something I take pride in; it pleases me greatly to present others with a fine meal, aesthetically arranged on the proper place setting. I can create a multi-dimensional dining experience. I can cook.
The difference between "can cook" and "does cook" is a vast one, especially when you consider that I am the same Romie who goes into hacker mode when presented with any problem and can forget to eat for days at a time.
Thomas is picking up Val's slack the best he can, popping in at odd times with macaroni or a peanut-butter sandwich and saying "Romie. Consume Food. Now." And I do remember about once a day to go grab a hamburger or something cheap and fast, thanks to a kick in the stomach by my rabid-hyena metabolism and general high level of physical exertion.
All I can say is, I think everybody's looking forward to Friday, when I begin to work in a dining establishment that will force me to try all its wares.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-26 05:35 am (UTC)My housemate thinks she's done some proper cooking if she's used something other than the microwave or the kettle. She was so proud the other day when she turned on the grill. I myself haven't been bothered to really eat since yesterday morning because the stress and strain of having to wash up a household of disgusting dishes defeats me. I'm living on vodka and fruit juice and low-fat yoghurt instead.
(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-29 06:11 pm (UTC)-Romie
(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-30 01:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-27 08:50 am (UTC)Me? I never eat unless I'm at my parents house.
(I found your journal through a friend - it's so nice to read someone who can actually, y'know, form coherent sentences, as opposed to half of LJ's population)
(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-29 03:17 pm (UTC)-Romie