“you shall know this now”
the prophet‘s latest sentence creation says it all. my alleged attitude problem has been causing some grief around work as of late, and i must say that my belligerence at the raptors’ home opener was at an all-time high, but seriously, kids-do you really need to crawl over the laps of a row of people just to spend $19 on a box of popcorn? with three minutes left in the half? hashtag-bitch, please. also, telling a homeless man “i don’t have any money for you because i’m trying to save up all my money to quit my job…also, some people don’t have feet” only to turn into urban outfitters to impulse buy myself a pug life t-shirt was another highlight of the past few days. but last night, as the grease from the fried chicken was burning holes through my fingers on my way to a library presentation about pop-up books (that was actually moved to two weeks from now), i mused in front of a gorgeous mural of a rhino that i really do love my life, and this city. i got an unsolicited and talk appreciating my work in the program for which i volunteer to learn childrens how to read good, and it was so timely and necessary. i look forward to developing my creative educational reach sooner rather than later. my favorite part of this book is the journey of writing oneself through growing out of a job, and the unique scrapbook evidence of that evolution.
“In the end I came to realize that a restaurant critic’s job is more about eating than writing, and every time I cancelled a reservation I grew more seriously behind. I was having a secret affair with cooking, and I knew it could not continue. But every morning, after walking Nicky to school, I’d go home and sit in the kitchen, sifting through my recipes. A jumble of handwritten pages, they were gathered into an ancient, torn manila folder filled with memories. Tomorrow, I’d think, tomorrow I’ll go out to eat, tomorrow I’ll go back to the restaurants. And then I’d turn over another page and a long-gone meal would come tumbling out, more evocative than any photograph could ever be.” (269)
i was also floored by the samaritan (dir. david weaver) starring the always fantastic (and yelling) sam jackson and my beauty-full city and her good looking money, public transportation vehicles, and 24-hour diner on ossington (hey, lakeview). shouts to my reparation partner in the junction and my bready lover/roti partner. together, we will make it through.