Tag Archives: macaroni and cheese

You gonna eat that?

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The Hungry Thing, one of Lambchop’s favorite childhood books

I have recovered from the Nero-like consumption of the profusions of Thanksgiving.  Watercress and grapefruit, thank you very much!  Surely, I do fancy a bit of sorbet.  But the triumphant feelings brought on by my ascetic atonement could not last. I scalded my palate and my hand most scandalously from a few drops of soup at dinner.  How dare they! Don’t they know we have law(suits) in this country?!  My solicitor has demanded a photo of the pink crescent shape branded on my skin, but that is probably only because he fancies me. 

I was to have lunch today with my boss, for a belated birthday celebration.  Outside it swirls with rain and howling wind.  On the 30th floor, the windows are shuddering and the building is creaking and shrieking like Ricky Gervais’  laughter.  Scary! After a  brief consult it was determined that my hairdo would not be benefitted by a  trip out of doors, and it had better be put off for another day. 

This weather is a sorry omen to remind me that I should not be here.  That I should be in Miami, unshowered and besotted with all the other New York artists descended upon Art Basel.  I have ambitions!  But that was not in the cards and mainly not in the coins for this year.  I have contented myself by applying to a few exhibitions.  One of them is here, and you can star my portfolio if you choose.

I trucked on down to the cafeteria for lunch to watch the gales.  I had some fennel and apple, a bit of quinoa, and some grilled asparagus.  My coworker had a crock of macaroni and cheese, at the bottom of  which she left a spoonful or two.  I feel I got a great workout, holding myself back from lunging at those bitefuls with my fork  for the ten whole minutes we sat chatting.  Think of it!  All that blah blah BLAH while those starchy morsels lounged there uneaten, just bathing in their gooey sauce.  With what anguish did I watch her place her tray on the conveyor to the dishwashers?  Goodbye, goodbye, waved the bright yellow streak of last of the macaroni and cheese!

Now I know how Godzilla felt.

It’s a very modern world, but nobody’s perfect

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1985 was rad and all, but something bad happened in the future land of 2004, and the earth wobbled and wibbled. And then in 2005, the cat can’t decide if she wants to be in or out, and I totally agree with that position, although it can be tiresome. There are theoretical units of value in my bank account, which were placed there because I used some of my time to do taxing things like write emails and make food dance on the internet. I transmitted some of my imaginary holdings via some electrons to be turned into bottled water and antibiotics. Electrons wear pointed shoes and jaunty caps. Then I picked up an issue of National Geographic Traveler, because vacation planning just got harder. As if life isn’t hard enough.

I can’t stay in 2005. I am booking a retreat to 1979, because I had a dream where everyone was speaking gibberish and “Fantastic Voyage” was playing in the background. This seems to be as good an idea as any. In 1979, I had just started growing teeth and learning about my feet. Later that year, I tried macaroni and cheese for the first time and loved it. Come to think of it, everyone *was* speaking gibberish to me in 1979. Maybe this is why I grew up to enjoy pharmaceuticals of all kinds. I have hands? Wow! What went wrong, ma?