Sautéeing my shit out

I ate too much afternoon cheap candy, so now I’m tired. I make my own problems around here.

It’s my fifth Torontoversary and, while it’d make sense to espouse the city’s virtues, I don’t much feel like doing that at the moment. Doug Ford is butting his butthead into the city’s face and the resulting civic pink eye is making me feel less and less charitable by the day towards what’s become my home. I’m not happy that they’re trying to cut the city council in half to “save costs” (and also limit availibility of the remaining overwhelmed councillors). Of course Ford wants a smaller council that’s easier to bribe. Most of Toronto didn’t vote for the slimy shitstain, so what business does he have shredding our representation? I’m incredibly unhappy that he’s halting the Universal Basic Income pilot project, which could’ve served as valuable research for not only the province, but the world. I’m not surprised at this bullish, callous, short sighted behaviour from a brute/bully of the Ford lineage. It comes with the territory.

So instead of zeroing in on the machinations of someone who may come to make me hate the city I love, I want to talk about something I cherish: Food. I adore food. Next to words, food is my second favourite thing. This morning I read an article about Wagyu Beef. It was delightful. Aside from being outlandishly silly and humourously slanted, it also made me irresistably lustful for expensive meats. My mouth literally started watering as he wrote of the complex marbling and laden soft fat content. It affected me so much I frantically began shoving vegemite covered soda crackers into my urging maw to achieve some modicum of umami. Had a cow been within arm’s reach I would’ve bit it, fur and all.

A $250 steak is an unbelievable steak, the quality of which I’ve never experienced. I don’t know if I’d be able to handle food that rich. Of course I could literally digest it, but while I eat food a lot, it’s mostly not fancy. Don’t get me wrong, I love well cooked and expensive food. I treasure fine cuisine in the way many would a fragile newborn, squishy fontanel and all. Ordinarily I treat my mouth with all the delicacy of a woodchipper. I scoff food like I’ve been starved for months. I’ll gorge myself with no concern for posterity. When it comes to fancy dishes, every bite counts. I’ll fall back to a snail’s pace and focus on every little morsel. The texture, taste and cornucopia of flavours. It’s an enriching experience every time and, happens so rarely, that I doubt this will change. Expertly prepared dishes, for me, likely produce the same notions of divinity that church do for religious folk. I ascend as Scooby post Scooby Snack, gently floating back to earth as the lingering aftertaste gently dissipates. Goddamn I could go for a great steak right about now. Why don’t we have an office cow, goddammit?

We don’t have an office cow or even a home cow. My girlfriend and I do, however, have an instant pot. I hate to shill unnecessarily, but the product has been a level up for quality food with minimal effort. Look, it has a ton of functions. We use very few of them. We’re not gonna be making yoghurt or porridge in it any time soon. I doubt bone broth or rehydrating beans is high on our priority list. We’re basically using it as a fast slow cooker/quick all-in-one device that’s batting damn near 100. The only issues so far have been user error and their forfeits have been barely noticable. For all I know, a pressure cooker was good enough and the instant pot aspect of it is irrelevant. I’m not sure that, aside from steamed greens and fried eggs, we’ve cooked anything on the stove since we got it.

Instant pot recipes are everywhere. I’d say the only real downside to owning an instant pot is that we’re getting carpal tunnel from scrolling through the unnecessary preamble in these mommy blog recipes. Outside of that, it’s bliss. Most every recipe is some combination of cut shit up, put it in, seal it and you’ll have dinner plus eight leftover meals in an hour. Take last night’s pork shoulder. We’d bought shoulder because it was $4.30 for a 1.3 kilo chunk and we thought it was like every other pork roast. We had no idea that pork shoulder, because of its fatty content, is meant to be slow cooked for 4-8 hours until it breaks down to carnitas or something pulled. When it comes to dinner, we’re lazy as fuck. We don’t have that kind of time. Dinner for us is looking at what we have in the freezer, defrosting it in the microwave then throwing it on the stove or in the oven and praying we don’t contract salmonella. Sometimes if we’re feeling fancy we’ll defrost meat in the sink. We’re classy like that occasionally.

Last night’s pork shoulder went something like this: My girlfriend put the shoulder in the sink to defrost in the afternoon. I came home and cut it into three chunks. I rubbed seasoning into it. I mixed two tablespoons of soy sauce and brown sugar into a cup of chicken stock. I crushed some garlic and cut an onion. I turned the instant pot onto sauté and seared each side of the pork quickly. Then I threw everything into the pot, sealed it and turned it on for 90 minutes. I let the steam vent for ten minutes, then pulled out the pork. By this point it was practically falling apart on its own. I added some cornstarch and brown sugar to the liquid still in the pot and sauteéd it on high for the next half hour, stirring occasionally. I pulled the pork with two forks while I waited. So just over two hours for maybe eight portions of gorgeously pulled pork, slathered with rich gravy. An hour and a half of that time was just me watching Preacher on my computer. It’s unreal how easy it was, and the high quality of the end result.

Fuck I can’t wait to get home and eat some. Happy Torontoversary to me.


You could argue that this very post is recycled content

I swear half of these entries are just me repurposing stuff I’ve written on Facebook. *Shrug*, I guess for all of my non-friends on here, you’re getting access to exclusive content. That’s what we’ll call it. This morning I was thinking about the big stink being kicked up around plastic straws. At first it was like “plastic straws are destroying the world”. Then people came back with “your heart is in the right place, but a lot of disabled people need them and other reusable options don’t really work for them”. Then a bunch of posts came around saying that plastic straws, while not great, are pretty low stakes in the general scheme of things. So I did what nobody ever gets enough of and waded in with some straight white dude’s opinion.

“It feels like this whole plastic straw kerfuffle came from the best of intentions, but also from people wanting a simple solution to a complex issue.

Maybe the answer is to not offer them by default, but have them readily available if customers ask?

Reducing the effects of a system that revolves around convenience you can pay for is a massive endeavour. If committing to small, cumulative changes is something you like the idea of, there are lots of ways to help.
How often do you mend clothes or repair electronics instead of throwing them out? Do you buy second hand or offer rarely used clothes/appliances to friends who could get good use out of them? Their financial value is relatively nebulous if they’re just sitting there.

Do you have a reusable water bottle? Coffee cup? Maybe have a backpack you can store stuff in? Do you consider what products to buy based on whether or not they come in recyclable packaging? If you’re going out for a meal and think you might end up with leftovers, could you bring your own container? Do you consider the sustainably of your transportation? It might take more time, but could you bike or walk to your destination? Could you take public transit instead of an Uber?

Something I’ve started doing lately is picking up wayward rubbish or recycling that’s close to a bin. I didn’t put it there, but it’s within my ability to do something about it. I figure it’s a very small action that’s a lot better than nothing. If I pick up a couple of bits here and there, that could be 30 bottles or cans recycled by the end of the week. If ten people did this, that number could be 300. It takes very little time and scales well.

None of this is intended to call out or shame anyone. I don’t do most of these things. It takes a lot of energy – emotional, mental and physical – to effect serious change. It’s not simple or convenient. The options are there and the rabbit hole goes a lot deeper than this. If you feel like putting that effort in, terrific. If not, you just keep doing you.”

Friends chimed in with valuable input. One said that, while intentions to do good were neat and all, they ultimately would be futile to effect real change. The wastage of consumers paled in comparison to the wastage of corporations. If there was a point in directing our energy, it would be towards lobbying these corporations to move away from single use plastics and non-recyclable materials. It’s funny, because while she’s entirely right, it made me realise something. My idealism doesn’t go far enough to envison a scenario in which Earth does anything but implode. I’m so attuned to the notion that we’re all gonna bleed out, but we can at least slow the process. I have no faith in corporations to do the right thing unless it’s economically advantageous to them, or the opposite could be detrimental to their operation.

Another friend brought up balloons and glitter, non-recyclable materials that exist for no purpose other than spreading joy. I immediately thought of the kvetching and hand-wringing everywhere (first they came for my straws, and I did not speak out) at phasing out balloons. That being said, helium’s on its way out. It’s probably time to get rid of them. Biodegradable glitter is slowly being introduced, maybe there’s hope for celebration after all.

Could I do more to help? Could you? Of course we could.

Will we?

It’s not everyday you get to use the word “expunge”

It’s been a very quiet weekend.

It’s times like this that I miss alcohol. To be clear, I can’t drink because of my meds right now. It’s not the outcome of a lifelong struggle with alcoholism or anything. I should technically be able to drink again by the end of the week. Whether I will or not is another matter. Summer is usually a big time for training. Tough Mudder kicks in mid-September. In order to be ready, I usually prep for months in advance. Perhaps a month out I’ll cut liquor and bread. It means my body doesn’t have to work as hard to break down what it’s eating. Without knowing the scientific specifics, I’ve read that the body treats alcohol like a poison. It’ll always work to expunge liquor from your system before processing the rest of your intake. It’s smart like that. So often when I drink, I’ll eat a bunch of complex and greasy food. If my body is already working hard to offload the better part of a 40oz, all the other delicious things I’ve eaten stick around for longer. My body has to work harder and training gets appropriately more difficult.

This year I’ve been voluntarily on leave from the gym for the past month. It sucks, ’cause I was pretty happy with my progress up to that point. It’s an uphill climb every year and I’m feeling downright Sisyphean right now. I’ve been jogging 3 or so times per week, but coming back from sprained ankles I haven’t been able to really push it. It’s almost as frustrating as the realisation that taking my time is the adult thing to do. Of course I want to run headfirst into everything as soon as I can, but if I hit a wall I’m likely to shatter upon impact. Not worth it. I’ve had to pull back from going dancing with friends. It sucks, but not drinking has been a blessing in disguise. It’s stopped me from overcommitting on the dance floor and doing even more damage. “For the best”, but in a way I’m not happy about.

Of course I want to start drinking as soon as I can. It’s an easy social lubricant. It means going out to social gatherings with the mindset of even if I’m not into it, after a few drinks I probably will be. Drinking equates to relaxing and going with the flow a lot more. It’s not like it’s this is my first time not drinking, but it does wonders to stave off diminutive anxieties. Most things seem easier, fears less monolithic. Sobriety at times can be all kinds of undesirable. Intoxication is escapism that helps me engage. Contrarily I’ve pulled away from a lot of parties lately. I’ve spent more time at home alone playing Magic, watching movies and constructing elaborate Rube Goldberg traps to ward off burglars. It’s been quiet. Different. Slower.

Except for that one home invasion. Thank Christ I have unlimited access to industrial strength tar.

Some might say I’m Tommy Lee Jonesing to use these skills

Very few of my Saturdays are filled with learning. Their normal M.O. is brunch, coffee and maybe some form of hangout.

Today’s Saturday ventured right outside its traditional territory. I’m going away to a regional Burning Man next week. Part of the Burning Man ethos is giving back, which means volunteering your time for acts of service. You’re expected to pick up a volunteer shift at some point throughout the burn. I’ve got no issue picking up MOOP (Matter Out Of Place), but I figured I could be put to a different use than that. I volunteered for Sanctuary, which is a place that individuals in a heightened state can come to get grounded. It’s filled with all manner of soft and warm plounge things, stuffed toys and blankets. There are colouring books and people who have education in talking people down from places of stress or anxiety. As I learned in today’s education session, Sanctuary isn’t an I want a chill space sort of deal. One of Burning Man’s central tenets is Radical Self-Reliance, or the ability to take responsibility for yourself. Part of this involves a community providing care for their own. Sanctuary is more in line with the Men In Black “Last line of defence against the worst scum of the universe” mentality. Sorry, MENtality. If someone’s in an extreme altered state or unresponsive, we provide support or facilitate with Rangers or First Aid as to the best course of action. It’s pretty worthwhile work.

For eight hours, we learned about how to facilitate these experiences. We learned how to and not to act, what to and not to say. It was mostly clearer than my previous sentence. It was altogether a pretty large group, and the length of the session really reinforced how seriously they take this service. It was a pretty wide swath of ideas and concepts, from things that seemed intuitive to all new techniques. A large part of the focus was on teaching us that we weren’t there to solve any problems. We weren’t there to provide suggestions, counselling, therapy or answers. Our role was to ground our subjects and provide space where they’d be able to come back to Earth. Maybe with colouring books.

That sounds glib, it was more than that. There was a big focus on Active Listening as a prime technique. Active Listening, if you’re not familiar, is a technique that centres around re-framing what the subject has said as a way of making them feel heard and understood. Example:

A: It’s really shitty that my Mum won’t trust me to go out to this party on my own. I’m not a fucking kid anymore.
B: That sucks. It sounds like you feel more responsible than she gives you credit for.
A: Exactly!

Or something of the like. There’s a lot more to it than that. There are non-verbal cues or verbal punctuation (grunts of affirmation, etc) that show your subject that you’re paying attention and listening. There’s the principle of leading them to realise what they need or affirm it for you. Basically, you’re guiding them to find answers of their own. I’ve got a lot of absurdly emotionally acuitive people in my life (I mean, I live with one) so a lot of it seemed second nature to me. We split into groups of three to practice, one would be talking, one active listening and the other observing. It was really interesting being the observer, taking into account how others conversed and showed active support.

Another demonstration we had was on the differences between looking/listening/feeling both outward and inward. Outward looking would be seeing things with our eyes. Inward looking would be closing our eyes and looking with our imagination. Outward listening would be taking in audio stimuli. Internal listening would be hearing our inner voice, sounds our brain would produce. Outward feeling would be attuning to physical sensations. Inward feeling would be understanding how the emotional attachment to those stimuli. If this sounds pointless, there’s more. So often when we’re concentrating on one of these six channels, we blank out the other ones. Some are heightened, while others are relaxed. When someone is in a heightened state, it’s often in a number of these channels, while the unused ones remain relaxed. If they’re having trouble being overstimulated, focusing their attention to the relaxed states can help reduce that stimulation and lower stress. It’s not a matter of saying specifically “hey bro, listen inward now”, but more about guiding them through their experience to find a peace of sorts. It’s grounding. Comforting.

Honestly, the inward/outward sensation piece was a pretty useful tool. So many times when I’m feeling stressed or anxious, it’s in one of these areas. Refocusing to a calmer place could do wonders for overall mood. Spending my Saturday effectively in class isn’t my usual preference, but it’s gonna be a pretty warm feeling being able to help others in times of need.

It’s not like brunch is going anywhere any time soon.

Now that you mention it, I am a pretty flash dancer.

Apropos of nothing outside years of fluctuating behaviour, I decided to google “hypomania” today.

Hoo boy.

How you might feel:

  • happy, euphoric, with a sense of wellbeing
  • lots of energy
  • sociable
  • racing thoughts
  • creative and full of ideas and plans
  • like you can perform tasks better and more quickly than normal
  • impatient, irritable or angry
  • confident, with high self-esteem
  • attractive, flirtatious and/or with more sexual desire
  • restless, on edge and having difficulty relaxing
  • heightened senses – colours may seem brighter, sounds louder and things more beautiful

How you might behave:

  • more active than usual
  • taking risks
  • very friendly
  • very talkative or writing a lot
  • sleeping very little
  • signing up for and taking part in lots of activities
  • taking on extra responsibilities
  • wearing colourful and/or extravagant clothes
  • making lots of jokes and puns
  • finding it hard to stay still – moving around a lot or fidgeting

I dunno. Maybe it’s a tad relatable. I don’t ascribe to the thought that self-diagnosis carries a ton of weight. I really don’t. I’m not even close to a medical professional. Even as an armchair psychologist, I have trouble sitting still. I want to be very clear when I say that any of the following is not meant to trivialise or tokenise mental illness or symptoms of mania at all. I’m sure a lot of the above is evergreen enough that everyone feels this way from time to time. I have never been diagnosed with a condition of any kind and the thought of detracting from the very valid experiences of others would not sit well with me.

That being said, how much of the above applies to my very regular behaviour? So often it feels like the world is moving too slowly. I’ve applied the word “ludic” to my personality before, but it’s occasionally felt insubstantial. I find myself on these spontaneous tears where I can’t do or say enough to convey how my brain is feeling. Overly sociable, charismatic and confident. I get antsy and impatient for people to finish sentences, because of this overwhelming urge that I already knew where they were going from the first couple of words. My thoughts are scattered, but rapid. Crazy quick synaptic connections. Jokes and puns, understanding and dismantling structures social, narrative and psychological. Focusing on/completing a task has never been a massive issue, but I’m usually thinking of the next couple while I’m doing it. Infinite ideas, creativity out each and every one of my wazoos.

The idea of not doing something at every moment feels suffocating. Relaxation seems like a punishment. If I’m not active, why am I alive? Despite knowing that my body needs it, I’ve always viewed sleep as a waste of potential waking hours. I’ll feel this compulsion to be doing more, as many things at once as possible. An insatiable urge for my consumption to keep up with my racing mind. Any substances that can preserve this overly energetic state, I need all of them at once. Sure, I know I’m not gonna feel great later if I drink an unhealthy volume of coffee, but it feels transcendent now. Why not gorge on everything and become one with every atom in my vicinity?

Then downswings. Days, weeks, months. Withdrawing from human contact. Excessive negative self-talk. Irrational irritability. Implacable frustration. A pervasive sense of dissatisfaction with everything. Feelings of disconnect and isolation. This notion that nobody really understands me.

Wait, am I just a teenager?

Who knows, really? If anything, I’m not sure what good labels would do. Is this cycle (which admittedly has more up than down) hurtful to my everyday? Is the cost of the lows worth the highs? I’m not gonna lie, if it’s a touch of mania that propels me, it’s an incomparable sensation. Like gravity has no hold on me. As if boundaries are abstract. An almost divine indomitably. It makes me feel special and gee golly that’s a swell feeling.

Or it could be nothing and maybe I merely drink too much coffee.

Losing my edge would cut me like a knife.

I have consumed a quantity of coffee that has transported me outside of liminal time. I’m not sure when I am, so I figure I might as well roll with whatever flashes through my noggin. When should I start?

I once saw a woman sitting on a bench holding a small dog in one hand and a chandelier in another. I had no context for the encounter. Equally, I’ve got no desire to find out what led to that moment. It feels like it’d ruin the magic. I’m choosing to believe that she’d not only vanished between liminal time, but space. Any logic of this situation could only be parsed by quantum mechanics and frankly, I don’t have time or space for that. I guess you could say she seemed… quarky? I sense a phase shift coming on.

Spike Jonze just put out this advert and I think it’s all kinds of nifty. Look, I find intrusive and clumsy advertising as annoying as the rest of you do. That being said, it’s rare for me to tire of gushing over the great advertising I grew up with. Adverts in NZ were sarcastic, clever and really delivered on their objectives. Good advertising is effective, tells a story and makes your customer wonder why they don’t already have the product in their lives. In this case, maybe it delivers? I’m not 100% sure, but it’s sure as hell pretty as fuck. All music videos are advertisements anyway, right? It just so happens that in this one you’ve got Anderson .Paak’s gorgeously smooth vocals, FKA Twigs dancing up a storm of interpretive dance, the wonderfully imaginative visual stylings of Jonze and it’s all wrapped up in a tidy four minute clip. I was never gonna be the target market for a Smart Home device, but I’m sure if you were, the idea of being served an ideal soundtrack at will would be enough to sell you on it. Speaking of which, let’s jump back a week or so.

I was in Austin chatting with friends. We were talking specifically about these home devices, algorithmic learning and soundtracks. I was saying how on a personal level, I have an innate fear of this technology. Fear might be a bit strong, but it makes me feel uneasy. In my head it goes to a place where we no longer take an active role in choosing what we consume. There’s maybe a chip or something inside of us that just knows what we’ll enjoy. I’m sure the technology will get accurate enough to make it a reality. There’s a non-insignificant part of my identity that’s tied up in what I consume.

When something hits all the right beats for me, it feels like it’s added to my life. Whether this is music or a great narrative. Part of the satisfaction that comes from accessing those highs is going through the lows for contrast. Great music shines so brightly because terrible music exists. I can get bowled over completely by everything about Janelle Monáe’s new track “Make Me Feel” in part because in 1998 Shaun Mullins released his misguided tyre fire “Lullaby”. Seriously that song is so excruciating it becomes a physical sensation. “Make Me Feel“, on the other hand feels like a reward for endurance. If everything was perfect, then nothing would transcend. It’d all just be wallpaper. One of my most gratifying recurrent experiences is recommending something to a friend based on how well I know them. I’ll take their personality and preferences into account. I’ll factor their sensibilities, brand of humour and capacity for certain types of content to figure out whether or not they’ll jive with my suggestion. I’m not shooting 100% here, but having a friend come back to me thanking me for sharing is such a wonderful sensation. It tells me that I know them well enough to understand what they’re looking for, but also points to a growth in our kinship, that we both resonated with the same content in some fashion. I feel closer to them for having had that experience.

If a machine is gonna come and take that away from me, what do I have left? I’ll just be here caffeinating myself out of the timeline.


You know what? It IS a good morning. Thanks for asking. I’m fresh faced after a night out on the town. I can confidently say that I’m having a capitol time here in Austin. As soon as we stepped off the bus the smell of barbecue was both immediate and arresting. I think that’s what “living your best life” is. Everything here is enormous, both in value and impression. I’m sitting in Summer Moon cafe enjoying a colossal 20 oz Summermoon, their signature drink. It has a quad shot and it was all of $6. Ridiculous. It’s something I always forget about when in the states. Portions. We bought a couple of $5 happy hour “appies” and they were basically full meals. Two sliders and fries, a chunky slab of mixed cerviche/avocado with a side of nacho chips. Gargantuan. Food is abundant and inexpensive. Do I have to ever leave?

The drinks are STRONG too. I chatted with our server about them. I told her back in NZ, a double shot was standard. In Canada a single shot is the go-to. How was the US in this equation, I asked. “Oh, they’re single pours” she assured me. “Our barman just happens to have a heavy hand.” According to the rest of the night, Austinites just have heavy hands. We met many heavy handed bartenders, like the one making White Russians for my friend. “We’re out of cream” he said “so I’ll just use baileys instead if you don’t mind.” My friend very much did not mind, so the bartender handed him a cup of straight liquor. Yeah, we had a night. Happy Hour is a revelation here. Cheap mixed drinks EVERYWHERE. Lots of snacks and apps. The locals come out and they’re chatty. It’s the best. After some hectic afternoon drinking last night we settled in at The Ginger Man, a quiet and comfy craft beer bar. A huge variety of international beer, big leather couches and most importantly, a dart board. The three of us spent hours playing Around the World and getting to know whatever locals stuck around the bar. There was a dude on a date who started jokingly (but maybe not?) accusing me of stealing his date. Odd, I was chatting with the two of them, zero ulterior motive. I dunno, she seemed to be enjoying herself hanging out with the three of us, but he decided to call it and take her with him. There was some older British/American lady who ended up bringing over her entourage to all hang out. It was fantastic. They were all so friendly and she was a fun, punchy artist with a starfucker streak. She was telling us where to go to meet Mike Judge, his favourite bar wasn’t from our Air BnB. Then she casually mentioned knowing Richard Linklater and my brain kind of broke. She offered to take us all fo a drive out of Austin central if we wanted, to get barbecue at this great place just outside town. It felt like a super genuine offer. Her husband was super into architecture and told me about this place called Soane House to check out on my impending London holiday. We were having a fucking blast, then decided to hip hop on out of there and off to a dance night at a messy student bar. 10/10, exactly the kind of night I wanted.

I guess it’s worth mentioning my travel companions. They’re a couple and honestly, I fucking adore them. They’re excellent to travel with. We’re all pretty easy going and there’s a pervasive atmosphere of “greenlighting” going on. If anyone ever wants to have an experience, the rest of us do what we can to accommodate them and make that experience happen. We’re all close enough that we can speak honestly and bluntly if need be. We’re having good emotional check ins and helping to facilitate everyone enjoying their holiday to the max (like we used to back in the 90s. Remember taking things to the max? It was radical). They’re both sharp as a tack, witty and clever. He has this natural gift with words and they both have immense emotional aptitude. She’s a comic and they’re both unbelievably funny. We’re all just doing bits and callbacks constantly. It’s absurd. Tossing out malafors and messing with protracted idioms, it’s getting gloriously bizarre. Holy fuck am I ever happy right now.

More than anything, my stomach’s dreams are coming true constantly. Yesterday we had the best tacos I’ve had in my life. One was a shrimp taco slathered in proprietary fish sauce. The other was a diabolically hot jerk chicken and mango one. Here in Austin there’s a taco spot on every block. Some have several. Torchy’s Tacos have set a high bar. Let’s see if anything’s gonna clear it. I also think my central character development through the trip is gonna be understanding and setting my own limitations. I think I discovered one of those boundaries at a bakery yesterday. I was taken by this enormous and elaborate Cookie Monster concoction. It was constructed of two chocolate chip cookies with a large dollop of whipped cream in between. The top was adorned with what I assumed was some kind of blue fondant, but happened to be more whipped cream. Enough to make the word “excessive” an understatement. I assumed Cookie Monster’s eyes would be marshmallows or something. NOPE. More whipped cream. I was a whirling dervish of stray blue cream, which got fucking everywhere. My hands were stained, my teeth discoloured and my tongue looked like a giraffe’s. It was brutal. Blue-tal? I knew it was too much before I bought it. I was certain it was too much when I set it down in front of me. The first bite assured me I was making a mistake. The beard full of blue whipped cream only brought it home. Before I even finished the first cookie I knew I’d feel awful if I proceeded further. Not having anything to prove, I should’ve quit while I was ahead. Being me, of course I didn’t. I had so much fucking sugar that I felt like a total mess. Underslept, overfed and wired on coffee, I was trash incarnate. It was wonderful.

This morning my poo was a toxic forest green. I think Cookie Monster may have impregnated me with a weird alien foetus. Hey, we’re in Austin. The city motto is “Keep Austin Weird.” I’m only following the imperative.