the other disco
Years ago I was vaguely seeing a girl who was full of opinions and advice
and homespun wisdom, only it was all fairly questionable and generally
didn’t hold up under scrutiny, but everyone paid it lip service because
she had an air of bone-deep insight. Here’s an example: we were at a party
(we were always at parties, more parties than I’ve been to before or
since) and she said “A kitchen should be minimal; a meal made from every
foodstuff on hand should still taste good, because all of its ingredients
taste good seperately”, and everyone nodded as though this was a logical
thing to say, but I had been with her for a month or so, and was wise to
her little ruse. This would mean that during my dire college days, when
the only things in my kitchen were hot sauce and vodka, I was a better
person than I am now, with a healthy collection of items which simply
can’t be blended into some sort of tasty culinary variant on jungle juice.
Eggplant, for instance, does not go with everything. Wasabi does no go
with everything. This topic was the first of my arguments with her, which
I had attempted to hold off for as long as possible, as this was during
one of my short-lived “I have to be a proper adult and go to dinner
parties and drink wine and wear suits” phases, all of which required I
have a clever and well-networked girlfriend, but for fuck’s sake, there’s
only so much one can take.
(12:26.05.19.2005) [/scrytch] #