An Unfunny Hiatus Message

Sorry guys, but I might as well put my blog on indefinite hiatus.

I have reached what I normally refer to in my diaries as the "Spring Panic".
Where other people get overly depressed and anxious during winter and then blossom into beautiful flowers when the sun comes, I freak the fuck out during spring; I spend my time productively by flopping around on the floor crying maniacally and becoming increasingly paranoid about social interactions and interpersonal relationships.
Don't worry, this is completely normal for me, and will hopefully pass around June, where it will be replaced by "Summer Apathy" (which will make way for "Autumn Hopefulness" and then "Winter Ennui").

The sudden realization that "final exhibition" actually does mean "final exhibition" and that there will be people, living breathing judging people, looking at shit I've created and I have to be there to take in their real-time reactions, is giving me the creeps.
Also the fact that where I before didn't care too much about my grades because fuck it I wasn't going to make it as an artist anyway, I now actually want to get a decent grade in case I ever want to do an MA in comics. Which I guess I do, but it depends if I get the funds for it? And if I'm even cut out for it? I am very confused. Existential crisis ahoy! And this time I don't have excessive amounts of caffeine to help me overcome it.

So while I have two blog posts written out (they are named "Changing Habits" and "Why Exercise Sucks (In The Beginning)", just so you know), I can't with good consciene type it in and work on the pictures for them when I have a PDP portfolio and a visual diary and an artist statement and a final project and an exibition to prepare for.
I will get back to it, maybe slowly work on it during breaks for my other stuff.

But for now, I'm really sorry. But there's too many balls in the air for me to handle.
Make your own (a)sexual innuendo for that.

Cooking Is My Dump Stat

Let’s get this out of the way: I am no cook.



I knew I would eventually have to brave the desolate wasteland that is my culinary expertise, making something more complicated than bread and more bread.

Breakfast of champions.

I do like the IDEA of cooking. Every so often I get a rush of gastronomic inspiration, where I become completely convinced of my own genius.
I rush out in desperate glee, buying turmeric and anchovies and rice noodles under the false assumption that somehow, SOMEHOW, my ability to transform raw ingredients into dinner will have magically improved since last time.
Spoiler alert: it never has.

So instead I end up with what I can only assume regurgitated rarebit looks like, and I vow to never again venture into the kitchen for anything other than milk and spying on the neighbours.



But this week was DIFFERENT. Now I had a goal. A purpose. I would make dinner, and I would make dinner for greater good. There would be epics sung in the honour of this dinner. Women would swoon. Yes, there would be a lot of swooning.

The Dream

But first I would need supplies.
I got some good recipes from my veggie friend as well as my newly acquired cookbooks.
Of course, reading these were a challenge in and of itself, since the preferred language of cooks seem to be mystical runes written down as dictated by a three year old with a limited, but inventive, vocabulary.



I chose two formulas for the week (a simple vegetable soup and a slightly harder Moroccan fish dish) and ventured fourth into civilized society to steal their edibles.

I quickly acquired a deep, passionate love for the local organic food store. It had everything that I needed that could not be found in other stores.



After buying spices and ninety different kinds of beans, I was ready to tackle the fiery pits of our kitchenette.



Yeah, okay, I still couldn’t cook.
But the purpose behind my actions were still evident. There were fewer “oh well I’m sure teaspoon and spoonful is the same thing there’s no way this is going to come back and bite me in the ass later”. Not as many “I’m sure it’s supposed to look like that”. And surely a lot less of “oh well I’m only here for the dead animal anyway”.



But in the end I managed to feed myself without dying, so I count this week a success.


Victory!

Tune in on Saturday when I go up against my greatest nemesis: exercise.

A Last Chance To Binge

My brain didn’t take the knowledge of the upcoming health-challenge well. In a last desperate attempt of killing me with clogged arteries, I came down with a heavy case of what pregnant women often refer to as “holy fucking shit if I don’t get this food RIGHT NOW I am going to murder everyone”, with my chosen food being chicken (and also ice cream).



Oh, chicken.

I’m pretty sure chicken is the best meat. I don’t have the hard science on this but it’s one of those things that you don’t need science to know. You can make everything with chicken and it’ll be instantly better. Except ice cream. Or maybe chicken ice cream? Japan probably has chicken ice cream. It’s the kind of thing Japan would have.

Oh Japan. You never disappoint.

Japanese candy traditions aside, I have finally entered the first of my (hopefully) many weeks of not having health that sucks on toast. I have collected an impressive array of fancy meat-free recipes,

And now two weeks have passed, and I’m quickly running out of things to put into porridge.



See, unlike my previous assumption, finding recipes for lunch, dinner and gallant 40-course restaurant dishes is no big deal. With my trusted internet at hand there is no food that can’t be found. Anything. Hell, I found a recipe for elephant soup. For those pesky big family reunions, I guess.

But finding quick, everyday “heat up and push into mouth” nourishment was surprisingly difficult.
I am used to a slightly different mindset.



I could, I suppose, start using porridge and cup noodles as a substitute, but that kind of obliterates the purpose of being healthy to begin with.
Luckily for me, though, I actually have people on the Internets who love small woolly creatures enough to support me in my venture of not devouring them.

The first thing I learned was that I would have to put away my suspicions of canned and frozen food. Apparently it’s completely ok to use them and still stay healthy. Indeed, having canned beans, lentils and vegetables means easier preparation, and you won’t have to go shopping every three minutes because lettuce is a dumb peen that rots faster than fuck.



Also there are frozen hash browns. Hash browns are boss.

So I survived! Now I have many a thing to put on porridge. And toast. But also some things I can eat that aren’t porridge and toast.

Join me in my next blog entry where I tackle the next challenge: making proper food.