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Tuesday, Feb. 25, 2003 / 7:08 p.m. ~On My Future In Publishing, and Bacon~ Okay, the bacon in the Moby dream (see previous entry) was not some mad fabrication of a demented mind, there was a concrete reason it figured in the dream, though why it mixed itself up with Moby is a bit of a puzzle. Of course, dreaming about Moby is a joy, it's the one time I can turn fantasy into temporary 'reality', yet it's not purposeful either. Dreaming is not purposeful, it's an active mind in a restful state. Seems the mind requires this 'restful state' to be its most active. I got a notice in the mail yesterday that I had a package at the leasing office, and I figured it was the latest cookbook I ordered from The Good Cook, a 'book club' for cookbook enthusiasts. Not that I NEED another cookbook, but I'm a collector, I love to collect things, all sorts of things, mostly books, music, videos, refrigerator magnets, business cards, buttons (especially political), and cat art. Not cutesy, dressed in Victorian garb cat art, but cats in art cat art. And stuffed animals, but only certain stuffed animals, and calendars, and certain Hot Wheels, and Happy Meal toys, and don't get me started on the Teeny Beanie Babies, and when will they ever do THAT again?! Mine are all still packaged, thank you. So, for me to purchase a new cookbook it must be unique. Preferably 'single subject', examples being my olive oil cookbook, or the one on couscous, or mushrooms, or the one on solely portobello mushrooms. There's always broccoli, potatoes, corn, garlic (I have several just on garlic), risotto, hamburger, steak, bread, pastry, mangoes, it goes on and on, and I figure by now I have well over 350 cookbooks, some really unique. It has to be special for me to buy it, as most likely I already have it in one version or another, and a better version. I even have the supposed first cookbook ever written, by Apicius. But that's debatable, not whether I have it, I do, but whether it's the first written. I have Chinese, Vietnamese, Korean, Thai, Pacific Northwest, Middle Eastern, vegetarian, Southwestern, Mexican, and again, it goes on and on. And many are autographed. Many of the authors I met, many hands I shook, and many books I shelved and stacked and stowed whilst working at the bookstore..... where I was actually manager of the cookbook section. It all makes sense now, doesn't it? My desire to own recipes and cookbooks goes back farther than that though. But my point, and I do have one, is the book I just ordered, and received much quicker than the books I'd been ordering from the book club's web site, which I can no longer access now that my other computer is broken, is....... Everything Tastes Better With Bacon. Yes, an entire cookbook devoted to using bacon as an ingredient. Subtitled "70 Fabulous Recipes for Every Meal of the Day", because, as we all know, as Homer Simpson no doubt knows, bacon should be consumed with every meal of the day. I also have an Elvis Presley cookbook, a book composed of recipes for foods the King supposedly actually ate. And in it are tidbits, lore, trivia if you will, regarding his eating habits. Supposedly, according to this book, Elvis ate 1/2 pound of bacon a day. Usually. I knew I had this book waiting for me, I knew I had to drop by the leasing office again, now that I've been there so often lately, picking up my lease, asking questions about my lease, signing my lease, picking up my signed by management copy of my lease (yesterday), etc., to pick up my new book. So I naturally dreamed about bacon. Naturally. And Moby, naturally. I read his journal every day, usually. And my brother... because my subconsious likes to fuck with me. The book looks good - I picked it up today. It's published by Chronicle, which is one of my favorite cookbook publishers, if not my very favorite. They publish wonderful trade paperbacks, really well put together, great formats, nice photographs, nice stock of paper. Nice, nice, nice, and unique. Similar to Workman and TenSpeed. This was once a desire of mine, to work in publishing. I think I got talked out of it somehow. I learned, that like the best jobs, it's who you know, mixed with a lot of what you know, and although I certainly HAD connections, good ones, I no longer really do. And I think I come across as not being very needy, so people are reluctant to offer assistance, especially when it comes to networking. 'The new boy' said today that he can't believe people like me have been at our job for 5 years (five years ago this week I started as a temp), that it's insane to be saying the same things over and over on the phone every day, doing the same exact things every day, but it wasn't always this job I performed. My job has evolved over the five years, and the money is good, better than what I'd make starting out as an underling/peon at a Publishing House. And I have tried to get in, but without the college degree...... and no, I've no intention of getting one. So, I have a bacon cookbook now. There's very little I don't have. Yet I can't seem to drag myself to the store to buy food to cook. I got Chinese takeout from the buffet on my way home. It tasted old and greasy. Maybe soon I'll have energy and I'll peruse recipes, not just think about it late at night when I need to go to sleep, but sit at the dining table and plan some cooking, and shop for ingredients, and ambitiously cook Dim Sum or something. Maybe. I asked for time off yesterday, for March, and I'm excited now. There's something to look forward to. I see the days I highlighted on my Year at a Glance calendar hanging on my cube wall, and I daydream. No, 'new boy', it won't always be like this. My penance is not due to last forever, my Karmic Retribution will be worked out one day, one day before I'm too old to enjoy myself, and I will live again. In spite of my dreary cynicism I must remain hopeful and optimistic, the Cynical Optimist, I have to be, I'm an Aries. Now? I've dragged Gladys around the apt in her cardboard box with the rope attached, and she had fun, got a gleeful expression in her eyes, her mouth open, wind in her hair. I've chased Norman around too. And I've eaten my share of grease for the evening. I see the usual TV in my future, and I don't mind, it provides pleasure, a certain 'escape' from my own reality. And tonight I dream. Tomorrow it starts all over again, but slightly differently. As always. Cost of the War in Iraq
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