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Friday, Jun. 21, 2002 / 7:22 p.m. ~Reading, a Sensual Pleasure~ I am overeating my way through my Chinese leftovers, noting that in this batch of Garlic Chicken I actually taste delightful flavors, a bite of ginger here, large slice of onion there, and then one of those whole garlic cloves, and this is real food, not like the "Americanized" Chinese food I find out here in the 'burbs. I'm so glad I got this takeout last night. I devoured the Stuffed Tofu for lunch, and finished it just now after work, not even bothering to re-heat, just cold from the styrofoam, dipped in the sauce, partially gelatinized from being refrigerated (I heated said sauce at lunch, but after work didn't take the time, simply dove right in). My senses are happy. I've been up and down all day. Very happy after lunch, re-entering the building amidst a fine and constant breeze, comparing the sensation to lying on the bow of our sailboat when I was a teenager, but without the water, the waves, the smell of the lake. Then I had an encounter with Lulu back at work, and it was so puzzling, yet so typical, and it reminded me of the grudge I forgot to hold against her, and I put on my headphones the rest of the day, intermittently trying to connect with Mark at his job, trying to talk to him in spite of the "Circus" atmosphere in my department. It was good, it was awful, I made my own moods, I overcame, I was in charge, it was my mind over my body, over my emotions, it was me forcing me to have a good time. And I read. I love to read. I LOVE TO READ. I love to write. I love memoirs, I love diaries, I loved books like 7 Tattoos, by Peter Trachtenberg, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, by Dave Eggers, Pack of Two, by Caroline Knapp, My Cat Spit McGee, by Willie Morris, Move On, by Linda Ellerbee, Kitchen Confidential, by Anthony Bourdain, and etc., and etc. too, all memoirs. All fascinating, wonderful reads, really. Each so very different, yet each so personal, so real, if embellished at author's discretion..... And I've always wanted to start the MFK Fisher books I have, and any other books by food writers, chefs, critics, so today I started Comfort Me With Apples, by Ruth Reichl, a book recommended heartily by the Quality Paperback Book Club, of which I am a devoted long time member. And it is so good I wanted to swallow it whole, but knew I had to chew slowly and savor each bite. First of all, it's written by a woman, and she's my kind of woman, she's honest, yet opinionated, not afraid to admit to her shortcomings, not afraid in general, from a liberal and eccentric background, a lover of food and cooking and writing, and desirous of sharing what she's learned. Perfect. I was so involved in reading this book at work that I had to stop just to log off my PC and leave. I wanted to just sit there in my cube all night reading. I was comfy and cozy, with my headphones on, my book, my bottle of water. Leaving was a hassle. But I'm glad I'm home. Then I log on to my home PC to find email from Jon, and he's begun to tell me what I've asked, he's skimmed the surface, and it's this: I haven't had time to answer your questions, but will offer this brief reply: I do not find a woman who shows interest in me unattractive. This happens so infrequently that it catches my eye regardless, and I feel complimented. What attracts or doesn't attract me comes prior to this, I guess, and is more closely tied to who she is than to how she expresses herself. Strong interest expressed can, of course, become awkward depending upon circumstances. E.g., if you friend's boyfriend showed you a lot of interest, you would most likely NOT find that attractive. And all I see is the part that says he is not attracted to "who I am", and this angers me, saddens me, puzzles me, and makes me want to reach over and grab him around his neck and scream at him, "But you don't even fucking KNOW who I am, you idiot!!!!!" All at once I wanted to be back in my cubicle reading about Ruth Reichl in Paris with her first Food Editor, falling in love, drinking Krug champagne and eating truffe en croute! I wanted to be listening to the Blues show on the college radio station, my feet curled under me, reading an actual book. For months I've fallen behind in my subscription to Entertainment Weekly, months. And it's a Weekly, as is indicated by its name. So I keep getting a new copy in my mailbox, every Friday, yet I've not prepared myself, not finished the last issue, for months. And this week I zipped through at least 4 issues, cover to cover, at work. Yes, at work. I've shut Lulu out, I've heard her incessant yakking invade its way into my ears past my headphones, but I've persevered, and I've conquered the Great Weekly Magazine Subscription!!! For now. So, it's books, books, books, and I am surrounded by them, used to only seeing their spines on the shelves, the dust accumulated on the shelf edges, thinking how I need to dust, I need to clean, and on top of that, I want to READ all these books, get off the PC, away from the TV, and READ, READ, READ, and at work there is nothing but time to do just that. And be paid. Such is life. I've put Jon aside. For now. I don't know his game yet, and I don't want to know, but I will anyway, I will figure it out, and he will make himself matter in my life, just when I've put him aside. I taste garlic and onions and ginger in my mouth, a bite or two left in my bowl. Ma Po Tofu still left over. And a menu for another local Chinese Restaurant on my door when I got home. They actually list Ma Po Tofu as a choice. The place I went last night does not. And I love that, ordering "off the menu", because I know what it is. And one day I'll make it, because I collect cookbooks, you know, and I have several recipes for it. It's very basic, shouldn't be too hard...... I'm off to read more. Diaries first, then Ruth and her adventures in food. I aspire to write as well as she. I love her style, absolutely. Hah! A new favorite author!!! Let me quote some lines I marked with purple post-its: I watched us as if we were strangers, kissing and laughing on the Metro, incapable of keeping our hands off each other. I envied us, even as I lived it. We were the people everyone smiles at. It wouldn't last. This was the least sensible thing I had ever done in my life. "I envied us, even as I lived it" - I love that. And this that someone says to her: "Being with you is just like being by myself. Only better." She is an incredibly sensual person, very passionate and in a way I don't want to read any more of this book, because then I will devour it, and it will be gone. Like a box of your favorite cookies, it can be best just to know they're in your cupboard, waiting if you want them, and you know how orgasmic it will be to eat them, but once you start you may not be able to stop, and then they will be gone. But you got them on your last trip to Paris and you know you can't take any more time off work this year so you can't get back, and they come only from that one little shop off the beaten path, no online catalog, no way to order from overseas.....they're precious. Why did Jon tease me with a slight response? After telling me the name of his detergent, but not the dryer sheet? A little bit at a time, baiting me, still, and is this simply his style? I must go, but knowing me and how I feel lately, I may be back later. Oh, Norma sat here on my lap earlier, smelled my armpit and buried her face there for a moment. She loves my body odor. Especially Secret "Ambition"-free........ and I love her odor as well. Eau De Norm. Cost of the War in Iraq
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