It has always been so very easy to distract me. I am distractible. I could be in the middle of an intense discussion, but if something shiny flashes by, I am lost. R Man, god love him, dealt with these blips in my concentration by simply ignoring whatever side quest I had drifted off on and directed me back to the actual point.
A concrete example of this charming quirk of mine came up yesterday as I was unloading the groceries I had ordered. All the ingredients for the hummus I was planning on cranking out were there, but then I found that I had absent-mindedly also ordered a separate small tub of pre-made hummus. So now here is the dilemma we face, the pre-made will only last so long before it goes bad, whereas the ingredients for my homemade are shelf stable for quite a while. On the other hand, my homemade version is just better. Sorry, I don't make the rules. Also didn't I order some bread? Where's the fucking bread? Safeway, do better.
UPDATE: so I went with the pre-made, because, again, I don't want to waste it, plus it was sitting there ready to go. Duh. It was very tasty, but man, the garlic to chickpea ratio was really skewed towards the garlic end of the spectrum. Anybody downwind from me for the next couple of days is going to regret it. I smell like a Greek commuting hour in the middle of the summer. Yeesh.
Speaking of chowing down on the shrubbery, Diane von Austinburg shares with us that her doctor has encouraged her to increase her fiber intake. Diane is a vegetarian and already consumes more fiber then the average goat. As told her, she would have to start swallowing gravel like a chicken to have any more fiber inside her. I think doctors just have a pat set of recommendations they push on everyone, sort of reflexively. Eat more fiber, drink more water, exercise more, get better sleep. You can show up with a broken leg, and somewhere in your interaction with the medical community someone will tell you at least one of those.
I, for one, am happy to ignore all of them. I have never worried about a single one of those points and yet I am here as a cranky old man in perfectly okay health. Most of my adult life involved excessive sex, generous amounts of recreational drugs, and the most indolent lifestyle that wasn't actually comatose. I have actually always drunk a lot of water, but I think that's because growing up on the Gulf Coast meant I sweated so much it was just a reflex.
I look at cats as a role model in this. They have the world at their paws. In the most sullen, aloof manner possible, they get all their needs met and yet still somehow manage to seem annoyed. Cats have got the world figured out.
- They sleep more than they are awake
- They eat whenever they want to
- They have an army of queer men at their beck and call
I could easily see myself as a cat, except I don't want to lick my own butthole. Aside from that, I would totally be down with the feline lifestyle. I would start pooping in a box tomorrow, but I don't have anybody to scoop it out. On the other hand, I live in San Francisco where finding some sex freak who would be into that could not be that difficult. Let me check on that and I'll get back to you.
Speaking of pussy:
