Today I made some really delicious chicken and vegetable soup. I am blown away, because I always thought my mom's was somehow magical. Every other chicken soup disappointed me. Now I made one for the first time, without a recipe, and it kind of tastes like my mom's. I guess it's genetic.
My theory is that she doesn't use many onions, because my dad doesn't like them. I was out of onions. So it's mostly a celery and carrot and potato soup. Delicious.
a lady who seemed cute and cool contacted me on that dating website. Then as I read her profile/answers to questions my mouth slowly widened until my jaw unhinged like a boa constrictor of terror. So many red flags. So scary. So sad.
Today I read
this collection of short comics and felt like all of modern fiction and comic-ry is trash. What we've lost with the "write what you know" mantra is any sense of the drama of the lives of everyday people who aren't writers or comic book writers. These short stories were all about window cleaners, failed businessmen, sewer department laborers... only one has a comic artist in it. Each one is a portrait of a real human having a real problem (not one is about an angsty writer with glasses who pines for the cute girl at school). It has been a long time since I have had an ideological belief about art, but lately I think that it's only real art if it gives you a tiny goddamn bit of sympathy or insight into the life of another human. When I read a little comic book some Japanese guy wrote fifty years ago and it reminds me of that mean girl at work, and I feel a little less anger towards her, that's real art. Normally I am interested in things that have no meaning whatsoever, so I am feeling pretty blown away.
Edit: fixed link because original website was sold out.