fireworks.

fireworks?
nah.
that ain't me, friends.
i mean,
sure,
explosions in the sky are super rad,
but,
the thing of it is-
the press of people, the sounds, sights, and smells,
that coalesce as collateral incidences of incipient insipidity?
no thanks.
that's just a little more america than i can handle these days.
seriously,
i'm wondering where the train jumped the tracks,
or at what song the needle skipped off the record,
but lately,
when it comes to going places, or doing stuff?
nothing seems much fun anymore to me.
y'know?
oh,
for certain,
i still love treats, and pizza, and making grandiose and terrific meals,
and i still feel a deep-rooted to work as hard as i ever have, every freakin' day,
and i even continue to learn about practically-inapplicable skills
with a fervor and determination that sort of implies monomaniacal fixation.
and i'm steady representing singular focus to the exclusion of all other distractions...
but those are compulsions, guys.
not elective enjoyments.
ugh.
i feel a firmly-ingrained 'EW' at the prospect of going out into the wide world,
leaving behind the drafty, creaky corridors of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
and entering into activities with he express purpose of having fun.
which really begs the question:
when did i become an actual miserable grumpy old hermit?
hahaha.
but, for real, though.
it's not that i don't do stuff,
i just don't do fun stuff.
for instance-
did i enjoy an $11 cigar, on an hourlong car ride through the rolling hills
of the white mountains, after a half-day of doo-doo buttery work at the studio?
i did.
did i watch an episode of my favorite british murder mystery detective series
in a semi-unpatriotic display of couch-potatohood?
yep.
and most importantly,
dis i make an amazingly massive monster meal,
for me and my beautiful bestie, amber?
you bet your sweet A* i did.
that's what's up, in real time, in the real world.
believe me.
instead of fun,
i got fat on gluttonous gargantuan sandwich time,
and i'll tell you what, neighbors-
i really enjoyed firing it into my fat F*ing face
far more than any skyward glittersparks could have ever incited.
maybe i'm gross,
but maybe i'm also playing to my strengths.
that's always been a thing, hasn't it?
stay ugly, stay dope,
and stay steady rocking it at the stovetop.
rules is rules, forever and ever.
what did i make that took precedence over communal holiday spirit?
i made some burly burgers,
and mutha-lickin' waffler fries.
check the fourth-of-july-type teleport:

that's that uber-fattie-boombattie barbarian bean burger business, b!tches!!
i only experienced fireworks in my mouth, kids.
thickness is my weakness.
i need it,
i want it,
i create and cultivate it.
look at it before the foldover compressed all those layers into one masterpiece:

c'mon, friends.
that's a monster, and it's mine all mine all mine.
the burgers have got all the spices,
and alllllll the garlic,
with sauteed red onions, chick peas, cashews,
olive oil, chopped fresh parsley, and heaps of cracked black pepper.
those jauns got vegan-butter-fried on both sides,
for crawnch and smoosh in equal measure.
yuuuuup.
served on a flatbread of my own creation,
prepared with penultimate ingredients in perfected ratios,
for the finest in edible wrapper action.
mmmhmmm.
i can get pretty expert when i want to.
plus,
that slaw is the way of the future...
shredded cabbage, carrot, radish, parsley, and cilantro, slapped up with vegenaiase,
and dosed with black pepper....
guys,
it's just so crisp, i can't stop myself from eating it on my sandwich, AND as a side.
i always want more of any good thing,
especially if i can destroy it with my teeth.
pea tendrils, and thick sliced fresh tomato,
with thin rings of red onion, plenty of pickles, a few jalapenos,
and some sriracha for exxxtra-hottness.
ketchup?
yuck.
no thanks-
that's what poor people do.
and that's not invited to my makeout parties.
like i said,
nothing seems much fun anymore to me,
but,
food is my creative outlet,
and food is what i want to be making all the time.
it's what i do, when i do what i do.
i stridently avoid all the rest.
yep.
it IS a hard style,
and it makes for unbearably long days and even longer nights,
but,
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point of it.
i could pretend to be into other other stuff,
but that'd be a lie,
and i can't hang out with that.
what i've got. are true stories about eating food and not liking much.
anything else is a sales pitch;
never quiet, never soft.....