Saturday, October 22


harvest is 16.
that's a thing now.
oh, well, maybe i'm understating that just a bit.
my daughter,
is sixteen years old.
in a row. of yesterday.
i have a sixteen year old kid.
that means were both getting too old for our own good.
and her with a newly nabbed learners' permit, to boot.
we love celebrating.
me and mine will always find a reason to rock some party time,
and this was especially special-
so i was down there, in the unpredictably wet and windy weather
of weak-sauce connecticut
for a firsthand fresh-to-death faceful of all the festivities.
what's more,
i even made a cake for the kid.
since nobody else gives half a F* about vegan food,
if i want a slice of berfday cheer, it's up to me to create it for everybody.
so i did just that,
and you know something else?
it looks like this:

pretty good, right?
two brown sugary vanilla bean circles,
with pudding-ish tapioca and vanilla in-the-mix,
for a thick and soft and deep and decadent crumb
the likes of which will be raved about for ages,
or until maple's berfday, when i do this sh!t all over again.
because that's what i DO, duders.
i make things, and i bake things, and i break things.
in this case,
i also crafted a batch of blarpity raspberry compote,
complete with lemon zest, juice, extract, and more vanilla.
plus a little kapowdered sugar to cut the tangy tartness just a baby bit.
i squished that, exxxtra-thick, between the cakes,
and frosted the holy F* out of it with lemon creachee' frosting,
lemon-raspberry creamchee' frosting,
raspberry-lemon-creamchee' frosting,
and orange-lemon icing.
because when you're finally sixteen,
too much is the right amount.
which explains the seasonal autumn-hued sugar sprankles.
MORE is better.
connecticut, man.
on the whole, it's just not what i'm lookin' for in a place,
new haven really IS one heck of a sexy city.
too bad i don't feel like i fit in there.
i wanna, for sure.
i mean,
there's so much to recommend itself to the warrior poet in me.
the congestion, and the embellished opinions of the academically privileged
and economically elite of the central downtown grid,
leave a whole lot to be desired.
actually, to be fair,
all the people kind of leave me feeling like there's something lacking,
from the street-peeps talking to themselves,
the college joggers,
the bus stop blarps,
and the beggary change-grubbers,
i wasn't feeling like i was in my element.
give me a lonely home in the lonelier mountains,
with an oven,
and awful animal companion,
and some flour,
and i think i've found my niche.
it's important to find out where you DON'T belong,
so you can appreciate the places where you're tolerated, at least a little.
i'm beat.
i'm sick.
i've been up all night, every night,
coughing up a storm, and sweating my face off.
nothing screams berfday party like a barking seal in my throat.
i'm beat up, but i'm back in bartlett, where i ostensibly belong.
i'm headed to bed, where sleep is unlikely,
but coughing is assured.
i'm happy to have had the experience,
but i'm just as happy to head upstairs;
never quiet, never soft.....

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