So, puns aren’t funny and are a highly archaic form of humor, right? Like, if types of jokes were represented by various life forms, puns would be prokaryotic bacteria, correct? Okay, just checking. Because I just had an idea for a novel in which a budding screen writer struggles to create witty, fast-paced dialogue for a popular variety show.
The title?
The Pursuit of Snappyness.
It has recently been brought to my attention that I have not made a blog post since the seventeenth of June, for reasons I cannot pinpoint. I wish I could say I’ve been so busy that I’ve neglected my poor wordpress dashboard like the overlooked child of a high-power business mogul, but that’s not the case, as most of my days have been spent either in photographic/culinary activities, or sitting outside and plowing through various genres of non-fiction books. (By the way, if you saw some one sitting on their porch and watching it rain, would you think they were brilliant and subdued or mentally different? I’m genuinely curious, I have questions about my own tendency to view myself in a subjective manner.)
So it’s not so much that I’m too busy to blog, it’s just that I have a hard time convincing myself that anyone cares to read about how staunchly I’ve been pursuing the perfect bokeh behind our crepe merdle shrubs, or how I’ve very nearly wrapped my brain around the concept of quark charges (thanks DK visual encyclopedias, it’s been real.)
I’m also not a fan of repetitiveness; I get bored easily, so the concept of simply posting a new dessert recipe every day seems mundane and dull to me, and besides, all of the recipes I use can be found elsewhere on the interwebs- I suppose I could spice up the recipes a little, but I doubt my pallet is yet refined enough to venture into the realm of culinary experimentation (enchilada radish ice cream, anyone?)
I’m going to stop talking about the various reasons I ignore my blog now (like my unerring desire to complicate everything, even internet journals), because I tend to spiral into existentialism fairly easily (as if I even know what that entails), especially when I’ve been reading books about physics; “Why don’t I blog?” can quickly veer into the lane of “Why do we, as beings, do anything?” And I don’t think anyone is not annoyed by that level of pretentiousness from seventeen-year-old, so this is where I stop and post lovely pictures from our Independence Day festivities.
So, I haven’t updated in half a fortnight (or a week, or what have you) mostly due to, I don’t know, being completely scatterbrained and losing perspective and focus on the important things in life, i.e. dying my hair pink and baking stuff.
Recipe for crust and homemade sauce after the cut. Read the rest of this entry »
At this particular moment, as I am running on a cup of yogurt and absolutely nothing else, I have little to put into this post, excluding pictures. Suffice it to say that I am extremely proud of this cake, considering the fact that it’s my first actual attempt at a tiered fondant number. I got asked, based on my prevous sugar cookie contributions, to create something Mary Engelbreit-inpired for our local Children’s Librarian, who is relocating to south Louisiana…I think I pulled it off pretty well.
In the act of making these cookies, you are putting yourself at risk to eat them til you die. You’ve been warned.
Here’s the deal: every now and then I develop a touch of the crazies. These bouts of insanity are sporadic and often short-lived, but we must remember that mental stability is like a game of Jinga- it takes a simple action and a matter of seconds to turn it into a heap of wooden blocks on the coffee table.
I guess that analogy kind of got away from me.
Anyway, with that in mind, I have to wonder if venturing to paint my bedroom an eggplantish (which my spell check keeps trying to convince me is not a word) would essentially be removing the critical block from the tower. Ambitious projects such as this, a product of my temporary fits of almost crippling over-confidence, usually end in one of two scenarios:
1) I complete said project with ease and am rewarded with an unparalleled sense of accomplishment (and possibly a newly purple room.)
2) The project goes slightly awry, and I lose confidence in my ability to do pretty much everything. I spiral pretty easily in that direction when it comes to creative pursuits.
It doesn’t help matters that I tend to go forth into these kind of things with a somewhat reckless abandon- Instruction manuals? Who needs ‘em?! Rubber gloves? Come now, hydrofluoric acid couldn’t possibly be that harmful! I don’t enjoy taking my time with things. When I start something, I tend to want it done more than I want to do it right. Which accounts for 90% of my lack of success in such projects, and the subsequent questioning of my own abilities.
However, once I decide I’m going to try something, there’s very little convincing, by myself or anyone else, that it’s a terrible idea. So if I’m not heard from for a few weeks, no worries; I’m most likely just curled up in a fetal position in the middle of my bedroom floor, covered in purple latex paint and sobbing uncontrollably.
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