Sunday, October 12, 2008
Endless Pageant of Misery
I never thought I'd be glad to smell cat piss, but I am. I woke up to a nasty feline aroma this morning, but after I changed it out and the revulsion passed, I was almost giddy with happiness- I can smell things again, which means that I can taste food again!
I've been so congested that food has been flavorless and eating has been a laborious chore.
Here is a recipe from one of last week's dinners:
Allan's Flu Gruel
- cough syrup
- not enough oatmeal
- too much water
- some flour
- multi-vitamin tablets
1. Open cough syrup and throw away the plastic shot glass that comes with it. Take long swallow directly from bottle.
2. Put all the oatmeal you have into a saucepan.
3. Add too much water.
4. Boil until you can see the individual oats roiling in the milky-white water.
Notice how they look like frolicking Sea Monkeys? That's the cough syrup talking.
5. Melt some butter.
6. Use a fork to gradually stir flour into the butter until the mixture has the consistency of modeling clay.
7. Use a whisk to stir mixture into boiling oat-water. Reduce heat and stir briskly until it thickens.
8. Season to paste and serve hot with an uneasy sense of foreshadowing.
9. Dude. You are eating oatmeal gravy for supper. Think about that.
10. Use cough syrup to wash down a vitamin tablet.
I woke up early and hungry, the litterbox perfume wafting into my nostrils.
My cupboard- barren.
Must get food.
For the first year or so, my weekly radio show used to be very early on Sunday mornings, and during that period I learned that Sunday morning is the best time to shop at my local grocery. They markdown the baked goods, meats and produce late Saturday night and on Sunday you can get great deals if you get there early.
I pick up a package of onion bagels and squeeze it gently. Smell that baked oniony goodness?
Put them into the basket and continue down the aisles, stopping to sniff at the produce...I rub some fresh cilantro between my thumb and forefinger...yummmm! I love that smell. Sold!
We really do take our sense of smell for granted, I think as I shop, this is like a whole new world opening up-spices, seafood, coffee- food, glorious food. A-roma!
I'm sniffing my fingers when I hear my name. I look up and I see a very hot Rock Chick that I met at a show a few weeks ago. I'm impressed that she remembers my name and I'm happy that I remember hers. She's up and awake early in the morning which raises the odds that she is not a drunk or a junkie, two traits that are all-too common among Rock Chicks...no beer in her basket, a good sign, I think.
I catch her looking at the bananas and the bagels in my cart.
I hope she's a Freudian, I muse.
We chat about bands for a minute or two when it happens.
Something shifts in my sinuses and a stream of watery snot runs out of my nose, over my upper lip and into my mouth, which is engaged in guitar-talk .
It happens so fast that I can't stop it.
I'm gross and helpless.
Rock Chick recoils, moving her groceries protectively behind her. She offers me a Kleenex at arm's length and suddenly remembers that she has to be somewhere else. I thank her and decide against asking for her phone number.
She walks away. Her scent lingers for a moment and is gone.
I catch a whiff of failure but at least I can smell something.
Labels: one flu over the cuckoo's nest, rock chicks, stories to tell the grandchildren about the old days