Thursday, August 28, 2003

The idea was to fade away into the mist, gently, tenderly, at least for two weeks or so.  To spend my evening and mornings serenely eating dietetic bon bons and contemplating the zen of Julia. But you know, do not go quietly and all that. I will first dispense with the more legitimate reasons for my premature reappearance.  First off, y’all should know, I guess, that I will likely show up on the CBS Early Show at some point Friday morning.  I don’t know when, or even if – I’m taping today.  For all I know it could be an elaborate ruse, and a mob from Celebration, Florida is going to bundle me into an unmarked white van with tin foil in the windows and beat me silly before throwing me into a ditch with a bar of soap stuffed into my mouth.  But I have no reason to think this is the case.  I should know better by the end of the day, I’ll let you know. Secondly, for any interested Aussies out there, it seems that I will be on ABC radio at 11 am on Friday morning Australia Time.  (Is there only one Australia time?  I have no clue.)  Go figure. Most important, I would like to thank all of you who left your congratulations and well-wishes.  A year after I began this thing, and I’m still baffled by the support and undeserved affection I gotten from so many wonderful people.  I don’t understand it.  I’m a little disconcerted by it.  But it’s lovely. Since I’m here, and lest you all think I’ve moved on to some higher astral plane, I figured I’d tell you about my night last night. So here’s the deal: The predicted rest and relaxation has not yet shown its face.  On Tuesday night, Eric went to a going-away party for someone at his work, and I was taken to dinner by some Very Important People.  Thursday morning, I was to go to on The Early Show, and though I had dug in my heels at the prospect of cooking on TV (I have not yet progressed far enough with the Zen of Julia that I could contemplate enduring the humiliation that something of that nature would doubtless entail) I had promised to make a little something to bring on the show.  So no problem, I thought.  I’ll pick an easy little something, and another easy little something, and Eric and I will while away the evening in quiet, dietetic bliss. But I forgot a couple of key realities: 1)      The extent to which work can suck away your lifeforce, especially when you have to stay late; 2)      I had to call the Australian radio station; and 3)      There is no such thing as an easy stir fry. I didn’t get home until almost eight.  I was already fucking exhausted.  I was in the midst of trying on the clothes I’d bought in a panic during my lunch hour when I realized I didn’t have anything to wear on The Early Show because a) I’ve gotten so fucking fat, and b) I haven’t done dry cleaning in weeks, when the phone rang.  It was the Australian radio station.  Instead of answering the phone, I just stood in front of the answering machine and threw a most-diva-like fit.  “Can’t you fucking people leave me alone for one fucking second?!!!!  Can’t I have ONE evening when I’m not talking to some fucking reporter or being interviewed by some Australian at nine o’clock at fucking night or baking some fucking French fucking thing for some TV show where they don’t even really give a shit what I’m doing or answering emails on my shitty-ass dial-up internet connection that kicks me off every goddamned second?!!!  Huh?!!  And why is it so goddamned HOT in here???!!!!!!!!” I am not proud of this outburst.  I’m a little embarrassed, actually.  But in the interest of ruthless honesty, I report it.  When I had calmed down a bit (aided in this effort by an opportune call from my mother), I called the Australian guy, who was very nice and good to chat with and we settled the time for the interview Thursday evening at nine.  Then I started to make dinner and, simultaneously, the dish for the next morning’s TV show. So started with my doing the dish for the next day while Eric started with dinner.  Once I’d done that, which was fairly easy, I joined him. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking with dinner.  I had decided to make a stirfry of shrimp and corn and ginger and stuff.  So that meant cleaning shrimp (Eric did that, bless him), peeling the strings out of sugar snap peas (Eric did that too), peeling and mincing ginger (that I did), mincing garlic (me again), dicing red peppers (Eric), slicing green onions (me), and shucking corn before cutting it off the cob.  It was this last that melted me down for the second time that night.  Getting the silk off the corn became simply more than I could handle.  That plus I realized that shrimp was meant to marinate for an hour.  My meltdown this time consisted of desperated, hiccupping desolate sobs.  I was a Dickensian orphan.  I was pathetic.  Eric managed to calm me down enough to sniffle to a stop and say Fuck Marination. This whole evening, while trying to make dinner, I kept referring to the MtAoFC that was open on the counter, as if it was going to give me the answers.  But it doesn’t have them all. So, you know the stir fry was okay.  But we had to open the wine, thus putting off my diet for another day, and goddamn, I sure do wish I could eat before 10:00 at night some night. We’re not going to D.C. this weekend – we have to wait until the next, as our lives turn out.  I am sorry.  But I will be there next week, I swear to god, butter in hand.   7:53:16 AM    comment []