thirty-six degrees sunday morning

sunday, february 3rd

remember those glorious times when you could sleep in and miss noon? or waking up to the wicked smell of homemade pancakes exuding from the kitchen? i don't. in the household i grew up in, my parents did not know how to make pancakes and if they experiemented it, the results bred a naturalized strong aversion for cooked flat cakes. my dislike persisted for years, until recently, one hazy morning my mother and i made an expedition to the blueberry cafe, located on sixth street in downtown santa monica. there, devouring a large plate of fresh blueberry pancakes, a mini-epiphany hit me like a storm. all along, i had been resisting pancakes because nobody knew how to make good ones we would actually eat. now a new culinary obsession has sprawn. the world is free to join me on my excursions for scrumptious pancakes.

life is a functional metaphor

friday, february 1st

my pitas has been rotting in dust for many months and i would have not come back to retrieve my memories except mix.eccentrica.org decided to stop hosting websites. now my archives are lost in cyberspace for good and i am beyond irriated. what's worse, my zine materials seemed to have been displaced too. i've no time to pull out my hair over this; there is sweet ancient greek literature to read and friends to mingle with and restaurant cultures to indulge in. but, first the shiitake mushroom rolls from dinner need to be digested properly and the running black mascara & liquid purple eyeshadow must be washed off from my face with moisturizing soap. good night, loves.