I have strong feelings about ambiance. I also have strong feelings about bubble baths, chocolate, candles, and the moon. I've been called a 40 year-old housewife for this, and even though I am a strapping youth full of piss and vinegar, I didn't even mind. In fairness, that may be because the girl saying it is adorable, but it may also be because I actually don't mind being included in a clique of people who seem to be doing life right.
Anyone who denies themselves the occasional guilty pleasure is hurting themselves for no good reason. Whether it's watching The Vampire Diaries or a slice of cheesecake, the enjoyment given by occasionally indulging can buoy our spirits for an hour, a day, or a week, and whatever small loss of time or gain in waistline may occur, it's better to go through life with that buoying joy.
That's the same way I feel about ambiance. It takes almost no effort to turn out the lights and light the candles for dinner, but no one seems to do it. Same thing with bubble baths. Seriously, it's an hour of your time and it's the nicest thing to happen to your body since padding for chairs was invented. The lasting sense of satisfaction and feeling like all is right with the world(The technical name for this emotion is happy-cat-stomach) can last for the rest of the day and carry on into the next.
Sure, you can't tell your friends about it the same way you could an impressive hike or long jog. But while your friends are complaining of sore muscles and sprained ankles, you can lean back and smile. In fact, if you are truly impressive, you can do the hike or jog and THEN take the bubble bath and brag about the both of them. Seeing as most of those reading this will be college students, that's perfect for the semi-active, off-and-on rigorous lifestyle we lead.
It doesn't even need to be that much. (If it did, I'd be in trouble because I only have a shower. It's terrible. It's like watching horror movies without someone to cuddle with.) I have a set of electric candles, the rechargeable kind. Turning those on and arranging them around the room can turn something as normal as eating ice cream into a warm and fuzzy experience. You can watch them flicker as you go to sleep, like a little birdhouse in your soul. You shouldn't just take my word on this, but it's nice.
And then you have chocolate. That's an old staple.There's a reason it's seen as romantic, and everyone agrees that it's fantastic, but we tend to leave it in its tiny romantic corner. This is a mistake, like missing a class or burning the library of Alexandria. Chocolate is good at ALL times of the day or night, and it's a travesty that we don't use it more often. If you've ever had chocolate pancakes in the morning, you can begin to appreciate what I mean. Unexpected chocolate from a friend is another good example, and having a stash for more difficult days is absolutely magical. (Take it from a kid who has such a stash.) You do want to watch out when giving any out, though. People can take a gift of chocolate all sorts of wrong, and if you don't want a relationship with someone you give chocolate to, you have to make that abundantly clear. It's annoying, really.
A small change in ambiance can mark the difference between a date and a get-together, between something special and just another night. Ambiance makes times special, and why we'd choose to live a life with fewer special times in it is quite frankly beyond me. So find the small things that improve your life, and bring them out as often as you can, because our lives can always be better than they are, and this is something that can help with that.
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Revelations in the New World
Today I realized I was a college student.
Shouldn't have been a momentous thought. I mean, I've been here a month. I've fought the BYU printers and emerged victorious. I've slept through a class. I've pursued my cooking hobby with far more zeal than was probably necessary. I've done everything a college student is really supposed to do before they become an adult. But I didn't realize that until I realized that I could eat french fries, banana bread, and chocolate cereal with chocolate milk without anyone telling me I shouldn't.
It's a heady sense of freedom, especially over such a small thing. College doesn't feel drastically different from my life at home, so I guess this is just my wake-up call, telling me that I'm on my own now, and NOBODY can keep me from things I want to eat. Which feels like a wasted wake-up call, what with there being people out there who are actually struggling, but I'm not going to complain. I'm an ad-ult now, and if I decide that that means eating cereal and fries for dinner, then no one's going to stop me.
Obviously I'm not going to do this every night. I have things like "enjoying a relatively fit body" and "staying in the dating pool" to do. Plus there's people at home who would be all sorts of disappointed if I came back fat. But a man cannot survive on sourdough and grapefruit juice alone, and seeing as that's what I've been trying to accomplish over the last month, maybe it's good that I had this little wake-up call now.
Shouldn't have been a momentous thought. I mean, I've been here a month. I've fought the BYU printers and emerged victorious. I've slept through a class. I've pursued my cooking hobby with far more zeal than was probably necessary. I've done everything a college student is really supposed to do before they become an adult. But I didn't realize that until I realized that I could eat french fries, banana bread, and chocolate cereal with chocolate milk without anyone telling me I shouldn't.
It's a heady sense of freedom, especially over such a small thing. College doesn't feel drastically different from my life at home, so I guess this is just my wake-up call, telling me that I'm on my own now, and NOBODY can keep me from things I want to eat. Which feels like a wasted wake-up call, what with there being people out there who are actually struggling, but I'm not going to complain. I'm an ad-ult now, and if I decide that that means eating cereal and fries for dinner, then no one's going to stop me.
Obviously I'm not going to do this every night. I have things like "enjoying a relatively fit body" and "staying in the dating pool" to do. Plus there's people at home who would be all sorts of disappointed if I came back fat. But a man cannot survive on sourdough and grapefruit juice alone, and seeing as that's what I've been trying to accomplish over the last month, maybe it's good that I had this little wake-up call now.
Friday, January 23, 2015
It's in the Water
I've been enjoying college. There's interesting people, I get to cook my own meals, and American Heritage is not the the snarling devil-beast everyone told me it would be. I've figured out I can give my plasma to people who are quite possibly vampires for money, and that my childhood is vindicated now that Calvin and Hobbes and Joss Whedon are seen to be as awesome as they actually are. I only noticed the change after a movie night assignment for American Heritage, a 1966 movie adaptation of a play called A Man For All Seasons. Very political, very historical, and I liked it. And that's the problem.
See, I know myself well enough to know that I'm very rarely entertained by political dialog. I don't care about politics and its oh-so-shouty world. I don't care about who gets into what positions and what effects that'll have on the global everything. When I realized I was now an ad-ult and old enough to vote, I viewed my own power with fear, and I care more about my homework than who gets to be President. I'm not the kind of person to like political movies, and yet I enjoyed this one, and I think I'm beginning to understand why.
I think something is happening at this school, something dark and sinister. I think we're all caught in a web of lies and treachery that goes all the way to the top. I think only the main character and romantic interest will make it out unscathed. (I think the only way to stop it is to overuse cliches.)
I'm not naturally a happy person, and then I came here. I've been cooking my own meals with scant ingredients and constant hangups and yet it's one of the highlights of being here. American Heritage assigned me 12 pages of Locke and then said it was the wrong reading and I still don't hate the class. I'm not even mad about the persistent malfunctions of Learning Suite or that the internet router is a potato.
I think we're all slowly being brainwashed. It's the only explanation for this kind of non-hostility on my part, and the quiet happiness I can't seem to be rid of. Whether or not it's all of us, I don't know, but I can't imagine I'd be singled out. We're all victims of this conspiracy, and I'm getting out.
The only way for Them to consistently get something into my system is through the water, because my eating schedule's been anything but regular. With this in mind, the solution is clear.
If you want to make it out of here intact, only drink juice. Never boil your pasta, eat it raw. Set up filters for rainwater collection if you have to. Eat juicy fruits and never, EVER, go into the swimming pool. I can't be held responsible for the consequences if you do.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Cooking and The Dark Arts
My grandmother sent me a heretical cookbook.
It looked entertaining at first- bright colors, entertaining recipes, pretty girl on the front. (I'm easily entertained.) It's intended to be for those absolutely metal viking warriors and insane college students who're on the Paleo diet,(I'm not, but if anyone reading this is, you guys are incredible.) The Paleo diet is intended as a return to our neolithic roots by cutting out most refined products and all grains, so some of the recipes in there are interesting to say the least. I mean, they have a bread recipe. Without using grains. That's not the magic of cooking anymore, that's meddling with dark forces better left alone.
See, I feel strongly about cooking. There's a touch of magic in a hot soup on a cold day, and I swear by the (emotional) healing properties of chocolate. There is subtle warmth in honey and a breath of distant exploration in ginger, and there's a little spice called caraway that reminds me of nothing less than whispered secrets in the deep dark night. My family's been cooking for generations now, and along the way we've figured out a couple of tricks, a basic knowledge of what to throw in the cauldron and when. That's the basis of good cooking, knowing how to combine the impressions left by food into something that is more than the sum of its parts.
With that in mind, I had to look at the heretical cookbook. Its dark secrets of shortcuts and alternatives to cooking the dishes I know and love was more than I could ignore. Some recipes I could look at and accept, like the bread recipe. It uses coconut flour, which I guess isn't a grain and is therefore safe from being modern. Some recipes were alluring in their simplicity, like the almond flour scones. (Those of you who've never had almond flour, it tastes like the butter of sacred cows came down from the sky and had a baby with flour.) All was well until I made the mistake of turning to the 'Poultry' section. Paleo cookbooks tend to know their way around meat, so I though I was safe. No such luck.
Deep within the poultry section of the heretical cookbook, past many safe and wholesome recipes, in a place where man(woman[anthropomorphic aliens]) should never turn, was a recipe for Pad See Ew, the deeper, darker brother of Pad Thai. It's a noodle dish, tastes much like a rich Pad Thai made with beef, and something about it was very wrong. It took me a moment to realize that the noodles in the example photo were very orange. It took me another moment to look over to the recipe. But by that time, it was already too late.
Pad See Ew is a noodle dish, and this was a grain-free cookbook. Looking back, I should have seen the warning signs from the start, but at the time I was led by my tongue more than my good sense. The recipe substitutes carrot slices for noodles. This is just about as heretical as cooking can get, but I've seen the recipe and there is no turning back. Between my own curiosity and the lure of something this new, I will, at some point, cook Pad See Ew. I will commit heresy against cooking. And I don't think there's any way I can stop myself. At this point, I'm not even sure I want to stop myself. And that scares me more than anything.
It looked entertaining at first- bright colors, entertaining recipes, pretty girl on the front. (I'm easily entertained.) It's intended to be for those absolutely metal viking warriors and insane college students who're on the Paleo diet,(I'm not, but if anyone reading this is, you guys are incredible.) The Paleo diet is intended as a return to our neolithic roots by cutting out most refined products and all grains, so some of the recipes in there are interesting to say the least. I mean, they have a bread recipe. Without using grains. That's not the magic of cooking anymore, that's meddling with dark forces better left alone.
See, I feel strongly about cooking. There's a touch of magic in a hot soup on a cold day, and I swear by the (emotional) healing properties of chocolate. There is subtle warmth in honey and a breath of distant exploration in ginger, and there's a little spice called caraway that reminds me of nothing less than whispered secrets in the deep dark night. My family's been cooking for generations now, and along the way we've figured out a couple of tricks, a basic knowledge of what to throw in the cauldron and when. That's the basis of good cooking, knowing how to combine the impressions left by food into something that is more than the sum of its parts.
With that in mind, I had to look at the heretical cookbook. Its dark secrets of shortcuts and alternatives to cooking the dishes I know and love was more than I could ignore. Some recipes I could look at and accept, like the bread recipe. It uses coconut flour, which I guess isn't a grain and is therefore safe from being modern. Some recipes were alluring in their simplicity, like the almond flour scones. (Those of you who've never had almond flour, it tastes like the butter of sacred cows came down from the sky and had a baby with flour.) All was well until I made the mistake of turning to the 'Poultry' section. Paleo cookbooks tend to know their way around meat, so I though I was safe. No such luck.
Deep within the poultry section of the heretical cookbook, past many safe and wholesome recipes, in a place where man(woman[anthropomorphic aliens]) should never turn, was a recipe for Pad See Ew, the deeper, darker brother of Pad Thai. It's a noodle dish, tastes much like a rich Pad Thai made with beef, and something about it was very wrong. It took me a moment to realize that the noodles in the example photo were very orange. It took me another moment to look over to the recipe. But by that time, it was already too late.
Pad See Ew is a noodle dish, and this was a grain-free cookbook. Looking back, I should have seen the warning signs from the start, but at the time I was led by my tongue more than my good sense. The recipe substitutes carrot slices for noodles. This is just about as heretical as cooking can get, but I've seen the recipe and there is no turning back. Between my own curiosity and the lure of something this new, I will, at some point, cook Pad See Ew. I will commit heresy against cooking. And I don't think there's any way I can stop myself. At this point, I'm not even sure I want to stop myself. And that scares me more than anything.
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