Grey today, almost of the snowing kind. Snowflakes are unique truly - but what if that means that every flake is alike in their indifference. Ponder, for forty-five seconds.
I wonder why we cry - I guess that the brain releases hormones that do something, at least that's what a biology teacher would say, but, I don't like biology. I like chemistry - cold, collective chemistry that is, pure and mathematical - the kind that you could just think about for days (if you were me) - the infinite complexity of everything around us. My wooden desk is a heterogeneous mixture, that is, not the same throughout, but the air around me is. Ponder, for three and a half minutes.
Pizza dough is quite curious - yeast and flour and salt and warm water (105 degrees Fahrenheit is the best temperature) that is blended and kneaded. The trick is in the water - flour ratio, the taste is in the yeast and oil. In Chicago (amen!) pizza is made with lots of oils and butter, but in NYC flour is the main ingredient, so the dough is much more pliable (ergo the throwing and tossing of the pizza). Ponder, for one minute.
Horace Silver is playing - the blues tonight, "Sister Sadie," one part stop time, one part funky groove and five parts swing. It sounds like he is sticking to the F7b11 - I think of my jealousy, then I think about practice, then the notion of moving from my perch, then back to the music - ah, the piano solo. Ponder, six minutes and nineteen seconds.
Cutting onions, sauteed with fresh basil and kosher sea salt in olive oil - my eyes were watering through my corrective lenses (Onion-1, Cameron-0), so I decided to put my goggles on (Cameron-1, Onion-1) and then I sliced and diced those matriarchs back to their maker, and the aluminum pan from where they are to be burned alive (Cameron-2, Onion-1). The universe has once again failed to poison me - knock on my wood table. Ponder, sixty five seconds.
Farewell for now, those who and those who scorn.
Until we meet once more,
Greyboy and the Blues
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