Suggestion from a Stomach

My stomach and I converse fairly regularly. We have a good rapport, and I would rate our communication at about an 8/10. That being said, my stomach does not often issue direct commands, so I am apt to listen when it does.

Call it the mystery of Twelfth Night, but this evening, my stomach decided that it was time for a chat. The conversation was somewhat similar to the iPhone4 vs. HTC parody* on YouTube. *contains profanity

Stomach: I want a steak. Where is the steak?

Me: Well, that’s a bit unusual. We don’t eat red meat all that often.

Stomach: I don’t care. I want a steak.

Me: We have a lasagna in the freezer.

Stomach: Is that a steak?

Me: Well, no.

Stomach: If it’s not a steak, why would I want it?

Me: But steak is kind of expensive.

Stomach: I don’t care.

Me: How about fish? Fish has almost as much iron, if that’s what you’re craving.

Stomach: I don’t care.

Me: But fish is better for you.

Stomach: I don’t care.

Me: This is a drugstore. They don’t even have steak.

Stomach: I want a steak. Will you get me a New York Strip?

Me: But…I was thinking about a salad.

Stomach: I don’t care. I want a steak. With onions. And garlic sauce.

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…

Sometimes, you just learn when to give in. Ergo, tonight’s dinner menu: marinated steak, roasted onions and brussels sprouts, salad, and RayLen Vineyards’ 2008 Eagle’s Select.

Happy Twelfth Night!

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
—Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

The Twelfth Day of Christmas

(also known as Twelfth Night)

(Shakespeare)

(!!!)

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my locale gave to me…

Twelve mindless blog posts

Eleven ’13 planners

Ten freezing fingers

Nine more to-do lists

Eight resolutions

Seven Frisbee bruises

Six mountain mouse heads

Five RayLen wines

Four to-do lists

Three deadlines

Two aspirin

and a deer crossing just before me.

My Personal Fiscal Cliff

All day today, the financial world has been on Pinterest pins and pine needles about the outcome of the so-called “fiscal cliff” stipulated by Congress in the Budget Control Act of 2011 (automatic spending cuts and tax increases that go into effect at midnight). This poses a dilemma for the author of Snark on the Side.

Let me explain.

You see, in order to preserve an optimal level of snark, I have a limited quantity of panic/anxiety to disperse to the world. As a concerned citizen, I feel that some small measure of that anxiety is due to be spent on the outlook for the U.S. economy in 2013.

On the other hand, the national media and interest groups on both left and right have done a pretty impressive job of panicking on my behalf, and as the last day of 2012 ticks away, I find myself approaching my own [fiscal] cliff, which is of immense personal import.

Again, permit me to explain.

Knowing myself to be a particularly adept procrastinator, and yet having the goal of taking more deliberate risks as a writer this year, I entered into a friendly bargain with my cousin, a fellow writer. We agreed in early November that each of us would submit five pieces of writing (poems, short stories, or the like) to publications by the end of the year. To add teeth to our ultimatum, we decided that an appropriate penalty for failure would be the voluntary relinquishment of chocolate for the entire month of January.

Now that, my friends, is an outcome worthy of panic. (Perhaps that would have spurred Congress to reach a compromise before the last minute!)

Alas, the chocolate cliff is approaching, and my submission count stands at exactly 0. I have until midnight, but the probability of success is waning. Looking at it another way, I have until midnight to consume a month’s worth of chocolate. Oh, darling chocolate. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Alas, poor Chocolate. I knew thee once. Parting is such sweet, sweet sorrow.

Thank goodness for gummi bears.