does anyone know where a gal can buy gingerbread men in this god-forsaken city? it is of the utmost importance that i find some before 7pm this evening. i can't make any from scratch as i have to work all day... and i am also too poor to buy all of the ingredients. (le sigh.)it is no secret that i have a GIGANTIC sweet tooth and that i take the pursuit of such items very seriously... "very seriously" as in the fact that i once walked a mile or so into another borough in a snowstorm to find hats, candles and cupcakes for friend's birthday (in my mind, it just ain't your birthday without the requisite cake and candle ceremony) and "very seriously" in that i have "desserts" listed right next to "a new economy of bodies and pleasures" under "interests" on my facebook page. (and if that don't make it serious, i don't know what the fuck does.)
isn't it interesting how an unabashed passion takes away a bit of your perspectivity? contrast this with the assumption we tend to casually make that someone with a vested interest in something must "know it" the best. i was pondering this the other day while discussing a new dessert i had tried with friend.
as i endeavoured to transcribe my experience of the dessert's complex tastiness into language, i was forced to admit at the end of my review that however delish said dominican cake was, the simple truth was that "i'd never really met a cake i didn't like."
now, does my taste for cake make me an expert on cakes across the board? or does it make my opinion nearly valueless, as odds are good that with my love of cakery i'll find something redeemable in even the most terrible of gateaux? once could perhaps argue that it would really be my experiences with such a vast amount of cakes that would make me a cake-ologist worthy of consultation and not my extreme love for them (which would be exactly the kind of thing that would fall into that grand category known as "observer bias" and therefore be immediately suspect.)
however, as it is our "extreme love" or, more loosely, our intentionality (which some [me!] would argue is nearly synonymous with desire ) that drives one to do such things as eat delicious squares of fluffy goodness lovingly brought over by one's neighbours after their little son's birthday party, how can this kind of love/deisre be separated from any action? does this make a better case for the notion of the passionate pedant, who is most intimate with subjects and objects exactly because of his or her intense love and scrutiny of them? or does it simply imply the infinite iterations of that most ultimate of observer biases, the self - or, more specifically, the speaker who says "I"?
one thing i do know for sure, however, is that i am a huge fan of gingerbread man's yellow plaid shirt. i've really, really, really had an obsession with trying to find a suitable yellow plaid garment lately. it's my summer fashion goal. i think at this point i can safely say that for me, plaid is becoming the new houndstooth.
i was conned into buying a yellow plaid dress the other day for exactly this reason. okay - maybe conned is a strong way of putting it. but either way, i used my overwhelming desire for a yellow plaid dress as persuasion to buy a cheap-ass yellow plaid dress i saw in bushwick. it was far from being perfect and was not at all the type of yellow plaid i wanted (yes, you can be sure i've been looking at scottish tartan registries trying to find the most ideal kind of yellow plaid) but... the sad truth was that i needed to do laundry quite terribly and this plaid vision that entranced my eyes as i exited the J, weary and demoralized, seemed like a good way to kill two birds with one stone, as it were... for it was also true that i was going to a show that night and had nothing at all attractive to wear (excepting, of course, the few bridesmaids dresses and interview clothes inevitably still hanging in the very, very back of my closet.)
later that night at the actual show i got frustrated at myself because, as often happens, the drunker i got the more i danced and the more i spilt my drinks on myself. both things are not good news for a dress you are hoping to wear the next day to work. most of the bands were pretty atrocious and i stuck out from the rest of the crowd like a sore thumb but as i went as a favour to a dear friend i was more than determined to make a time of it. by the end of the night i was feeling pretty good as it is sometimes easier to get really rowdy in a crowd that is not at all your own. also, the last act was more than acceptable - they even vaguely reminded me of jane's addiction, a band i actually 
like. (in my mind, jane's addiction is also known as the band dave navarro was in back when he was fucking hot and wore cute skirts and was years away from such embarrassing, non-respectable blunders as marrying carmen electra.) the front man reminded me a lot of perry farrell and i heartily approved of his antics as they were exactly what i myself would have done had i been playing to a nearly empty club full of mostly uninteresting and listless people.
as we watched the roadie pack up, friend and i decided with insufferable drunken logic that what we really needed to do with my remaining $14 was get two last drinks - you know, to go home on. after a prolonged conference with the bartender about prices and possibilities, friend walked away with a beer and i walked away with a shot of grey goose. i then wandered over to the merch table, putting on my best puppy-dog face as i walked.
"perry" came immediately up to me.
(earlier in the evening they had wandered around begging people to stay for them as they were the last band on the bill.
"i guarantee you have heard nothing like us before!!!!" he had hissed in my ear.
"hmm." i had muttered, skeptical. "sooo.... a guarantee, huh? okay. so then, what do i get if i have heard something like you guys before?"
he paused, clearly taken aback.
"um...."
he thought for a while... then his face brightened. "you can slap me! you can slap all of us right across the face! huge slaps!!!"
"okay!" i had yelled. "i like those odds!")
"so," he said. "do i get a slap?"
"oh, no, you guys were pretty great," i said, as we began to shoot the shit. "um.... but.... i don't .....have enough .....money.... for a shirt.....sooooo..... maybe.... you........"
he laughed. "you don't even have like $2?"
"no," i frowned. "not even in change!"
"wellll..... " he hesitated. then he smiled. "okay. what size do you need?"
so, i put off laundry for another day. and all it cost me was a hug and a kiss on the cheek... and $40 in drinks. (sigh)
THE END
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