The Wizard Chef
Okay. Hold on.
I think I need to actually create a whole new blog to shake off the tone that the previous one conveyed. I do not mean to suggest that I belong in someone's closet with the word "FAIL!" tattooed on my forehead. Because sometimes people get anxious and do dangerous things when they discover an unwanted person in their closet (see the movie "Burn After Reading"). And also because I haven't failed THAT much.
I have been working on my cooking skills.
One of the many magics of childhood was seeing food in front of me that my mother created and then seeing that food into my mouth and drooling at the wonderful tastes (I think if my mom reads this, she will contradict me, because I'm sure I didn't ALWAYS enjoy her cooking). I always thought that my mom had to work some kind of actual magic in order to allow this sequence of events to take place. As in, as I'm remembering walking into the kitchen with child-vision while my mom was cooking, I remember her having to wear wizard hats and facial hairs as she waved her arms with all of that magic powder over the stove. You see, I was too small to see over the counter, even less into the pots, so I never knew what was going on.
But after creating a meal or two or three or four or five or six or seven or eight on my own, I'm starting to be discouraged. I realize now, how little magic it takes to make food. I realize now, that no one will think I'm a magician for making food appear in front of them and making flavors happen in their mouths.
But this doesn't prevent me from making future generations think that food=magic.
Consider my potential maybe possibly conceivably future children. Consider then, what you know of me, and what I just said about wanting future generations to think that food=magic.
Are you seeing a connection? If you aren't, let me outline a HYPOTHETICAL scenario.
Sometime in the future: Connor has children, unassisted.
A moment later in the future: Connor makes smiles and plans.
A few years after that moment: Connor begins to don a long white beard, a wizard hat, wizard robes, and a wicked wizard mustache prior to cooking every meal.
Beginning at the same time: Connor begins to mutter random gibberish and wave his hands in random circles at cooking food.
Sometime later: Connor's unassisted children spend the night at some other parents' house. The children wonder why the other parents are so weird and why their food doesn't taste as good.
Same time: Connor smiles again because he knows he has accomplished his plans.
(I was kidding about having children unassisted. I said unassisted because no woman I potentially possible maybe conceivably marry will let me skew my childrens' worldview so dramatically. I AM NOT AN ASEXUALLY REPRODUCTIVE AMOEBA/SPONGE!)
