one more commodity good.

i think it's interesting how people tend to ritualize the fulfilment of their drives.

think about it. aside from say, breathing, our two key needs, i'd say would be food, and sex. and think about how much people ritualize sex. ie. the whole institution of marriage. and don't even tell me that it's not a need. would anyone even debate that?

i mean, let's think about the theory of evolution, while we're at thinking... assuming an acceptance of a darwinian theory of evolution, every animal is granted traits by the process of natural selection such that they are conducive to their ability to procreate. this whole nifty process of thinking that you and i, writer and hypothetical audience, are going through, is in fact, something to help us get laid. us naked hairless and weak apes had to outsmart bigger and scarier predators that would eat us up like little human mcnuggets, so we developed the ability to think. the ones that did think, went on to have babies and get a little closer to being you and me with every generation. the ones that didn't think, got eaten up. so evolution is referent to sex. so it's a need.

that was a huge fucking digression thats not even remotely related to what i wanted to say... i'm baked as hell! can you tell its exam time? my brain will take any excuse to go on an odd and uninteresting academic tangent.

in any case, yeah. people ritualize sex. and drinking? that gets ritualized too. how about the whole phenomenon of alcohol. how about rednecks squabbling about black folk using the water fountain back in the day?

so food is ritualized in the form of the "family meal," with all its concomitant possibilities in terms of increased consumption, segregation into family units for ideological indoctrination, etc. etc. etc.

and there you have it! a huge long and spuriously* valid lead up to a relatively lame conclusion. i love food. oh i love food, and cooking, and i love going home mainly because my parents give me their debit card and send me to the grocery store to get stuff to make dinner.

thus, for easter dinner today in celebration of everyone's favourite myth about god, i made... a crown roast of pork with sausage stuffing, and roasted garlic mashed potatoes with stilton and port wine cheese, and crème brulée. mmm. plus a ton of wine, really good french red, and some decent australian white. my parents made a bunch of vegetables too, but i'm not into that shit, so i didn't fool with it. and oh it was good. food has to be like my number one commodity good. closely tied with pot. and i got to bring home leftovers and i didn't spend hardly any money all weekend and i wrote a paper and it was just all in all a stellar weekend. and i learned that vanilla beans are the fruit of the world's only edible orchid. and that they're kind of difficult to cook with. also that crème brulée isn't that hard to make. any food where you have to use a torch is just sweet.

fucking alright! plus i decided i want to change the name of my degree from the lameo "philosophy of media writing" to "criticism and critical theory." cos like foucault says, disciplines are a mechanism of power which ensure ideological indoctrination. and critical theory and cultural studies and all that stuff are really interdisciplinary which is what my program is for in the first place. and critical theory is situated at the intersection of english and philosophy and... all the stuff we study in MIT... so, it's basically what i'm taking anyways. i'm just giving it a better name. and maybe i'll pick a few different courses.

and that's more than enough.
bonsoir.

*recall my sober night. using the word spurious made me remember something. in this bar, there was a condom machine in the bathroom. amongst the "French Ticklers" (which "Were not intended for use as a Contraceptive"), and leering Deliverance-looking guys, there was one option called "Big Boy Hard-On Pills." and these were advertised as (and i quote) "Sought After by Millions - the Spurious Erection Enhancer!" now i guarantee you that nobody in that damn town knew what the hell spurious meant. there were probably a lot of rednecks going home that night to have some pretty spurious bouts of fucking. ew.