Burrito

Two days ago, right before the epic Blizzard of '11, my roommate gave me a call. What his motivations were I cannot now tell you, perhaps he hoped to stave off the inevitable cannibalism that always follows great snowfalls, or maybe he just wanted to eat something massive and awe inspiring before nature did the same to us. A little "fuck you" in the face of impending doom. Whatever the motives he set off one of the greatest chain of events available to modern man with one simple question.

"What kind of burrito would you like?"

There are few experiences in life so fulfilling, so all encompassing, as eating a burrito. From that very first moment when you need to consider the very construction and essence of your personal burrito to the very messy end it provides an experience that is existential and yet so very material.

With a burritos construction you enter a funny world where suddenly "healthier" becomes "healthy", the differences between stake and beef are simultaneously expanded and contracted. In the real world Stake is the superior of ground beef, in the world of burritos they are equals. Both distinguished yet different "meats", neither to be cast off without due consideration. And chicken, in the context of the burrito, becomes the "healthy choice", so long as you add the guac and sour cream in prodigious amounts.

Once constructed the sheer size and girth cant help but bring a smile to your face.

Burrito eating isn't without its hazards. Peeling away the strange aluminium/paper wrapper, seizing the massive lump in your child like hands, you realize you may be in over your head. Hunger gets the best of you and with that carnal delight that is all but lost in the civilized world you tear into the beast!

With the juices of joy dripping down your chin, flowing down your fingers, past your knuckles, down your writs, you devour on. Panic sets in at about this moment. Like the great Titanic and the epic Tower of Babel the true fault lies in the hubris of man. In our thirst for glory we create for the sake of creation, forgetting our place. A mere tortilla holds the vast bounty of bean and rice and meat and guac. You understand now that there is no turning back, that doom is knocking at the door. If you pause for even one moment, so much as to take a breath, sip your coke, or wipe the sweet grease from your face, all that is and was and ever will be of your burrito will spill forth into ruin and all will be lost.

So you eat on. You fill past bursting and then fill some more. You suffer as none have suffered and for the same reason all have suffered before, because you must. Sweat beads on your forehead, your breath gets shallow and labored. Yet bite after agonizing bite you devour on.

Because you must.

Yet it is all worth it. You take that final, triumphant bite. You know you have achieved greatness! As you sit back, contemplate the carnage before you, a realization strikes like lightning, you shall never eat again.

And this is ok, because the Burrito has filled you completely, both belly and soul.

Its Snowing

Its been awhile.

If I could sum up my last few months in one word, it would be "frustration".

I had this image on returning to America the triumphant hero. That I would stroll in and America would bow to my worth and value. I imagined I could apply to any old job and get it, extol my exploits and be welcome in the most exclusive circles, cast a wayward glance and watch the girls swoon.

This has not been the case.

The frustrations are numerous. For one, job hunting sucks. There just isn't anything out there that I WANT to do. I don't want to sell insurance or count peanuts for Scruge McDuck. All the jobs that seem right for me require years of experience in the field, but no one tells us how to get into the field.

The usual laments of a 20 something.

David Eggers comes to mind. In his modest memoir "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" he extols that strange mix of hope, desperation, and, worst of all, possibility that plagues us. I haven't read the book in years, tho it always sticks with me. Its the story, his story, of finding purpose and direction in those listless twenty something years. He uproots, starts a magazine, works hard, and fails and succeeds. He does stuff. I sit at home and watch my bank account, hoping some math lesson I missed in 8th grade will change that little numbers color.

Read the book, its good.

Today the snow started falling in giant fluffy flakes. It was the kind of snow fall that makes you dream of sleigh rides (not that anyone has ever actually been on a sleigh ride) and little villages nestled in the woods with warm fires and fat women inside each little home. It was the kind of snow that lulls you into a feeling a security. The snow left me with the idea that everything will be alright.

Now I look out and the snow continues to fall but its changed. Its now the kind of snow that will make the going tough and reminds you that its a long cold winter ahead. I guess thats how these things go. When it all starts you revel in the challenge, welcome the exciting, long for the difficult. You measure yourself against the idea.

Now, I can only measure myself against the reality.