... but first i have to put the goulash on to cook cause i have a
friend coming over in fucking 20 minutes and i haven't even started
to cook! aaaarrrrghhhh
oke, one onion, chopped, 4 cloves of garlic, crushed, into oil on low
heat, till onions glassy. then 2 tbs hungarian paprika (the real
stuff, not the supermarket obscenity), stir it all until paprika
melts. now add beef cubed, brown in the red goo. chop 4 tomatoes, one
green pepper, add with 3/4 tsp salt and some pepper. when cooking,
add 3 or 4 cups of water, stir. let it boilup then turn down heat to
simmer. cover. simmer away for i dunno, 40 minutes. in the meanwhile
peel and cube some potatoes and slice some carrots into chunks but
don't add them yet. go back to email.
oh yah, where was i. you know what? teaching myself to type was a
real good idea. like it doesn't take me hours to write or notin. now
it takes me weeks, haha. well, that's cause my brain is addled and i
keep forgetting things. as usual.
ohwell. interesting eccentricity has its price.
i am toodling along, in much the same fashion as always, kinda
arting... not much musicking to be had that would interest me.
though i keep thinking about it and occasionally even almost do but
then... things interfere. like i get pissed off at the world. stuff
like that. but hey, being pissed off is *very* creative, especially
for poetry writing purposes. which poetry meets with vast
indiference by most, haha. well, maybe it's cause i only show stuff
to about 10 people. and you guys, of course. haha.
yah. and then there that there artproject that i got the nice grant
to do and which grant i pretty well all spent on real life,
ohyouknow, what manifests as real life these days. starvation,
suffering, and my related doingnesses goddamfuck. in any case, soon
the lovely and generous canada council will start whining as to
handing in the cd-rom i am supposedly hard at work on so am wracking
brainremnant in order to come up with nice artspeak of such
artspeakish magnitude that they will be forced to accept my change of
artistic discipline from multimedia to savior. as they won't
understand a word of my incredibly obtuse yet strangely fascinating
treatise but cannot be perceived to lose artface, they will have to
nod knowingly and maybe give me a medal. something postmodern,
perhaps. barbie surfs poverty. and thus i shall be validated as an
Important Cultural Artifuck, which validation i really need as it
comes in handy when blackmailing my friends into chipping into my you
know, real projects. my gypsies, the veritable leaky buckets of need.
and now zoli who got thrown out of his place. so -see i really am a
dedicatied artist- i swallow my pride and beg. haha, i am now a
veritable begmachine. greg, help me out, i say. lora, shelley, what
can you afford. and miraculously, i manage to gather $100, and we
wire the miracle to zoli.
the goulash is cooking, starting to smell goodgoodgood, hungarian good.
oops, time to add the potatoes and carrots! let simmer on low heat
until vegies are done, i dunno, maybe 30 more minutes?. add more salt
to taste and voila! or perhaps, hungarianly, violin!
i am addicted. i miss romania. racist xenophobic sexist romania. so
in your face. at least there, i know what i am looking at. not like
here. here so nice. polite. fullofshit. the bestofallpossibleworlds,
salut voltaire, see, marklo, i do remember.
but dinnerguest just arrived, luckily knows me well, i say 8, come at
9. wise guest arrived an hour late and brought some fizzy sugardrinks
and bread. then, being the very wisest of dinnerguests, left again to
buy me some smokes.
goulash is ready, let's eat!
oh by the way, it's really called gulyas, pronounced, gooyash.
This archive was generated by hypermail 2.1.2 : Sun Nov 18 2001 - 12:13:00 PST