Rhythm
The rhythm part typically plays supporting chords to "fill out" the song and provide the framework of its progression. In many ways, this is analagous to the actual pasta in the dish. One doesn't typically gush over the taste of the spaghetti underneath the meatball, but to leave it out of the dish is unthinkable.
Pictured here is Rhythm, backin' it up.
Percussion
Obviously, percussion is the equivalent of the sauce - and if you don't think percussion can be saucy, you haven't hear the playful, fun riffs of Keith Moon! Try eating this dish while listening to Tommy. It'll blow your mind, man. Also, much like Keith Moon, sauce overdoses easily, so watch your proportions.
Pictured here is Percussion, oh, and also, uh, Neil Peart.
Day 36
A lot of people have been talking about the blog, emailing in words of support and caution, asking for interviews and such. That's great. I'm really happy my blog is something people find interesting. Everyone wants to know why I'm eating all this olive garden food - am I "just really hungry?", they ask, and then laugh. I laugh, too.
What I don't say is that I'm not hungry. I haven't felt hunger since sometime in week three. Maybe that's just an early symptom of diabetes. I don't know, I'm not a doctor. What I do know is that the only thing that can fill the hole inside me is pasta. And I'm still far from full.
Lunch was Denial.
Dinner was composed of four plates of pasta:
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance
It's been 36 days since the start of the challenge, and 795 days since she left.
A special thanks to my dining companion, myself!
Denial
What?
Oh, I get it. This is a test. You're just seeing how I'd react if you really would do that. Not that you ever would. You couldn't. Not to me. Haha, well, sorry to burst your bubble, but maybe next time try being a little less transparent. Sure, you're upset, but there's no reason to be manipulative like this.
Pictured here is Denial.
Anger
You're not being rational right now, and if you're going to keep letting your emotions make the decisions, you'll never really be happy. That's always been your problem. You're always 'feeling' instead of thinking. "I feel like you don't really care about me", "I feel like you're not listening", "I feel like we've drifted apart".
What does any of that even mean? Why can't you just talk like an adult?
Pictured here is Anger.
Bargaining
Hey, okay, you know what? You made some great points. You're totally right, and I really, truly understand you. More than I ever did. In a way, I'm glad we had this talk, so we can really work things out. So starting tomorrow, I'll do whatever it takes. Just tell me what I need to do. Anything. Please.
Pictured here is Bargaining.
Depression
Hey, you didn't respond to the last few letters, so I thought I'd just write one more. I know you're probably super busy now, so I don't want to take up too much of your time. Just hit me back with a quick response when you get a moment. It doesn't have to be a long letter like mine always are, just an email or something, just to let me know you're reading these, that'd really make my week.
To be honest, it's been a pretty bad week. But I guess that's not really your problem. Sorry, haha. Looks like I'm "bringing you down" again. But hey, like I said, you can email me whenever, or call me any time at all, I keep my phone right by my pillow just in case you need to talk. So don't worry about it. Talk to you soon?
Pictured here is Depression.
Acceptance
We're both dating new people now. I mean, obviously. It's been more than two years! Of course we moved on. I haven't gotten a chance to meet your boyfriend yet, but I've seen some of his posts on your wall and it seems like he likes you a lot, which is great. I like my girlfriend, too. Nothing really to complain about. She likes horror movies and classical music like you do, and flips her hair sometimes, but she doesn't do that single eyebrow raise thing when people say something stupid, and her laugh is all wrong.
If I got hit by a bus or something right now, that'd be okay with me. I feel like the rest of my life is just gonna be going through the motions, and I've already experienced everything I want to experience. I wish things had turned out differently, but this is fine. I'm fine.
Pictured here is Acceptance.
Day 35
It's a strange sensation to look at a pasta you ate and enjoyed just a few weeks ago and discover you don't remember it. I recall how wonderful I thought alfredo sauce with meatballs was. When I picked up today's pasta I could only remember it was a creamy sauce, and now I can't make sense of it.
I stood up and closed my eyes and saw Vino, myself - six or seven years old, sitting at the dinner table with a cookbook, learning to review food, saying the words over and over with my mother sitting beside him, beside me...
"Try it again."
"A fine bouquet. A certain je ne nais quois. Delicate notes of basil."
"No! Not basil! It's caraway!" Pointing with her rough-scrubbed finger.
"A fine bouquet. A certain caraway. Delicate notes of je ne sais quois."
"No! You're not trying. Do it again!"
Do it again... do it again... do it again...
"Leave the boy alone. You've got him terrified."
"He's got to learn. He's too lazy to concentrate."
Caraway. Caraway. Delicate notes of caraway.
"He's slower than the other children. Give him time."
"He's normal. There's nothing wrong with him. Just lazy. I'll beat it into him until he learns."
A certain...a certain je ne sais quois. Sais ne je quois. Quois sais ne je.
And then looking up from the table, it seems to me I saw myself, through Vino's eyes, a forkful of pasta, and I realized I was bending the utensil with the pressure of both hands as if I wanted to snap it in half. I threw the fork against the wall, the creamy sauce smearing and then slowly sliding down the wall. I let it lay there and its ragged white tongues were laughing because I couldn't understand what they were saying.
Lunch was skipped.
Dinner was composed of three plates of pasta:
I've got to try to hold onto some of the things I've learned. Please, God, don't take it all away.
A special thanks to my dining companion, Tawnya!
Shame
You did it again. How could you? After all we've given you...no. No, we're not angry. Just disappointed.
Pictured here is Shame.
Weakness
It's too hard for you. Too complicated. Too heavy. You'll never be able to do it yourself.
Pictured here is Weakness.
Futility
You can't do anything right. Why even bother?
Pictured here is Futility.