Quote: (12-22-2016 02:01 PM)Easy_C Wrote:
Don't forget one very simple readon IYI types have historically read the classics.
It lets them feel like they are smarter than people who have not.
Thinking about it, her running a food blog makes a lot of sense. It takes true knowledge and skill to be uniquely-creative in cooking, otherwise you're just recreating someone else's recipe, step by step, that leads to the safe, predictable results as 99% of cooks who follows the same recipe. This is why I never expect applause for my cooking: though I know enough to read cooking by eye and what potential substitutions I could to make, it's not like I
originated it.
So, when Mark's Sister here attempts to deconstruct the classics, she's simply following another tried and true recipe: Cultural Marxism. The difference between her and me, however, is her out-of-control, stereotypically-JAP Narcissism. She expects applause for an unoriginal creation, one that has been over-presented to dinner guests enough times in the past to not promote any sense of appetite due to a predictable, unappealing and flavourless taste. One of the younger children will blurt out 'Meatloaf
again?' only to be quietly-slapped upside the head by their mother. The other guests are picking at it lazily, coughing it discretely into napkins, and holding it slyly under the table to tempt the dog, who takes a tentative sniff or two, then walks back to his basket with his tail between his legs.
The standard reaction to such a dinner party disaster would be reaching for the cooking sherry after the guests leave and having a sobbing breakdown in the kitchen, the journey most likely going from martyrdom, ("Why didn't they like my beautiful meal? They mustn't really love me") to resentment ("How dare they not appreciate my hard work!") to outright vindictiveness, ("It's
their fault for having such uncultured palates!").
Now go back and read her "How To Give Support To A Friend Who Is Being Attacked On Twitter" post. That's the stage between when the polite after-party nips have become her swigging freely-from the bottle and searching the Pharmaceutical Cabinet in the bathroom for Mother's Little Helper, trying not to glimpse her runny-raccoon-mascara eyes in the mirror. As she takes the pill - briefly-questioning whether it is declasse to chase it down with the sherry before deciding she's too upset to care - she wonders, for not the first or the last time in her life, why, when she has wealth and privilege, she needs the tablets to function and why they never fill the void inside her, one that makes her wonder why she can never just be... well...
happy?
Damn. She saw her eyes. The shame. Thoughts immediately turn to sugar. She wonders if there's any leftover desert, then heads back to the kitchen...
Something interesting though: reading between the lines of the 'Support' article, I can see how she's functionally giving her allies a
step-by-step recipe to 'bake' her comfort unique to her specific taste. "These are the palatable ingredients... these are not."
The oral fixation is obvious.
Not that I'd expect the husband ever benefits.