This is the fourth attempt I’ve made to write this blog entry. The original one began on November 4, covered the election, covered a lot of libertarian/agorist/abolitionist theory, delved into life after burnout with some really gut-wrenching realizations on my part, and then talked about the slump I’ve been in regarding my cooking of late.
Holy crap! I’m actually starting one of these before the Fooding. That’s not my usual workflow. Even though I want to plan ahead, almost everything I do for the site ends up being an afterthought. Why? Because social media has to come first. So annoying. There’s a reason Social Media and Sado-Masochism have the same initials. Just saying.
Fresh out of cooking school, I started working in one of the kitchens of a large PC clone manufacturer in Austin. I say "one of the kitchens" because each facility had at least one cafeteria. The one where I learned the most was the main fabrication facility. The others were fine, but I much preferred cooking for factory workers over yuppie scum.
The Texas Renaissance Festival in Plantersville, Texas, opened its gates for the first time in 1974—50 years ago now. My own first visit was in 1977 when I was seven years old. Seven was a big year for me; a lot changed in my life, some of it for the better, some for the worse
I'm honestly the worst food blogger ever. I rarely post recipes, and I’m not here to sell you stuff. Mostly, this blog is about what it's like to become a food blogger after burning out from years of relentless adulting. Now, that’s not to say I’m not doing food-related things in the background. I am, but in an effort to keep my “brand” (Your Honor! I object. Counsel is douchey. Sustained.) true to my intent, I need to create a consistent, repeatable product.
I assume everyone’s burnout is different, personal. For me, it feels like my façade has worn away, leaving me with my raw, base self. That’s its own kind of challenge. It’s not always wise to be authentic in today’s world. But there’s a certain charm in it; sometimes not being wise is fun. I feel freer than I ever have—free to be me.
