July 7th, 12:30 | Update: am suddenly self-narrating banana bread guru

Hitherto unknown fact about yours truly: I make the Best Damned Banana Bread In The World. Quite possibly the galaxy. And I'm pretty sure I'm in the running for the universe. This is all due, naturally, to a secret ingredient, guessed at by The Boy as "cinnamon? it's cinnamon, isn't it?". The answer is No, actually, I do have a little more culinary creativity than that. Also, ew. Cinnamon + banana = gross.

I think all my baking of late (I also made summer cookies for my team at work) is due to the reduced number of dinners at home this week. Yesterday night we went to see my cousin, whose birthday was Wednesday, where I handed over my gift. The highlight of the gift, sadly, was probably the card I made ("hand-crafted"?) lovingly out of cardstock I'd bought to feed my scrapbooking obsession, but have since been too nervous to use for scrapbooking. I find it interesting that I'll jump right into making people cards without too much fuss, and usually with only a vague idea of design. I'll play, and make a fake model or two to help me visualize stuff, then I'll pretty much go at it with scissors and markers ad hoc until I like the look of it. About 80% of the time, this works completely, I'm not disappointed, and usually have come up with something that I hadn't planned on but really like. And then I give it away.

Why, then, can't I apply this enthusiasm, or willingness to just dive in to my scrapbooking? Is it because there are photos involved? I haven't figured it out yet; it does irk me slightly though.

In case any of you were wondering how my stint as acting English teacher went, it was fun. I'm not sure any of my feedback was actually useful, but it was nice to hear from other people (well, from most of the participants anyway) what they thought of my story, and how they interpreted it. FilmGuru, who is also part of this merry band, was explaining to me how A Work no longer really belongs to the person who created it once they Release It To The World; something about having to recognize that an audience's reaction to Art is not wrong, just because it isn't the reaction originally intended by the artist. It reminded me of a discussion we had in highschool (grade 12, theory of knowledge class), where Drewdru was making that same argument, and I was vehemently against it. Surely it makes sense that the person who created The Art knows that they were trying to say? Right? I think, having heard FilmGuru explain it his way, though, that I kind of like the idea of importance and meaning being ascribed to art through and because of an audience's interaction with it. It's a neat idea.

In less frou-frou, high-flown-sounding news, I have decided that, other than try to curb my pulp-fiction tendencies in my writing, reading the Bridget Jones books is not only extremely bad for my mental health, it is also a hazard to any relationship I might be in at the time of said reading. Seriously. I don't remember what happened when I read the first book, but on reading the second one, I found myself scarily morphing into Ms Jones herself, complete with ludicrous hike in levels of neurosis along with ditzy talk to self. (This is saying something as I talk to myself on a fairly regular basis.)

I'm not really sure what it all adds up to, if it means that I am secretly desirous of some of her personality traits or whatever. Probably not; more likely I'm just jealous of the way everything turns out for her eventually.

Well. One more reason to get on with the scrapbooking. After all, I can't whine and be nostalgic about the past properly if I have no evidence, can I?

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