Comfort Foods
Much has been written about the healing power of comfort foods. And deservedly so. For in times of stress, there's much to be said for the healing power of grilled cheese sammiches, mom's famous homemade soup, or the simple comfort of hot biscuits. Whatever your own personal comfort food is (and one's comfort food is a personal and very individual choice), I'm sure it has gotten you through many a rough patch. I know that since the war began, I have started eating a lot more toast. (Which is, in my opinion, one of the best inventions ever.) (Toast, I mean, not war.) However, after an hour of CNN, I find that I derive much needed peace from two pieces of golden brown toast. (Yum.) And at the end of a long week (diet be damned) I crave the simple perfection of bread and cheese.

Of course chocolate is in a class by itself. And yet strangely enough (considering that I keep a full candy jar in my cubicle at work to help others less fortunate than I), chocolate is not my comfort food. I like warm things. I want yellow cake fresh from the oven, chicken soup, pot roast, and tea. Perhaps I manifest stress in a loss of heat (which would explain why I'm cold all the time). Anyway, whatever your comfort food of choice is, I say go for it. We all deserve some toast right about now.

A Sun Day
Back in the snow belt, they have snow days -- where the weather is so awful that work and school is cancelled. I think we need sun days -- where the weathe is so glorious, we all get the day off. Today would be a perfect sun day. When the sky is a perfect renaissance blue, and the sun cooperatively warming winter out of our bones, it is morally wrong to expect us to sit inside our little cubicles and work. How can we? All I want to do is go outside and play. I want to drive down the freeway with the sunroof open and some cheesy, boppy song playing on the radio while I sing along in my best bad Aretha. I want to grab a book and find some quiet patch of grass in which to read. I want to walk along the beach and play tag with the ocean. But mostly, I just want the air and the light. None of this headache-inducing flourescent crap, thank you very much. And none of this "someone burnt the microwave popcorn again" lovely fragrance. I want pure sunlight and the scent of fresh-cut grass. How can we possibly be expected to work on a day like this?

There's a Melody in My Mind...
...and it's not going away. Strings first, intruding with light persistence into thoughts of schedules and deadlines. Then horns, a bit more pushy, a bit harder to ignore. Finally, a voice. She's singing with a husky sort of assertiveness that can't be dismissed. It's no use, I can't fight it any more.

I never want to get to a point in my life where work is more important than Ella Fitzgerald. I never want to lose sight of the fact that art, music, and literature should always matter more to me than endless meetings and pointless bureaucracy. And I never want to get to the point where Ella's voice, Django's guitar, Pablo Neruda's words, or Van Eyck's art fail to remind me of what is good and beautiful in the world.

Granted, THE COMPANY THAT SHALL NOT BE MENTIONED would shudder with disappointment that I actually feel art is more important than software, but that's ok. Because today, Ella is singing just for me. And I actually kinda feel sorry for those who just don't get it.