Thanks to Candied Carbs

Hey, I just figured out why Americans are so fat! Kidding. Sweet potatoes seasoned with cinnamon, nutmeg and brown sugar and completely covered under a thick blanket of marshmallows. Yes, this is the traditional American Thanksgiving dish called Candied Yams... mmmm.

When did I make this startlingly sweet discovery? I was at an American Thanksgiving dinner held at a friend's place. Tiff's originally from Arizona, but she has lived in the UK for 3 years and celebrates the occasion with food, friends and all that patriotic fanfare each year. It was a highly enjoyable affair. In fact, one of the guests blogged about the meal the next morning. Check it out: http://www.hotandchilli.com/2011/11/thanksgiving-at-tiff.html

The enjoyment started with the food. I had always heard of a dish called Candied Yams, but was pleased with the surprise and delight it provided my tastebuds. The mushroom gravy was divine and the bird was very well basted. I actually loosened my belt buckle while seated at the table. Perhaps not the best form, but the company was forgiving and a perfect complement to the meal.

The entertainment continued with newfound friends. First, the chef... I've known Tiff for about a year. A beautiful human being (and I don't often talk that way). Everyone else was new to me. Upon arrival, I met Sam whose a clever, young Brit on his way to Montreal to have the live/work abroad experience (that's original, right?). Then came a well travelled documentary film maker who sleeps in his flatmates beds when they're out of town, collects womens leggings and likes to play with dolls (right... That's original). Rosa, the hot and chilli Brazillian food blogger immortalised the evening with her take on the night. And Nelsey kept the crowd classy with her ability to coordinate the night (she's an actress so she was conducting things).

The essence of the evening remained patriotic as we literally gave thanks. Before dining, we went around the table and each shared something we were thankful for in our lives. The evening was fantastic and by the next morning, I was lucky enough to have several more reasons to give thanks. xxx.

Born Again

Every Sunday, there is a place where people wear fancy dress, unite in worship and celebrate a higher power... That higher power is the DJ and this place of worship is The Clapham Grand. Originally established in 1979 and governed mostly by the antipodean set, this event encourages drinking, dancing and fancy dress (costume) from noon to 4PM. http://www.thechurch.co.uk/

For months, I've gone on my Sunday runs that terminate at Clapham Junction and scratched my head at this spectacle. After an hour intervals up and down and challenging my VO2 max, I reach a state of exhaustion that feels like delirium when I walk through streets littered with drunken monkeys, cowboys and tennis teams in the middle of the day. Spiritual halucinations these are not. However, the whole concept reminds of a scene from an episode of the Simpsons called, "Hurricane Neddy".

[Ned talks to God after his house is destroyed.]
Ned: Why me, Lord? I've always been good. I don't drink or dance or swear. I've even kept kosher just to be on the safe side. I've done everything the Bible says! Even the stuff that contradicts the other stuff! What more can I do? I...I..I feel like I wanna yell out, but I just can't dang-darn-diddly-darn-dang-ding-dong-diddly-darned do it! I just...I... [sigh].

So The Church at Clapham Grand is the opposite of what Ned would do...

Once My Flame, Twice My Burn

Insanity \in-ˈsa-nə-tē\: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results

-Albert Einstein

Is there a limit to your love? A fierce loyalty, desire to love without barrier and disregard for convention in relationships has often left me reaching for my revolver. Perhaps this is an unfavourable approach? Although the many misguided theories I promote tout my greatest mistakes as my greatest accomplishments, I'm beginning to recognise the benefits of installing a limit. Wasted time, exhausted energy and expectations disappointed are all reflections that infuriate, but they must be essential. So where does this limit live? Consider the evolution that takes place under the guise of wasted time, all the wonderful ways to expend energy and all the disappointments that underwrite our delight.

Loving recklessly allows you to etch out new space in an old world. Unfolding yourself into this space is phenomenal. Where the air only expands in tandem with the bond. In time, a language is crafted and this native tongue is exclusive to the resident individuals. Lending your emotion begins to inherit heart. Igniting a fragment of yourself that somehow flows through a flue to alter what was your fact. Infallable? Friction is both physical and emotional. Emblazoned in fire. This space is found for few. And a flickering flame is sometimes best blown out? Forgiveness settles into cinder and maybe I still suffer from insanity.