Today is my birthday. Yay me. The only thing I can really say about it is that I share the date with fellow Canadian William Shatner. I always thought in my mind that made me semi-cool by default.
Laugh if you want.
Upon waking this morning, there was a comment on my wrestling stuff from someone I once had a really really bad one night stand with. Go figure.
He was arguing how The Pack wasn't worthy of the spotlight they've been given. My shackles were up.
I ended up spending my birthday by watching the movie Julie/Julia. For some reason, that just seemed fitting. All I could think about was how one marriage was strengthened by their working together on the cookbook, and how the other marriage was sort of cracked by their working on the food blog.
Food and sex, always an interesting outcome. Almost every food writer/critic/foodie/chef will compare the act of creating and enjoying a really great menu to sex. Which is true, there is just something about the pleasure principal when you deal with either. There is a reason really top notch food photography is referred to as food porn.
Okay, so the other element in the movie, which was true of both women in their real lives, was that each turned to the food and writing part of their lives, just before a major birthday. Julie Powell was 29 when she started her quest in 2002, and Julia Child was about to turn 39 (roughly depending on what biography you are reading that age jumps from 36-39) in the late 1940's (again I can't pin down a solid year just between 1947-1950) But both women found their deep passion at that time in their lives. Supported of course by their own great loves.
So here I am, 39 years old and faced with what I'm calling my last chancery. One year to figure it out. One year to either find that mysterious great love, or deep passion, or maybe both. One year to discover the missing ingredient.
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