today

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“Nobody loved us. Not really. How could they, after all. As chefs we were proudly dysfunctional. We were misfits. We knew we were misfits, we sensed the empty parts of our souls, the missing parts of our personalities, and this was what had brought us to our profession, had made us what we are.”

***

Page one.

Drew this sketch.

A self-portrait. We were eager to adopt.

Believing it set us free. Sort of.

It was also a prison.

Because those "empty parts of our souls" needed filling.

***

The camera kept rolling.

Right to the end. 

That's the heartbreak in Roadrunner. For me. 

***

The film's a banquet of grief. A cautionary tale. 

About a misfit. And an addict.

If there's a difference.

Something to fill the "empty parts of our souls." 

Like mine. Sitting in the dark theatre, opening night.

Staggering out when it was over. 

***

Hijacked early by the alphas, he knew the cost. I'd hazard a guess on a visceral level. 

A flat, dull version of masculinity.

In Medium Raw.

The broish swagger's still there.

There are chapters to skip based on who makes an appearance. It's a record of a moment.

But he's mature. Relatable. Strikes out in new directions.

​Tender and vulnerable. 

"I'm Dancing" about his daughter. The endearing profile of Justo Thomas in "My Aim is True." 

***

Read "Lust" and remember the travel writer. 

Since I was a teen, it's a genre I've loved.

I stitch Bourdain with saffron-gold threads to Bruce Chatwin, Jan Morris, and Paul Theroux. 

***

Let's hope publishers, filmmakers, and broadcasters are doing what's right. Posthumously. 

Not picking him over for profit. Putting dollars into mental health initiatives for writers and cooks.

Let his daughter benefit. In abundance.

He was profitable. One measure of our love. 

Let's tend to his memory.

With care.

***

It was hard to find one song. That's always a good thing when thinking of a person. 

I chose something to suit me. 

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2020