Wednesday
Jul112012
If "Eraserhead" Were an Emotion, This Would Be It
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
I have developed a bad relationship with Alphaghettis. I probably should never have developed a good relationship with them in the first place, but now it has soured, and I'm a little sad about it.
I have relationships with objects, you see. I do what I can on my end to keep us all copacetic, but the damn things keep getting weird on me.
For instance, I had a toaster that I really liked, and I had had this toaster for over five years, so we were pretty close. I made toast in it. I used it to light my morning cigarette. It was a real giver. And then, one day, it seemed to stay a little too hot for a little too long.
It could have just been me, because I had never carefully timed its heat retention before, but it just seemed kind of off. When it did it the next day, too, or at least seemed to do whatever it seemed to be doing, I felt a sick little twist in my stomach. My toaster was bad, and not good bad like bad boys in high school but bad bad like lumpy milk accidentally dumped on your last bowl of your favourite cereal.
I went without toast for some time after that, unsure if I was ready to handle having a different toaster in my kitchen. I really love toast, so this was a serious break-up, and I have been leary of strange toasters ever since.
You probably think I'm kidding about this. I'm not. This is serious business here.
I once lived in an apartment that I loved. It was the only place I've ever lived in that I cleaned with any regularity, so our bond went deep. The bedroom was at the back of the apartment. It was dark and small, and I slept better there than I had in years. One afternoon, though, I walked into it, and, like with the toaster, something seemed off. I tidied it up, I rearranged the furniture, and I burned incense, but whatever was off was staying that way. My gut gave up that sick little twist, and that was it. I moved my bed out into the living room and slept there for the next six months. I only entered that bedroom once more when I moved out to make sure that it was clean.
See? I'm not kidding. I can break up with a room.
I've also developed bad relationships with, among other things, pairs of shoes, a perfectly sweet pet hamster, a closet, a particular brand of chocolate syrup, a stuffed animal, a copy of Alice In Wonderland, a set of shelves, and, once, a fern, whose malevolent presence put me off my food until I put it outside for some kind stranger to salvage. I don't know what it is specifically about these items, but they just feel malevolent, spiritually toxic even. They spread no joy in Schmutzville.
Today, it's my Alphaghettis. The can refused to cut open properly, I could see oil separated from the red sauce, and I did not appreciate the sucking sound it made as it slid out of the can. They did not behave and feel like my beloved Alphaghettis of the past few decades. They feel malicious in some way sitting in that bowl. It's as though they are imbued with some kind of conscious ill intent.
I feel exactly like I did that one morning when I woke up next to a boyfriend who smelled like bong water. I was disturbed by his physical presence, like I was cuddling a giant cockroach, and I wondered if I would need any special medical testing after I walked out of his apartment for the last time. If the movie Eraserhead were an emotion, this mash-up of disgust and paranoia would be it.
So, goodbye Alphaghettis. It was nice knowing you before you turned on me, jerk.
----------------------------
PS. Immediately after I hit publish on this post, the Palinode called and asked "How are the peppers in the fridge doing?", to which I replied, "They're feeling pretty good about themselves right now."
Vegetable empathy. I have it.
I have relationships with objects, you see. I do what I can on my end to keep us all copacetic, but the damn things keep getting weird on me.
For instance, I had a toaster that I really liked, and I had had this toaster for over five years, so we were pretty close. I made toast in it. I used it to light my morning cigarette. It was a real giver. And then, one day, it seemed to stay a little too hot for a little too long.
It could have just been me, because I had never carefully timed its heat retention before, but it just seemed kind of off. When it did it the next day, too, or at least seemed to do whatever it seemed to be doing, I felt a sick little twist in my stomach. My toaster was bad, and not good bad like bad boys in high school but bad bad like lumpy milk accidentally dumped on your last bowl of your favourite cereal.
I went without toast for some time after that, unsure if I was ready to handle having a different toaster in my kitchen. I really love toast, so this was a serious break-up, and I have been leary of strange toasters ever since.
You probably think I'm kidding about this. I'm not. This is serious business here.
I once lived in an apartment that I loved. It was the only place I've ever lived in that I cleaned with any regularity, so our bond went deep. The bedroom was at the back of the apartment. It was dark and small, and I slept better there than I had in years. One afternoon, though, I walked into it, and, like with the toaster, something seemed off. I tidied it up, I rearranged the furniture, and I burned incense, but whatever was off was staying that way. My gut gave up that sick little twist, and that was it. I moved my bed out into the living room and slept there for the next six months. I only entered that bedroom once more when I moved out to make sure that it was clean.
See? I'm not kidding. I can break up with a room.
I've also developed bad relationships with, among other things, pairs of shoes, a perfectly sweet pet hamster, a closet, a particular brand of chocolate syrup, a stuffed animal, a copy of Alice In Wonderland, a set of shelves, and, once, a fern, whose malevolent presence put me off my food until I put it outside for some kind stranger to salvage. I don't know what it is specifically about these items, but they just feel malevolent, spiritually toxic even. They spread no joy in Schmutzville.
Today, it's my Alphaghettis. The can refused to cut open properly, I could see oil separated from the red sauce, and I did not appreciate the sucking sound it made as it slid out of the can. They did not behave and feel like my beloved Alphaghettis of the past few decades. They feel malicious in some way sitting in that bowl. It's as though they are imbued with some kind of conscious ill intent.
I feel exactly like I did that one morning when I woke up next to a boyfriend who smelled like bong water. I was disturbed by his physical presence, like I was cuddling a giant cockroach, and I wondered if I would need any special medical testing after I walked out of his apartment for the last time. If the movie Eraserhead were an emotion, this mash-up of disgust and paranoia would be it.
So, goodbye Alphaghettis. It was nice knowing you before you turned on me, jerk.
----------------------------
PS. Immediately after I hit publish on this post, the Palinode called and asked "How are the peppers in the fridge doing?", to which I replied, "They're feeling pretty good about themselves right now."
Vegetable empathy. I have it.
categorized in food & drink, personal history and tagged in canned food, crazy, food, junk food, past, psychology
food & drink, personal history and tagged in canned food, crazy, food, junk food, past, psychology 
Reader Comments (13)
Haha. Did you read my popchips post? I guess it takes more than just a feeling - in my case it was a bad visual - but when something turns for me, it turns. Eraserhead LOL.
I am enamored by your writing, Elan. Lovely post.
The boy-friend bong-water cockroach part was really vivid!
Learned a new word too, copacetic.
Thanks.
Does it make me strange that I "get" this? At least I'm in mighty fine company if the answer is 'yes'.
Katie, if anyone were to get this, it seems likely that it would be you somehow.
I get it. Well maybe not the sweet hamster breakup. That seems harsh.
Enjoyed the post but can't say as I understand having never eaten alphagetti.
Great You have a very nice webdesign here on your page i like it very much and have add your blog to my favorites.
I don't find this strange at all. Recently I had to get rid of my long owned (and very well loved) car. I LOVED that car, probably to an unhealthy degree but she was just showing me the love back anymore so I ended the relationship after 18 years. I actually cried when I signed her over to the mechanic for disposal.
I've felt deep sadness at the loss of my coffeemaker as well. It's like these things become part of me and I'm losing a bit of myself. (and I know this makes me sound like an excellent candidate for serious therapy)
Love this post, Elan. While I can only relate because of your wonderfully descriptive writing (and not because I am blessed to feel as deeply as you do), I find it so fascinating that it's almost as if I can really feel it. The only thing in my experiences that seems even remotely similar is how my houseplants talk to me...
To be able to connect and feel as deeply as you do is a gift, and like most gifts, it comes with a flip side. Sorry about your alphaghettis.
I have had this feeling about food too, which prompts people I know to say, "But you used to LOVE (insert random food here)!!" and then I get all defensive because I know they don't understand. I am glad I am not alone.
Also, you used to have a google+ "share this" option for posts. No more?
I had to look up what Alphaghettis were. I don't think we have them in the U.S. I think everyone identifies with "the end" of things.
After smiling for quite some time after reading this, I felt a wave of sadness, and then suspicion, about what place in my life that rice cooker I've had since college really holds, and what it must think of me. Despite this new awkwardness I now feel in relation to an appliance, I really enjoyed this post.
I sort of actually have the same thing going with a toaster. I was living with a roommate and we split about a month ago - she took the toaster oven that we had been using and I had fallen in love with, and in the move I guess I lost my old toaster. Now, I can't bring myself to buy a new toaster until I can find the perfect, affordable toaster oven. Weirdness.