Almond cake

It's been raining all day, so I decided to bake. Took on a very involved almond cake recipe, well worth it as the house now smells delicious. One stage involved mixing sour cream and baking soda alone. I was like, whatevs, recipe, if you say so. Usually I just kind of freelance, but today I attempted exactness. It foamed like a cool science experiment, which is what baking is. The cake has about ten minutes left in the oven. And then imma eat the whole thing, minus a slice or two for sharing. If you're lucky.

It's not just cloudy outside. The Internet is making my head feel cloudy too, but the only way to put this thing there is to be here. It is the confluence of Engaged Celebrities and Tax-Evading Celebrities and Vest-Wearing Politicos and Politicos in Sunglasses and Secret Service Hijinks and Three Shot in Ohio Restaurant and What Happened to the Body and What Happened to the Defenseless Child and the Person I Used to Know's Frightening Drinking Habits and the Person I'm Getting to Know's Early Tragedy and the Opinions of Everyone Who Ever Lived Listed in One Convenient Place, Chronologically.

The baking took me out of that for awhile. And then I return.

I should do more baking.

Because what do I need to know about those things? Conversely, here and now on this page that isn't a page, what do you need to know about me?

Dudes. Doodlebugs. There is too much confusion and evasive conversation traveling through wires at high speeds. Absurdity, really. (As in my found poem, Beautiful, Embarrassing.) Things you cannot touch, yet still can feel, sometimes deeply. At least you can touch an almond cake. At least I will feel it in my stomach, before too long.

I am waiting on the beep-beep-beep that signals my Pavlovian rise from this chair and walk to the oven, where I will don oven mitts to reveal what hopefully is a luscious and perfect and delicious cake. The thing I would rather talk about at this particular moment than any of the other things above.

Beep. Beep. Beep.