lentils and designer wheelchairs

So, here's the thing. I ate a shitload of lentils today. I made a lentil soup, with some spices, carrots, and some other mirepoix bullshit. It was pretty good. However, I now have a serious case of butt-trumpet. If only there was some  way to halt the eruptions of gas.  The soup was pretty good though, despite the fact that it has instigated a raging anal fury. You know that expression that is something to the effect of, "art evokes emotion"? The one that somehow implies that anything that evokes emotion is art? Well, I don't think it applies to food. In any case, this soup was pretty legit. The other day, I made some crazy sauce based on what my neighborhood Thai place calls "crying tiger sauce", with some roasted tomatoes, garlic, fish sauce, limes or whatever, and a crapload of chilis. I put it on some meat, and that shit was pretty excellent. When will these rambling streams of consciousness end? Probably never. I mean, technically, this is writing and it's using the parts of the brain associated with interpreting written language, but the concepts and ideas are complete gibberish. What is the point of any of this? Pretty much nothing? Fucking gundam thoug, holy shit. It's  some seriously excellent business. This opening song is so terrific. I don't know how such greatness was allowed to exist. Independent of my food or gundam obsessions are my material needs, which I am woefully neglecting. I mean, I'm supposed to be working at my job at postmates, which is completely divorced from any real meaning for me, but I cannot even summon the faintest glimmer of a fuck or scrap of motivation to pull through with it. I mean, I can't even summon the motivation to do anything other than sit here, watch shitty anime, and lament about the misery of life. The truly pathetic thing is that my life isn't even that miserable, I can afford to sit here and watch gundam and purposely type bullshit. Even so, there's so much that I'd like to do, and so little of it coincides with the shit I need to do. For example, I'd really love to hang out with a super friendly tiger and take a nap with my head on its belly, but none of that will do anything towards the mechanical necessity of maintaining survival. That totally sucks. Something must be done, preferably by someone else though, I want nothing to do with effort. Ideally, I could spend my life hunting down minor pleasures and basking in some aesthetic ideal, but I'll probably do nothing of the sort, and end up being incapable of joy. I feel like everybody feels like this to some degree, but obviously on some different scale, while I'd like to drink microbrews, play league of legends, and watch gundam, there are some paraplegics who'd just like to walk. That goes without saying though, everything is relative to some degree, with the exception of quantitative measurements and the like. I mean, if the paraplegics knew about microbrews, gundam and league of legends, they'd be super into that shit as well, but they've got some more basic happiness to fulfill, if that makes any sense. Not that paraplegics couldn't enjoy a good microbrew, because as far as I know, being a tasteless buffoon and being partially paralyzed aren't mutually exclusive. I think that some of the best looking wheelchairbound folks that I've seen have been wearing formal attire. Too bad there aren't any formal wheelchairs, or are there? In that same vein, what would a polite crust punk with a super decalled wheelchair do when invited to a black tie event? Would the proper ettiquette be to rent a formal wheelchair? Or would they just show up and expect nobody to notice the stickers and filth? Maybe someone needs to come up with a fashionale wheelchair company, that sells wheelchairs tailored to various fashions. People could make eames inspired wheelchairs and charge ridiculous amounts for them. I mean, really, does the wheelchair market even care about fashion at all? More importantly, why aren't more interior designers taking up this niche and making bank on it? I feel that if someone were to make an appropriately fashionable wheelchair, they could make a shitload of money on venture capital, just on the basis that they'd be both hip and helping out the disabled. It's like the perfect San Francisco storm of political correctness and blatant selling-out. I feel like that was closer to 500 words than I've been in the past, but I've only fulfilled some sort of length requirement without any regard for quality . Holy shit though, this gundam is excellent, the music is totally rad, the colors are amazing, and the animation is so gloriously cheesy that it's borderline pornographic. Even so, it has some really coola rtistic moments, with really cool symetry, and some really cool colors. During one of the action montages, Amuro Ray's face was colored with some really cool palettes and had some really crazy and unrealistic colors. I could just be puking these words onto this blag, but hey, deal with it or whatever. I wish I had some kind of cool animated gif that I could post and be awesome with. In any case, I'm going to go to sleep and imagine that my pillow is the super soft belly of some variety of furry animal..