I

A.
When I last went to the large grocery store, on a beer and food run earlier in the week, I stopped in need of caffeine in the coffee, tea, and "institutional" aisle (with vats of mayonnaise, the gallon tubs of sauerkraut, and vast jars of pickle slices). When I made it to the tea section, across the aisle from apple cider and hot chocolate, I found a column of pumpkin spice (decaf black) tea from Stash, one of their holiday items, and, intrigued, I succumbed to curiosity and took a box.

Prepared straight it is not their most flavorful product. Today I double-bagged it and noticed improvement. Perhaps I'll follow their blurb and "[a]dd a touch of milk and sugar to complement the luscious flavor." So far it hasn't been luscious, though I'd settle for spicy. It smells good, though.

B.
As I begin the new year I realize that my foodstuffs are surprisingly free of preservatives and additives. None of my pantry or refrigerator items contain high fructose corn syrup. This was not specifically planned.

Both cupboards and the refrigerator contain exclusively "ingredients," except for one box of Pad Thai, the Hamburger Helper of Thai food. I suspect I inherited that box, though I did, perhaps, purchase it a year or so ago.

C.
It started as a dare posed at a LUG meeting in 2004. It began on February 7th. A Saturday. A daily food diary as a way to document the removal of certain items from my diet for a week, then two, and more.

That first day is still archived in ASCII on my computer, a starker less fleshed out format than ink against paper or glued clippings in a scrapbook. Two weeks at a time I recorded my meals, the snacks in between, and beverages caffeinated and not, sweetened and un-, alcoholic and otherwise.

Once the dare was over I maintained certain dietary adjustments. I now only drink soda/pop/cola when it's in a mixed drink, preferably one heavy on the booze. And the food diary continued.

II

A year and a half later I submitted to a physical as part of my Fulbright application and learned I'd gotten down to 211lbs., my first time under 100kg since 1995, I suspect. Earlier that summer my jeans fit better than ever before; I considered buying newer, smaller ones. I chopped inches off my belt.

When I first settled down in Berlin I had to do without my computer for a while so instead recorded my kebab stand and other purchases in my otherwise bland travel journal alongside the events of the day, the other travelers met at the hostel, and all that Utah jazz. One day in October 2005 I transferred the penned notes to a digital form and since then keep the food journal as a monthly file.

Then October 2007 hit. Something in the air, the climax of growing laziness and lack of care in my life, a confluence of events. My brother, who'd been staying on my futon off-and-on, packed up and headed west. Kevin the Construction Dude made me an exile from my own kitchen as he rebuilt it better, faster, stronger. Unable to properly prepare and cook in the facilities left to me I resorted to pre-prepared pizza night after night, lighting the oven to 425F and waiting about 20 minutes for the cheese to bubble and brown just right. And ice cream, more beer and wine, and delicious chocolate covered peanut butter balls that were so often out of stock. I regularly found myself picking up the last bag, taking them to the register, and responding to the cashier who always noted that they smelled good, seemed tasty, and wished she found them first. I'd already put weight on; that happened in Berlin. My German friends noticed it, and noted that my social life wouldn't be so bad if I weren't so fat. But in late October of 2007 I stopped keeping my food diary.

I kept days of entries backlogged in my head. I maintained enough of a routine—the morning milk and whatever, the chocolate milk on my way to work, the afternoon coffee—that all I would have to do is reasonably fill in the blanks.

December arrived, mid-month I returned to the family for some R-and-R, and let myself have full run of their extensive pantry. I wasn't interested, though. Except for occasional bowls of sugary cereal at midnight when my brother and I stayed up late again for some marathon—be it the first two seasons of BSG (his first viewing) or the Cube series or even the requisite rewatching of Firefly just to enjoy the one-liners—, I found I just didn't have the appetite for the junk food or even the not-so-junk food that offered itself up to me.

Last night I decided to have my last co-op supplied pizza for a while. The night before I finished off the last of the B&J's, and before midnight the last of my chocolate covered peanut butter balls passed my lips. When I made that grocery run Saturday afternoon I first stopped in the liquor store adjoining the grocery store proper. I contemplated wine, but ended up in the refrigerated beer section, where I found two tempting local brews where I'd been seeking one.

The New Glarus Belgian Red "is brewed with whole Montmorency Cherries, Wisconsin Farmed Wheat and Belgain Roasted Barleys, lagered in oak tanks and balanced by Hallertau hops we aged in our brewery one full year." Basically a kriek. I could not resist. I drank it last night. What I'd gone looking for, though, was their Raspberry Tart, a framboise. That was for Monday night.

When the new day arrived I thought to myself, "Self, want to start that food journal again?" I convinced myself easily.

III

A.
Miscellaneous is always the largest category.

It's a truism. It's a Joel Rosenberg quote. Probably one of Slovotsky's Laws. Perhaps just before or after "Never date a woman with a brother named Nunzio."

I must have cooked about a pound and a third of bacon today. Four strips were for me, for a late breakfast, but the rest went in the slow cooker along with the beans. I have enough beans simmering now to last me the rest of the week. I love my Crockpot™.

The things thrown into it are miscellaneous foods.

B.
My first movie of the new year came by way of not starting to watching anything until after midnight. An oversight on my part. So I watched Æon Flux, which wasn't particularly good, but it wasn't as bad as I'd expected, either. Once she gets out of Trevor's lab the inventive visuals die down quite a bit and it becomes an entirely typical action movie; this is disappointing. I am perhaps being too generous to it; my view is perhaps colored by my enjoyment of the use of Berlin landmarks in the film.

I suppose I'm the only one who thinks Pola Kinski sounds like the bastard love child of Roman Polanski and Klaus Kinski. Only the latter played a role, though.

The other first of the year so far is the first comic book, which in this case is Captain America, Vol. 5 No. 33. Back in issue 25 they killed Steve Rogers, and he's stayed dead so far. His ex-girlfriend pulled the trigger. Wolverine sniffed the body to confirm. That sort of thing. Give them a couple years and they'll reverse it; you can't keep a good poster child down. Earlier in this series they brought back Bucky, who, along with Gwen Stacy, Uncle Ben, and a few others was supposed to stay dead. Curiously enough they handled it relatively well, but when they killed off Steve Rogers I saw where this was going.

Expect Bucky to put on the "new and improved" (read: tacky-looking) Captain America suit next month. He already has the shield.

C.
My last night in Idaho I contemplated bringing back a lot of movies. I'd made room in my suitcases so I could bring them all back. Then I remembered how many unwatched movies I had waiting for me in Madison, as well as how many other activities and obligations I had. So I left them all behind, except for Underground. I needed a complete (rather, relatively complete) Kusturica collection in the cold Midwest. In the morning, before leaving, I unpacked most of the books I'd stuff in my suitcases; I was intent on bringing my Hofstadter collection back with me. I missed my copy of GEB, I wanted Le Ton beau de Marot by my side. I settled for The Mind's I.

But the one thing I was not leaving behind was my viola. It was my carry-on, my laptop served as a "personal item," and two suitcases were checked. I never travel that heavy.

I need music in my life, and I need it to come from vibrating strings, not cheap speakers.