Penzeys loves me. I don't have to ask. I just know. Spice companies have to adore customers like me, who, like clockwork, place 2-3 enormous orders per year and turn all their friends into customers as well.

I'm still waiting on Penzeys to be certified as an Official Domestic Crack dealer; their periodic catalogue is ostensibly about spices but more about blatant culinary seduction. Anyone who doesn't believe me has never opened up the catalogue to the 'cinnamon' page, read about the four different types of cinnamon they carry, and found him-/her-self openly lusting over the descriptions of each spice and its origin.

Eventually you catch yourself referring to your spices by their country of origin. Fellow spiceheads can sit together in a kitchen, trying to remember if the cinnamon they each have in their kitchens is from Ceylon, China, or Vietnam. Discussions like this ensue:

I will not make a declarative post.
I will not make a declarative post.
I will not….

….well, there went my resolve…I generally try to steer myself away from telling straightforward tales of the everyday on domesticat. I'm not certain why, exactly, I have such a desire to avoid a simple retelling, but I think it's because I like to think that I'm able to take a few minutes out of each and every day to lift myself out of the immediacy of the moment.

To see the bigger picture.

Tonight, I haven't managed it. It was one of those nights that I tried to help a friend resurrect a site with problems, but didn't manage my usual magic. For the second night in a row, my attempt to make a tasty dinner fell flat. I didn't get as much coding done as I wanted, nor as much housework.

Just…flat. I think maybe I've exceeded my code-and-domesticat-fu for the day.