{"id":156,"date":"2005-07-07T06:55:41","date_gmt":"2005-07-07T10:55:41","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.law.harvard.edu\/longestnow\/2005\/07\/07\/true-confessions-of-a-hungry-mind\/"},"modified":"2005-07-07T06:55:41","modified_gmt":"2005-07-07T10:55:41","slug":"true-confessions-of-a-hungry-mind","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/longestnow\/2005\/07\/07\/true-confessions-of-a-hungry-mind\/","title":{"rendered":"True Confessions of a Hungry Mind"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a><\/p>\n

Ok, that’s quite enough contemplation and open mourning.  If your
\nlast name ends  in A-G, I’ve already gotten to you.  The site
\ncolour will be back to nourmal soon, once I finish a few pressing
\nduties for the Wikimania <\/a>Programme<\/a>.  <\/p>\n

Let me take a break from meta-communication for a moment; I have something to confess.  I am a binge eater<\/span>.  Not what you first think of when you imagine “binging” — there is no purging <\/span>involved; and minimal compulsion <\/span>—
\nbut I will eat staggering quantities of food at a time.  When I am
\ndeeply involved with some project or invention, or doing many things at
\nonce, I sometimes actively avoid eating.  It isn’t so much a
\nmatter of forgetting; the first few regular meals that pass by are
\ncertainly noticed.  But eating is a very direct and physical
\ndistraction.  It is much harder to control one’s own sleep schedule<\/span>
\non a full stomach, and the simple process of choosing, making, and
\ncleaning up a meal is a good half-hour’s interruption.  And after
\nten years, I am still astonished at how much clearer, faster, and
\ndeeper free-association<\/span> is on a long-empty stomach.<\/p>\n

This morning for instance, after three days of subsiding on the
\noccasional piece of chocolate (here I would refer to the longevity
\nrecommendations of a famous pair of nonagenarian sisters<\/span> from the US, but cannot find their fifteen minutes of fame; the Fortean Times suggests “avoid alcohol, eat good vegetables, and never, never get married to no skinny woman<\/span>” — thus Jackson Pollard, 124, from their <\/span>Amazing Lives and Astonishing Deaths<\/span><\/a>),
\nI polished off a two-pound lasagna, two pounds of vegetables, three
\nsmall pots of yoghurt and a few cans of soda.  Plus the last
\nquarter pound of chocolate.  <\/p>\n

This wasn’t the limit of my appetite, mind you; it’s
\njust what was at hand.  As I write this, having easily doubled the
\nrest of the week’s food intake before breakfast<\/span>, I am
\nrather longing for a
\njuicy yam<\/span> or three. <\/p>\n

~ ~ ~\n<\/div>\n

\nReflecting on this, am reminded of the endless meals of distant times and places… and of That French Restaurant in Lake Placid<\/span>,
\nat the back of a blues club, with the inevitable classical piano player
\nand, for those so inclined, a proper five-course meal, where by proper<\/span>
\nI mean “incomparably filling.”   A full meal there might run
\nto three hours, 8000 Calories and a two-notch loosening of the
\nbelt.  My father raised me on meals like that once in a blue moon,
\nso perhaps that’s where I picked up the habit. For years I made sure
\nwhen dining (and ordering<\/span>) not to leave any food left over.<\/p>\n

Alas, I have not quite maintained my former standards<\/span>.  Not two weeks ago I was at the South Street Diner<\/span> with J #1, and we both got their mixed grill (fantastic<\/span>),
\nwell over a pound of grilled meat and fish, with a couple of
\nsides.  It was with a guilty conscience I handed over my last few
\nbites at the end of the meal.<\/p>\n

Update:<\/span><\/span>  Six hours later, I am definitely hungry for a full lunch.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Ok, that’s quite enough contemplation and open mourning.  If your last name ends  in A-G, I’ve already gotten to you.  The site colour will be back to nourmal soon, once I finish a few pressing duties for the Wikimania Programme.  Let me take a break from meta-communication for a moment; I have something to confess.  […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":135,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[217],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-156","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-sj"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/longestnow\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/156","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/longestnow\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/longestnow\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/longestnow\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/135"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/longestnow\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=156"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/longestnow\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/156\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/longestnow\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=156"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/longestnow\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=156"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/archive.blogs.harvard.edu\/longestnow\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=156"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}