.peeling tomatoes.

i thought that at age 25 i had identified all of the raw and dirty pleasures that life has to offer. when i was seven, i popped my first bubble wrap. i was probably younger when i realized the sublime pleasure of picking a scab. when i was eleven, i put my first cue tip in my ear and thought i saw a blissful glimpse of what sex would be like someday. when i was twelve, i popped my first blackhead. tequila when i was 18. cigarettes, kissing, pot, and sex all when i was 19 (a good year for me). since then, the world has withheld these visceral thrills, or at least guarded them more preciously and released them on extremely rare occasion. the sight of my gas gage on full is about the greatest pleasure i get these days.

last weekend, under overcast skies and with a particularly fragile heart, i realized a pleasure that gripped all senses with unexpected glee: i blanched tomatoes and peeled off their skins. it was like peeling a sunburn or elmer's glue off of your fingers in the first grade. it turned my hands pink and stung my mangled cuticles. the skins fell into the clogged sink and swirled around like goldfish fins, translucent and sunlit. the tomatoes themselves were warm and throbbing, and each one felt like an organ still alive in my hands and ready for transplant. i could see right through to the veins, pale and protruding.

all in all, the experience was not a success. tomatoes were overcooked, watery and wasted. a jar popped open in the water bath and spewed tomatoes everywhere. i gave up and cried. while the endeavor was not productive, it reminded me that fun lurks in the strangest places.