The End of the Amateur Gourmet

I have done a great deal of soul-searching tonight. First I sat on the floor meditating. Then I sat in my car drinking Scotch Whiskey out of a brown paper bag. When a hobo knocked on my window and asked for his brown paper bag back, I knew my life had taken an ugly turn.The Amateur Gourmet has ruined everything. Nary can I eat a meal without taking a picture. Do you know how weird that is? To take pictures of your food? People stare at me everywhere I go, and I have to tell them: “I’m documenting my eating habits for a bevy of internet readers!” And they undoubtedly respond: “A bevy? Who uses the word bevy?”Worse than that, though, my social life has completely hit a wall. Friends no longer eat with me for fear I will write about their eating habits on the internet. People no longer tell me things. I ask people to tell me things and they say: “No! You’ll put it on the internet!” So, for example, I had to find about my friend Scott Henderson’s hemmoroids from a third party. Do you know how hurtful that is?Mostly, though, I miss my time. The old me used his time very well. I would take ballet lessons, for example. Have you seen Billy Elliot? That’s based on me.And legos! The old me used to play with legos. Not any more. Now I have to eat my legos.The time has come to reevaluate. And I have come to the following conclusion: at 9 pm tonight, right after Will and Grace and before The Apprentice, I will terminate this website. I do it because I want my sanity back. I do it because I want your sanity back. I do it because I want to go out on a high note, and three months of glory is all a man can expect in this fickle fickle world, on this fickle fickle net we call inter.There is, of course, the possibility that–instead–I will covertly reveal that this entire message is part of a ruse. “A ruse?” you ask. “Yes,” I say. “What sort of ruse,” you press. “An April Fool’s ruse,” I conclude. “Bastard,” you say.Yes. Yes indeed. Happy A.F. Day!