Cold cold cold

The weather the past couple days has dropped down to minus 20 Celsius (-4 Fahrenheit).

This is upsetting for multiple reasons.

The most important is that I no longer have a fridge. Instead, I have a freezer of that ancient type we find in our basements, with the heavy steel doors that lock you in, where there are treats left over from a ginormous block party from 1973, forgotten, somewhere, molded onto the shelves, where ice has formed such mass that we can no longer tell where asbestos-laden plastic shelves end and methane-ice begins.

And my tvorog is like ice cream! (I suppose it is a poetic enough fate for it, as an idle business-venture of mine is to start a syrok company in America and market this new “Russian ice cream.” To briefly explain: tvorog is a byproduct of milk curds, high in protein and found in everything from pastries to oatmeal to salads to etc. etc. “Syrok” is the name for any number of products that supersaturate tvorog with sugar, chemical flavors, usually involving a coating of chocolate…you understand, in brief, why I am enamored of it. Syrok is my Dunkin Donuts substitute.)

The yogurt shake I had in there along with the tvorog is solid ice. I tried pouring some boiled water in there to shake it up, but the water just froze. Haha. I am inept at life. I am tempted to throw my iceberg into the Moscow-River in the path of one of the cruise ships and watch the Titanic sink again.

A final food note, as I am scrambling to come up with a breakfast alternative and munch on the peanuts I bought. I just eat it with the peel on. Am I going to die? I’m not so sure that it would be a bad thing.

See why tomorrow in Death of an Artist! Mwahaha. Marketing.