i hate uncertainty.

well, what i really hate is the fact that one year from right now, i have no idea what city i'll be in, no idea what subject i'll be studying (although the do-it-yourself tarot cards implied it would be business, law, or archeology), and -- most importantly -- no idea who the next american idol will be.

ever since i was little, i've marked the passing of life by milestones, whether it was looking forward to the weekend, a cousin's bar/bat mitzvah, or the spring season. (actually, i did not learn that spring was my favorite season until i moved to st. louis when i was 19. who knew that leaves turn colors, fall off their stems, and grow back every year? they don't teach that in miami public schools. actually, they don't teach reading or writing in miami-dade public schools either.)

somehow, marking life by significant events always made it easier to bare the mondays and to care about the mundane. but as one gets older, the workdays blend together, the months become indistinguishable, and the only excitement between twenty-one and thirty is the age at which one becomes eligible to rent a car (twenty-five).

and really, that doesn't get my motor running. in the abstract sense at least.

and so, in the two years during which i've been a profakessional, i've come to measure life by the cycles that envelop my daily life -- namely: seasons eatings (november-december), weighing in (january), chocolate obsession weekend (february), grilling and chilling (june-august), and cook with your kids month (october).

in essence, i measure my life by what has come to be known as domestic porn.

(domestic porn is a term recently erected to describe shows and channels like the food network that depict aspects of our everyday lives -- recipes, decorating, wedding planning, and sex -- so far removed from real life that the viewing cannot be used except as a vicarious experience. for instance, on the food network, while deliciousness is the primary celebrated feature, one cannot "taste" or "smell" television -- unless you watch emeril and have "smellovision" -- making the food network the epitome of voyeurism. like in pornography, the food network presents its "porn" through a medium by which the pleasure cannot be experienced firsthand, so visual stimulation is the alternative.)

and although i will always remain a food network pervert, my broadening taste has prescribed a reality by which i am able to measure my uncertain professional and academic future.

here's what it comes down to:

• by the time jack bauer saves millions of people from russian terrorists plotting to release viles of nerve gas, i will already know which school i will be attending next year. (actually, by the time i probably blog next, i'll have made a graduate school decision.)
• by the time the next season of entourage begins, i will have decided my last day at my current job, signed a lease on a new living space for the next two to four years, and the next president will have been elected on the west wing.
• and by the time america names its tenth american idol, i will be a jd/mba graduate from some yet undecided university.

tv -- and the absurdity of reality tv -- has become a hallmark measure of my reality. and not because i live vicariously through the nerds on beauty and the geek. or critique the fired employees' performances on the apprentice. or cry everytime a needy person has his/her car pimped out.

and perhaps it seems infantile to measure important life decisions by the meaningless and ridiculous truth -- and even domestic porn -- that television creates for millions of americans. but as i find myself on the verge of a reality change, i welcome any stability by which i can normalize uncertainly.

and really, is there anything better in which to find strength than a butterscotch creme brule?