k.i.s.s.

in legend, seville was founded by hercules. it was the launching point for magellan, home both to don juan and the tragic seductress carmen. bullfighting and flamenco were born here. as with any ancient port city it was often invaded and frequently besieged. the moors, however, ruled it successfully for 800 years, and their distinctive architectural language is everywhere. the place struck my heart immediately -- its romance, its layers of history, its ancient crumbling beauty. the air was heady with orange blossoms. i loved it.

decimated by plague in the 1600s, seville gradually sank from swaggering grandeur to dire poverty. economics, its moorish occupation and its place on the guadalquavir shaped its modern cuisine. one of the main reasons i travel is to eat like a native. every place had legs of jamon hanging in various stages of dry-cure. too poor to eat their chickens, so much focus on sublimely local eggs. the day-catch seafood, so simply prepared yet impeccably delicious. i'll never forget these little fried sardine-type guys, plated curled, with their tails between their teeth. i don't recall ever tasting any butter while there, and i'm fairly certain i ate gambas every day. further north, i enjoyed a sublimely grilled partridge, recently shot and dressed by the waiter (who proved to be son of the owner). (when did i start to write for fodor's?)

back home, our first impulse was to order-in pad thai and maki rolls. the food was such a cacophony on my tongue, i couldn't eat it. my palate had been so cleansed by 12 days of simply prepared perfection, the noodles were a jangly onslaught.

memory lane in andalucia has been lovely, but what brought this around is the current state of my mind and body in k.i.s.s. mode.

• afternoon movies are viable, but venturing alone for a cocktail is too fraught with peril. even when seemingly protected by the forcefield of a book, i attract too much attention and it's exhausting.
• i've always been able to meet a man's look with an equally forceful stare-back, but that's not currently possible.
• at home, i'm usually in silence. certain artists and lyrics reduce me to tears, so it's rare to hear anything other than npr. even with that, the weight of the world can be crushing.
• making my infrequent dinner at home, it's never more than 4 simple ingredients. something like sausage or cumin is out of the question. even chicken is more than i want.
  
• dinner at work is the simplest protein possible, usually raw tuna.
• red wine is too complicated. alsatian whites, lean as a knife's edge, are about as far as i can go.
• magazines, trade rags and short stories are the extent of my reading.
• contemplating the potential complications of intercourse with someone new is too terrifying and makes me weep.

ascetics typically hold the arrogance that renunciation of worldly pleasures will bring them spiritual ascendance. i know a few crunchy types who believe that fasting will somehow rearrange their karma more favorably. (lol, what? 14 days of consuming only hot lemon water will prevent your car from being stolen again? how about a little crack with your barley tea?)

so what now? all my life i've happily and effortlessly pursued sensuality. for heaven's sake, look at my career! but now, the mental and emotional roiling is a deluge, leaving little room, even at the shallow end, for the simplest former pleasures. i can't possibly push back the ocean with my bare hands, can i?

the one who most easily and confidentally swam with me and controlled the tides, has put me in the closet and closed the door. i'm like a swimsuit after labor day. can i get off the hook and out of the dark by myself? i keep hoping it won't come to that.

long view, grasshopper.

are foie gras, fellatio and flogging still in my future? or am i changed forever?

wonder how i would look in a habit?

dorothy, are you a good nun?

or a bad nun?