The galls of acadème

People write papers on some crazy, crazy things. For instance, according to Cultural Studies at the University of Eau Claire, Wisconsin Dr. Maria-Grazia Inventato, "For many mafiosi, the capsicum, with its erect stalk, blood-red juice, and consanguinity with the violent fieriness of the chili pepper, stands as a potent symbol of Latin masculinity, at once contradicted and confirmed by the strong maternal attachment represented by the egg. However, it should be noted that the recipe requires both the softening of the pepper and the scrambling of the mother-symbol, a double trauma whose significance will not be lost on anyone familiar with mother-son dynamics even in second- or third-generation immigrant communities."

That's from "Peppers and Eggs: Red-Blooded Males and Mother-Worship in Italian-American Crime Culture," and the photo is from my dinner. I chose to respect the mother symbol by not scrambling it (except then I forgot to take a picture, dug in, realized what I'd done, and crammed it all back in the bell pepper ring). The pepper is also orange, which could represent a dilution of the potency of the red-blooded male. Make of that what you will. I didn't bake bread because exam, so I made a little tomatoey brown rice to sop up some delicious over-easy yolk. There was also some balsamic vinaigrette'd spinach salad.

Speaking of communities... my mom's has in fact rubbed off on me in some ways. As I mentioned on my Facebook account--god, I should really deactivate that thing--I discovered ridiculously cheap fresh okra at the greencart a block from my apartment. The guys running it* were delighted at my squeal of enthusiasm and ability to say "okra" in three languages, then slightly confused when I said I'd defer buying some until tomorrow's post-exam grocery shopping.

And speaking of exams, one of our lecture slides featured this picture of a woman who has expired due to purpura fulminans as a result of acute adrenal insufficiency. Some friends and I agree that Netter chose to depict her in an oddly sexy pose as she's... splayed out in disfiguring death.

*I frequent this cart for my produce, so while we're not on a first-name basis, they call me "sweetheart" and I call them "good sirs." Typing that out makes it sound a lot weirder than it actually is.