Resumo de artigo-Of Vampire and Kitchen Ninja

Of Vampire and Kitchen Ninja

The weasel, the possum, the flying squirrel: these are my brethren. We scurrying, foraging, sometimes awkwardly gliding creatures of the night, sleep while the rest of the world buzzes away in the heat of the sun. Sure, I'm often told that I'm missing "the best part of the day," but the people who call it that usually have actual jobs, which is where they spend it anyway. Sheesh. They probably have "families," "hobbies," and "meaningful lives" too. Sellouts.
I first developed my nocturnal predilection in college while working at a coffee house. I usually got off work at around one-thirty in the morning, and sleep was not a concern because of a horrific game that, predictably, I invented called, "Raise the Shot." It is a game of which I am, in all modesty, the Grandmaster Super Champion of the Known and Unknown Universe, Including Theoretical Extra Dimensions Currently Being Probed by Physicists. Perhaps I was so good at this game because there was only one quality needed to win: stubbornness.
The game started when one of the coffee house employees placed an extra large cup under the espresso spout. At this point, the two competitors, though I preferred the term "combatants," would face off, staring in each other's eyes, preferably with countenances of stony resoluteness, though silly faces were an alternate strategy, and probably more appropriate.
The two would alternately punch the button for "Single Shot," the level of espresso creeping sinisterly toward the brim of the cup. The game reached its climax when one combatant, unnerved by the caffeine that crouched in the cup like a feral beast about to pounce and deprive one of a sunlit existence, refused to push the button again. To secure victory, all the other competitor had to do was consume the espresso in less than five minutes.
I never lost this game, not once in two years of playing nearly every night, and I protected my title like an wombat (also nocturnal) protects her young, even on one occasion downing seventeen shots against a particularly worthy opponent. I never experienced any serious ill-effects, though the universe would develop a worrying tendency to vibrate. Psychologically speaking, I sometimes experienced bouts of certainty, when the world seemed to sort itself into a recognizable and even beautiful pattern of which I was a necessary and irreplaceable part. Luckily, these feelings would fade with time.
After work, I would roam campus, finding forgotten corners and reveling in the solitude of usually bustling public spaces. Though occasional romantic fantasies of meeting a like-minded woman in the sculpture garden provided me with company, actual encounters with other night ramblers were usually limited to apologetic eye contact and hasty retreats in opposite directions.
These nights set the pattern, and now, whenever my life permits, I find my schedule sliding into the inky abyss of night. Since currently I can do the majority of my job from home, I now find myself in the warm, dark, bosom of nocturnalism. But life is more complicated now than it was in college, with roommates and a day-living girlfriend.
At 4 a.m., my choice of foodstuffs is limited, since the kitchen is next to what was formerly a dining room, but has been converted into an extra bedroom with the aid of a makeshift bamboo wall. Sadly, our choice of wall-building material is not known for its sound insulating qualities, and I try to avoid waking up our bamboo dweller. So I am forced to prepare meals by doing things like eating General Tsao's chicken straight from the refrigerator or dumping chocolate chips into a peanut butter jar and retreating upstairs with a spoon. I feel like our own kitchen ninja.
Beyond sustenance is the girlfriend problem. Apparently being pale, sensitive to light, and an eater of unlikely foods is only sexy when you're a vampire. Plus, I have seen a few hordes of pitchfork wielding peasants cruising the neighborhood with ut I just thought it was a fad. But we've worked it out. Luckily, my breakfast overlaps with her dinner, and we can spend some quality time before my workday starts. And after some negotiation, she agreed that calling me at "ungodly hours," for instance, 2 p.m., is off-limits.
And while the true nightlife is mainly about solitude, I've met some of the most interesting people I know during the night hours. In fact, I first hung out with Lexy London at 4 a.m. She invited me over to her apartment, and we ate Ritz crackers and watched Leaving Las Vegas, the sun coming up just as the main character succeeded in drinking himself to death. As I traveled home, the first few rays of the sun touching my wincing eyes, my bed ready to shelter me from the buzzing hubbub of the morning rush, I was miserable, exhilarated, and certain.
This was the life for me.

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