The Burden of Fame

I'm really worried about Rachael Ray.

I don't know what's holding her together, what with the cooking show, her own magazine, constant magazine & television appearances, and of all things, a talk show. I don't think there's enough speed in the world to keep someone going through all that (and never mind the Nat Enq stuff about her cheating hubby.)

The other day I was at my best friend's house, and over the piercing, clarion voice of her four-year-old we were sorta watching Rachael Ray on the food channel. And I have to say, she seems much more stressed out than she did a couple of years ago. The whole time she never looked at the camera, she was too rushed! Poor thing. She was cooking this pizza, it's like a pizza salad where (and I'm guessing a little here because it's hard to pay attention with little Jacob sitting on the couch with me, relentlessly kicking my leg) she chopped up a LOT of herbs & greens (like arugula & stuff) and put it on this pizza right when it came out of the oven, so the heat wilted the greens a little. And the pizza wasn't super cheesy, so it would be more light.

In fact, that is similar to how I make my own signature margherita pizza: as soon as the cheese and tomato/garlic-sauced pizza comes out of the oven, I fling generous handfuls of chiffonadededed basil on top so it sort of relaxes onto the cheese with a soft sigh: Aahhh. Then I eat it all.

To restate my concern, I am worried about Rachael Ray. And I haven't even mentioned all those fucking Triscuit and Wheat Thin boxes with her face on there looking kinda scary.

But that pizza still looked pretty darn good; almost as good as my pizza.

OK, gotta go floss. Bye!