Hungry for a Typo: mushrooms, sauce, and spelling errors.

Did you know that both William Faulkner and Ernest Hemingway were notoriously piss-poor proof readers? Apparently, editors reading Hemingway’s illegible drafts would complain about it and salty-ass Ernest (entitled as hell and probably drunk as a skunk) said: “Well, that’s what you’re hired to correct!” feeling no sympathy for the time of theirs that he habitually wasted.

Here are some other“great minds” or “famous people” or “generally agreed upon smart and prolific people who worked with words” who sucked at spelling:

1. Jane Austen

2. John Keats

3. F. Scott Fitzgerald

4. Agatha Christie

5.Alfred Moshe Butts (this is the guy who invented Scrabble. Also lol his last name is Butts!)

6. Me

Okay, so i’m just kidding about #6 me, being on this list. I am far from published, other than this blog and my other medium that really only close friends and family, if that, see; most of my written things aren’t read, they get spoken out loud. Not too mention that most of the written things I make these days hardly include any amount of text at all. Lately I have been quite anti-verbose in my written work. This blog aside, my text has begun to take up one centimeter of one page: “walk here and yell.” or “light a match” or “try to fart” I am not a prolific or notable writer, but I do suck at spelling. Including me on the list was merely to make a clunky transition.

Check out the blurry picture.

Did you catch the error right away? I didn’t.

Just like oral herpes, being a bad speller is something that I have lived with for a long time. I went to a Spanish (spansih) immersion school for elementary school. I could read and write in Spanish before I learned to read and write in English and while I doubt this is the reason behind my inability to spell, I have a distinct memory of writing the word “people” in a book report, and sounding out the Spanish pronunciation in my head: “PAY OH PLAY.” I’ve managed to get by. Just barely. If it weren’t for squiggly red lines, I would be truly, truly fucked. But even despite depending on autocorrect for my entire scholastic career, I still got stuff wrong. Grammar and spelling was the only category on the teacher’s grade rubric that would consistently reflect a lower number than the rest. This was tough for a perfectionist, such as myself. I remember crying into the pea-coat clad shoulder of a friend when an A grade became a B grade because of my run on sentences and putting an a in the word “sentences.”

oh, but what is this little spiral thing are they construction outside?

It may come to a surprise to you that I consider myself as a perfectionist. “But, Ida! If you were a perfectionist wouldn’t you take the time to check your own work for words you spelled wrong?” It’s the patience I lack. I think the true reason I am bad at spelling is that I don’t like to take the time to go back, to retrace my steps. I’ll do it for content, sure, but doing it for spelling completely bores me. My failure to be patient applies to non-written matters, as well. Yesterday, I bit into a persimmon that’s supposed to be the soft kind just because it was near me and I was hungry.

doomed to sit on the kitchen table, It has a chunk taken out of it. I’ve staked my claim: I’m comin back for you baby.

So, I’m a perfectionist that lacks patience. Isn’t that possible? Can’t I still be tough on myself when I do a bad job at something, while also not taking the time and scrutiny it would require to do a good job on that same thing and not kick myself? I think I can. And I don’t have the time right now to further test that.

it kind of looked like a giant fish made of eggs.

Like baby hair, or shoes, or hating my sister, I thought bad spelling was something I would grow out of. But here I am, at age 25, still getting tripped up by their, there, and they’re and unsure how many m’s or r’s in tomorrow.

Here are some other things I never really grew out of:

1. Picking my nose in public
2. Wanting people to like me
3. Having short little legs
4. Liking the muscian Rafi
5. Loving Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwiches
6. Feeling like I need to ask before ordering a Soda at a restaurant
7. Dreams about getting in trouble with elementary school teachers
8. Talking way too loudly in public

In fact, this last one got me into a small confrontation when Erika and I went to the Golden Diner last Thursday. Here it is in the form of a short play that would take up a centimeter of a page:

IDA sits at a booth across from ERIKA and having what would be considered a casual conversation at what would be considered the very top of her lungs.

IDA: BLAH BLAH BLAH

WOMAN IN ANOTHER BOOTH: Can you PLEASE keep it down?! I am trying to talk on the phone.

it looks like that man is growing out of Erika’s head.

Okay, so have you ever been out to eat and looked over an extensive brunch menu, trying to decide what to get and thought to yourself: “Gee, well it all looks good so i’m sure I can do no wrong!”? Well, I am here to tell you that yes, you can. The spansih omelette is doing wrong.

The spansih omelette has mushroom, celery, onions and tomato sauce. Weird. it was very weird. Bad, even.

I believe that this item is inspired by a dish popular in Spain called “Tortilla Espanola” which is eggs and various other ingredients that are fried and baked into like a frittata type thing. While the original dish has fresh ingredients, and the shit I ate was filled fucking Preggo. They didn’t try at all to make it like the original. That would have taken too much time and effort and it’s called fast food for a reason ; no one has the patience.

Tortilla Espanola — that isn’t a typo I just can’t make a tilde with this computer and no, I do not have the patience to google it.