I couldn’t send you off into the wilds of another winter weekend without a soupçon of SWINTON.
Incidentally, when I was younger, my mom had a cookbook called Soupçon and I always read the title– as one would, when one is five — as Soup Con, which these days would be how you would reference a giant foodie event that’s all about soup, and people who make soup, and love soup, and blog about soup, and who run a message board called Souper Duper all about how to live your life with maximum soup, and the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld would always be there signing autographs, and everyone would pray to a giant framed photo of Soupy Sales next to some TVs screening his old episodes of Match Game, someone from Pixar would be there giving a keynote speech about what’s REALLY in that soup the Ratatouille rat made that was so good, and Joel McHale would probably do an episode of The Soup on location, and it would all end in a screening of Duck Soup followed by a Bowling For Soup concert where they serve gourmet corn dogs because by then everyone really, really would need to chew something.
Does all that mean that SWINTON, who spawned this digression, is the patron saint of SoupCon? I hope so. I bet she’d show up wearing a dress made of Campbell’s cans.