flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
That ‘Kinky Boots’ joke will make immediate sense to about two people, but they’re an awesome two people, so.
Traditionally getting ready for Passover would involve selling or giving away all the chametz in the house, but neurotic owl prefers to store it in his face. And eventually, belly. My parents take the time-honoured route of taping off a shelf in the pantry, since my father doesn’t keep Pesach anyway, although I think in recent years they’ve even given up on that and now they just keep Mom’s Pesach supplies in Belden’s bags on the dining room table/floor. They raised me all kinds of classy. I’m eating kitnyot this year, and I can’t tell you how delightful it is to not have to worry so much about those relatively arcane requirements and just stick to the basic rules. It still feels like cheating, as would breaking any tradition you’ve spent roughly 30 years of your life following would, but it makes my holiday more pleasant, affordable, and, most importantly, internally consistent, as my reasons for dropping kitnyot are essentially identical to the reasons I don’t keep kosher.
If this has been reading like so much gobbledygook to you, you can either write it off as Jew-y stuff or check out this blog, which does a great job of explaining the basics of Pesach: http://rabbipaul.blogspot.com/2009/04/can-we-eat-beans-rice-corn-and-peas-on.html