Tuesday, 24 March 2009

• Currently Serve It Forth (Art of Eating) By M. F. K. Fisher see related

  Free Mastectomy Day

  Drug store sign passed on the way to work:  COME TO OUR FREE MASTECTOMY DAY!  FRIDAY, MARCH 27^TH!!  NO APPOINTMENT NECESSARY

  So, uh…no thanks.  If I were thinking about a mastectomy, I don’t think a free one at the barred-window drugstore on East Leavenworth would be the kind I want.  Although that “no appointment necessary” is attractive.  Maybe they have a drive-through service?  Pull up, shove your boobs through the slot, whack!  Whack!  Here’s some aspirin.  And two band-aids. 

  I need to figure out how to have beers with authors that I admire while they’re still alive.  (That’s the only way to get them to split the check.)

  No seriously, I finally cracked open the MFK Fisher book that my good friend CJ gave me, and it’s so wonderful.  She’s the Dorothy Parker of epicures, only more subtle.  Slightly.  And her sources go back a lot farther.  A LOT.  When’s the last time you read a book that referenced Seneca?  And was readable? 

  I love her.  I want to hang out and drink Château Yquem with her.  Unfortunately, she died in 1992.  Serve it Forth, that wonderful dish that I was reading, was published in 1937!

  So who is still alive that I’d invite to a Fisher-inspired dinner?  Limit 5 or at most 6, since Fisher agrees with the ancient Greek A-something-us that any more is too familiar to “a troop of beasts marauding their prey.” 

  1-Frank McCourt, who has to tell stories and sing his father’s Irish hero songs
  2-Pat Conroy, who writes like poetry but obviously has some seriously fucked up shit in his head.
  3-Jonathan Welter, who has to observe and write an essay about it later.
  4-Whichever one of the Mountain Goats writes all the lyrics.  He has to play acoustic guitar to Frank’s lilting Irish voice.  And write a song about me and that other Frank.  One that makes me feel like singing about the whole comic tragedy is better than living it.
  5-Rita Mae Brown, with whom I will flirt madly and who will sleep over.
  6-Clive Cussler, ditto.

  Oh why not.

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