MAKURA NO SOSHI: A WOMAN WHO LOVES INSECTS
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Tuesday, May 13, 2003
CHOCOLATE MARTINIS

Ever had a chocolate martini? Their chocolatiness does not seem to interfere in any way with their alcohol content which is, well . . . disconcerting. I'm just not sure how I feel about that.

Do you ever wonder why the chain of Happy Chef restaurants isn't called the Disgruntled Fry Cook? Wouldn't it be more honest? (And let's face it, we're talking about a chain of family-style restaurants probably not too dissimilar from Bob Evans here . . . isn't the term "Chef" in and of itself a bit euphemistically self-aggrandizing in the first place?) And isn't it kind of interesting to think about what it would be like to wake up one morning and find that everything was renamed, like a photographic negative, according to its antonym? Safeway grocery stores would be HazMatPaths, and Piggly Wiggly stores would be what . . . Kosher Woshers? Or think about all those ubiquitous names for Chinese restaurants. The Great Wall would be The Insignificant Breezeway, or Number One Best Chinese Restaurant would be Suck-Ass Worst Caucasian Food Trough Ever.

Well . . . maybe.

Apropos of nothing, I feel compelled to state that nothing chaps my ass more than grading papers only to discover that a small clusterfuck of them have been plagiarized verbatim off the internet. I mean do I look like a Total Fucking Moron, or what? (And okay, well . . . honestly, it kind of hurts my feelings, too.)

I am writing this from the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Columbus, Ohio. And I can't seem to get to sleep. And I have to be over at the Ohio Arts Council at 8:30 a.m. to sit on the literature advisory panel for the next two days. And I can't seem to get to sleep. Fuckitty fuck fuck fuck!!!

It's always dislocating to be in Columbus . . . I lived here for four years in the not-so-distant past. So it feels like home, but not-home.

The thing is . . . it just seems unnatural for martinis to involve Chocolatey Goodness of any sort, don't you think?

Furthermore, in Jeannette Winterson's novel, Written on the Body, the narrator says that "Wallowing is like sex for depressives." My question is . . . so what's the foreplay, then?

And finally, you know those women security guards with the metal-detecting wands at the airport? Okay, admittedly, some of them are just plain scary . . . sometimes scary, and with Dental Issues to boot . . . but every once in awhile there'll be that totally hot security checkpoint lady . . . you know, totally hot in an Edie Falco in Oz kind of way? When that happens, is it wrong to deliberately exit the secured area in order to, say, get another cup of coffee, and then come back through again twice?

Posted by Artichoke Heart | 1:38 AM |
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