SIREN SONGS

Having spent all day in Marin surrounded by icebergs, and having eaten some strange things including some red stuff, as is common in the depths of Marin, one naturally wants something else. The food of my people howls at me across the abyss, and I harken to its call.
Or, to put it differently, I ate suburban muck today. And a red velvet cookie.

You know, back in the fifties and sixties they mixed carrots into lime jello and served it on iceberg lettuce with some mayo on top. Salad, the most important course.

Now you know why some people are so twisted.

They are American Suburbanites.

This is the kind of thing that belongs in Ethnic Studies. Course name: Why your white neighbor is a psychopath. Somebody needs to write a doctoral thesis about this.


Dinner was something easily thrown together, using stuff I had on hand.

Frozen stock. Fish balls. An icecube of chopped mixed herbs (included a little salt, pepper, lemon juice). A spoonful of sambal. A little chopped garlic and ginger fried in olive oil.

I didn't feel like adding any vegetables (bokchoi or chopped celery), and I decided against rice stick noodles, which would have been customary also.

Coffee afterwards, plus five miligrams of Amlodipine Besylate (prescribed, not recreational), followed by a pipe outside in the cold while walking around the block. Then home again, to the comforting presence of a turkey vulture. Who asked whether I had harvested any fatty inner thighs or other choice cuts while out there, what else are humans good for?

After all day in Marin I think he has a point.



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