Mulholland Drive Ecstasies & Blues

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Like the bee, we should make our industry our amusement.—Oliver Goldsmith

            My foreshadowing sucks. I need more foreshadowing.  But my food karma is good. My stomach is all gaga about my food karma right now. That’s probably why I’m writing this crazy ‘Mulholland Drive’ junk. My stomach is all agog. I’m having an ‘Out Of Stomach’ experience.

            As I said, it all started last week when suddenly good food started coming my way. Through the generosity of my friends, I was inexplicably thrust into a life of eating out of restaurants instead of cans. Dented cans. Restaurants, not junk food kiosks.

            Enough foreshadowing? On with today’s tale then. Today was payday at the Arco. I decided to celebrate with a rare trip to Ralph’s supermarket. Oh, how long it has been since I’ve seen the glistening shelves, shelves bulging with America’s great horn of plenty?

            I went straight to the deli department where I chanced to meet my boss at the Arco, Kimmie. I immediately made a fool of myself, doing a fat man’s Tango of Culinary Lust in front of the deli counter, telling Kimmie of the virtues of Tabouli and Cooscoos and Hummus and Krab Salad and Chicken Corn Dogs and Greek Salad and Pistachio Creme, all of which I was ordering from the fat Mexican behind the counter with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head as if the poor woman behind the counter was Santa Clause and I was having the best Christmas ever!

            I must’ve looked pathetic to my petite Filipino boss. But the lack of good eating is like a slowly stretching rubber band. Sooner or later, that sucker’s gonna snap, and when it does, look out for the fat man. He’s gonna eat every delicacy in sight.

            So I packed the Cooscoos and Tabouli and Hummus and Corn Dog and Greek Salad and Pistachio Creme and Green Tea & Hemp soda off to my crack room and who was waiting for me at my crack room door with pierogies sautéed in minced garlic? My roommate! Out of nowhere he decides to treat me to his Hungarian great aunt’s favorite Polish pierogie recipe.

            Mmmmmm. Polish pierogies! Auuuggggggnnnnnnnmmmmmm mmmm mmmm. I am a stomach out of control.

            Several hours later, when the satiated bloating subsided around midnight, I walked over to the Arco for cigarettes, and for my usual four bucks, I got my $4 cigarettes and a special unexpected bonus from the night clerk: a thick slice of three cheese pizza. Auuuggggggnnnnnnnmmmmmm mmmm mmmm.

            I know the day will come when the good food ends and the dented cans return, but right now, I don’t want to think about that. Right now, I’m thinking about the leftover Tabouli in the reefer.

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