When in Rome… 24 April 2008

Another declamash: “persuade your audience to either love or hate a particular food” – well, at least they might give it a try even if I talk them over!

People are no where more openly racist and discriminating than in their foods.  You are what you eat?  Are you a racist when you eat?  Children carelessly slight a food that may be the beloved of an entire nation; adults who do the same, who “don’t like Chinese”-net, just as they “love Italian”-net because they like pizza are not merely careless, they are culpable.  Being able to communicate with foreign peoples depends on our common experiences, on reaching out to be a part of their culture.  Cultural copiousness, like good guestmanship, depends on eating other people’s food and saying that it is good. 

And sometimes, despite what your fears, it actually IS good.  Like Alice in Wonderland, Take It and Try It, and have an adventure.  Take away those petty discriminations about “eating strange organs” and be rid of your legalistic taboos about “cooked in its own blood.”  Just enjoy the food in front of you and do not offend your host or lose any rash bets that you have made.  That is how I found my appreciation for haggis and blood pudding.  It came to me beautifully served in a fine restaurant that was all about a chic “New Scottish” heritage.  Not only was it very pretty, but the taste is excellent in its own right.  Haggis has its own spice and a texture that you will find nowhere else.  Haggis goes with blood pudding like ham and eggs; there is absolutely nothing to compare to blood pudding, but I assure you, it is an experience in textural-cuisine.  The dish was the very best native food, not counting shandy or scones and clotted cream, that I had in the U.K.  So I exhort you all for your own good to leave behind your narrow discriminations and racist tendencies of all kinds when you go traveling.  When in Scotland, eat as the Scottish and wash it down with spiked cider: and you might even win a few well-placed bets.    

 

According to Jack 24 April 2008

So this is another declamash.  “Tell a family event through your pet’s eyes” – so here is last summer according to Jack.  Jack is a golden retriever.  He’s my fav.   

Boss isn’t playin his guitar anymore.  Boss only has one hand these days, seems like.  He’s getting old – and lazy.  All he does is sit around.  Maybe its cuz he lost his hand.  You know what I think – I think that THAT GIRL musta took it.  Ever since she came in, I haven’t seen it.  Only her, holdin the boss down n lookin at im like he ain’t got a hand  – or somethin.  Oh, I like her a lot, yah, yah, she’s pretty great.  She’s pretty, and she smells pretty; even the boss likes her smell.  She smells like a Labrador.  And you know what?  Ya know what’s mighty odd about this one – it seems like she’s only got one hand too.  But with that one hand, she makes heaven.  She sits there and she strokes my head, and she strokes my ears and she pulls and she rubs – and when the boss ain’t lookin, she looks into my eyes and she whispers.  I love her too.  She has to hang out with the boss, good-fer-nothin bum, just to be with me.  Cause the boss is with me. She’d usda come play just with me, but now there’s me and her, and the boss.  Ya know, ya know what I think, is that she lost her hand, and felt sorry for the boss when he lost his hand, and so she comes over to make him feel better.  And then she can be with me all the time.  Huuuuuuuuuuuuuh.  The splains what happed to the bosses’ hand.    

 

“How to Talk to a Rocket Scientist” 24 April 2008

NSA has weekly “declamations” where ev in the class gets togeth to - speak.  This is a declamash speech that I gave.  The topic was “give a piece of advice.”

Say, my child, that you are at your cousins’ rehearsal dinner, and you are seated at the best table.  The man seated to your right, however, is an odd cousin from the bride’s side of the family and does not fit in with the rest of you because instead of being young, excited and ready for opportunities, he is thirty-four and has attained his ambitions of being a rocket scientist, and he is socially handicapped and lives with his mother to compensate for being globally acclaimed as a nuclear genius.  He is too shy to say a word and although he is moderately good-looking, he is too awkward to pick up his fork without shaking the table.  This is a task to test the talents of any well-mannered young lady.  It is your duty, my dear, to ensure that he has a good time at this party and that he comes away with a good impression of the new family.  You may start a conversation by asking, with a smile, if he is usually this awkward or is it just the wretched speech the bride’s father gave?  If he doesn’t answer, try gracefully knocking his water over.  Excuse yourself by saying that you are awkward too, and sometimes it can be dreadfully embarrassing.  Finally, ask him, “does he ever get lonely because he is so smart and so awkward?”  Tell him that poetry is a good cure for the emptiness of the soul, or that he could try a dog for company, or maybe, and at this point throw in an artful giggle, he could try a girlfriend.  Tossing in a little joke is always a good idea for putting one at his ease.  My dear, ensure that he has a glittering time, but remember, there is no obligation to dance with him.