I Basically Ate A Human Baby

October 25th, 2006

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C. Hoey-

Something unsavory is a-brewing in my guts and the worst part is it’s all my fault. I get these ideas, Charlie, these grandiose schemes, and because I respect my brain sooo much, I feel compelled to see them through. I decided, hey, since I’m moving on Saturday, why not give each little foodery-type establishment that has sustained my tastebuds’ well-being one last go around. Last night, I said goodbye to Castro’s the “authentic Mexican? joint. When it comes to a food-joint claiming authenticity I usually keep two factors in mind: 1) do they serve something I’ve never seen or heard of before, and 2) do they serve something I’ve certainly heard of and is in fact a part of my everyday life, but up until perusing this menu had never really considered a food. Anyway, what I’m getting at here is that Castro’s is well known for serving burritos with size comparable to a human baby, which I suppose is a reputation one can only garner (Woah! I think that’s the first time I’ve used that word, at least textually, like, ever.) when your main clientele is fairly unoriginal, pseudo-hipster art students. (Another reason I’m moving.) But staying strong and pushing through the parentheticals we have finally arrived at this: I basically ate a human baby and now my stomach hurts.

Segueingly, I had an idea and saw it through. Does this happen with all ideas? No. I actually read your last letter instead of just receiving it and throwing it into the fire before my beautiful and lustful daughter ever finds out that you still care for her and reach out to her, and what did I find? Well, first it was to me and not that whore, and second, I could actually relate to what you had to say. My thoughts were and are something like, you (and by that I guess I mean we) have ideas all day long. One minute you envision a scene from the biopic you might write about John C. Reilly, the next you’re thinking of some sculpture you could make out that piece of wood Baskin Robbins 31 Flavors threw out. Some people, like those brutish art school kids who infest my neighborhood use Moleskin notebooks to try and capture all their drug-induced creativity, but I’ve since given that up. I believe on occasion you catch one of these ideas, maybe one that keeps surfacing after being forgotten several times, and start planning, some of those plans become started projects, and beyond that some may even be finished, and even less likely, the finished project may even be deemed good. It’s a sifting process.

I think your friend, the one you have a sort of NAMBLA-esque relationship with, has an excellent point. Just keep working, keep producing, some things good and some crappy, some through completion, some left freakish and unfinished in the basement. We both respect prolific people/groups like TMBG who don’t take each individual piece so seriously. That’s a good angle to remember, but on occasion some projects need to retain all your attention. You focus and stick with it and feel out the process. But I need to end here because this isn’t particularly funny and in the cynical world in which we live, heartfeltedness not cut with humor can turn people off.

I did want to tell you about this dude I saw at the Midtown III last time I was in Philly who had prepared his order on loose leaf paper and read it off to the waitress, but like prepared it before he even got to the restaurant, like in some clear moment he knew exactly what he wanted, but like those art students, fearing he would forget his epiphany, quickly scribbled it down, saving it forever… or at least until he got the depressing and smoke-stained diner down the street.


-B. Shababo