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Olives are cured in brine, much in the same way as pickles. I cured some olives from the trees by my condo in Tucson and they came out really tasty. Sorry to hear about your bezoar. Not to make light of your medical condition, but have you named it? I think Balthazar would be a good name for it. And to me LARPing sounds like some sort of euphemism-- like FARKing or something.
I love all those worlds like farking and frickin'. They can be used in polite company when you want to be just a little bad. I, too, have an olive tree outside my door but all the recipes I've heard about for curing olives involve an old Italian man, rocks, herbs, and bags and bags of salt. I have access to all the ingredients except for the old Italian man.
How do you feel about pickles? And LARPing?
I like pickles, Caddywhumpus, though I do feel a little ambivalent about any food that I cannot--or at least have not--made in my own kitchen. Are they, what, cooked? Canned? Brined? Marinated? Are olives cooked? Is an olive a pickle? And, like most food, I am forbidden to eat pickles at the moment because I have a bezoar (which I would like to nominate as one of the all-time great Google image searches).
LARPing is just like jousting at the Renaissance fair, right? Or a Civil War reenactment thing with funny little guys in clothes they made themselves? I love it. Of course it's more nerdy than masking tape on Coke bottle glasses, but what could be sweeter than people dressing up and hurling themselves into imaginary worlds? That's my favorite thing to do. I just do it at home by myself.
Does your agent research journals and submit stories for you, or are you on your own when it comes to lit journal publication? Thanks!
My agent submits things to journals for me, at least the ones that pay money. I also submit things on my own, usually when an editor asks me for something.
I'm not sure about the title of your last book. Do you really like the title Twin Study?
Do you remember that New Years when you gave me a field sobriety test before you'd let me drive? Also, I'm in Tucson, can I buy you a cup of coffee or perhaps, tea?
Is that true? I have no recollection of that whatsoever. How deeply caring I am.
Your Question: Have you forgotten that the Good Lord done revealed himself through dozens of works of driving music made and released in the U.S.A. in the Nineteen Seventies? Get thee ahold of any or all of the first six or so ZZ Top lps (1977's "Tejas" is the heavy favorite)and let their tuneful odes to the timeless pleasures of prostitutes and drunk driving make your next car trip a winner!! Or, if it's gotta be opera, I would recommend that hot Russian chick. She's really good. And hot.
Pickles, Pickles, Pickles. I know. I do. There's something about Eric Clapton's "Cocaine" that makes me feel like the coolest human alive, even when I'm performing the quintessentially uncool activity of riding a stationary bike in the YMCA basement. But it only lasts a few minutes and then I would like it to be quiet again. Music makes me feel like I'm having other people's emotions, and frankly, just having my own emotions is trying enough. They change from moment to moment and are impossible to predict. Add to that some chick singing about her broken heart and I just want to unscrew my head and put it in a Samadhi flotation tank. Because I am very sensitive, like a little, little flower.
But I will try the ZZ Top, because every time I hear "Sharp Dressed Man" I think: That is is so true. Those wise men are correct. Every girl is crazy about a sharp dressed man.
What do you want for Christmas?
Yeah. It's too easy, but how about: Santa's suicide note.
Question the first: Who's better: Tolstoy or Dostoevsky? (Don't wimp out! You've got to answer!)
#2: Everyone has their favorite variation of (on?) peanut-butter 'n jelly (e.g. peanut-butter 'n banana, fluffer-nutter, etc.). What's yours?
And third: What's a good story idea you want me to run with right now? Seriously. My shift at work got canceled today and I'm loaded on generic grape soda. Give me a random premise (not too too silly, please), and, for fun and for the cognitive exercise, I'll crank out a short,short-short, or flash-fiction story about it, and then e-mail it to you for X-mas (you don't even have to read it; I'm just that wound up today). Deal? Good!
Write me back soon!
I like Tolstoy better. I seem to have become allergic to nuts recently so I'm going to pass on #2. Your assignment: while performing a colonoscopy, a doctor finds his (or her) own wedding ring inside inside his patient's lower intestine.
Most of the time you don't like music at all? This is hyperbole, right? Your boyfriend is a composer. Would he take offense to that?
Well, I used to really, really like music and now I hardly listen to it at all. I just don't like it how it sounds anymore. I feel sort of like Kafka's hunger artist, but in respect to music rather than food. It's not that I don't like it, it's just that I can't find any I like. This doesn't seem to bother anyone else. In fact, it makes car trips a lot easier.