Gay humor and philosophy
I know I need to be very careful here. I have only a few gay friends. I live in a redneck, racist, sexist Midwestern town of old boys and their tractors. There is no way any of us escaped unscathed and unbiased. Me, prejudiced? I think not. Think again. My gay friends are tired, trying to stay afloat on an island surrounded by hostile judgmental waters. They are all old souls that have dodged the small town bullets. The first person that I knew was gay was Lance, brother to a friend of mine back in the 80's. I might have known other gay persons, but as Jane said, they are well hidden. Lance lived in Minneapolis and I always hustled to sit next to him whenever he visited. Once I was lamenting the loss of my ear lobe. A heavy 80's earring had quietly and bloodlessly tore through the skin and now I could only wear clip-ons like all the old ladies. Nonsense, he said, I love it when you take off your earring and massage the lobe, just like the film stars of the 40's. It's so-o-o sexy. He was a hairdresser and stylish and classy. How should I cut my hair, I asked him. We need to see more of your face, he said. Not understanding, I realized later it was a compliment. He was one of the early victims of AIDS, tearing out his IVs at the end.
Especially the cherry chicken pasta salad and cranberry walnut oatmeal cookies. Jane, Jill and I sat around the kitchen table sampling the cookie trying to figure out the recipe. It is sweet like a chocolate chip cookie recipe and possibly has more brown sugar to give it a darker color and a molasses taste. Look at these peppers, a work of art. "Designed by a starving artist," quipped the produce clerk.
Jane's veterinarian who sees only cats
Cats everywhere and even a wide screen TV showing film only a cat would appreciate: wild turkey chicks fluttering about a field. The receptionist Monica and I have a discussion about rabies shots and the fact that her sister had a bat in her attic and announced to the family, "send Monica to get it. She works for a vet and she has had her rabies shots."
The chicken and wild rice soup at Fabulous Fern's
Full of crunchy almonds and carrots. Jane has the beer brat and offers me a taste saying it is delicious. Note to self: next time Jane visits prepare her a Kremer's brat, spicy and sassy and much better than that slushy, tasteless thing some Norwegian came up with. Bruno, our waiter, laments that yes, it truly is his name bestowed on him by Brazilian parents.
Garrison Keillor's book store, Common Goods
"Everything human is pathetic. The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven." Usually, I find Mark Twain to be filled with laughs and dry sensibility but I am at a loss here. I have read articles by comedians that say they, too, draw their material from tragedy, comedy from tragedy. I do not understand this concept. Feel free to comment.