Tuesday, July 24, 2007

A "Hand-out" is not a "Foot... In"

I love Dirk Bennedict's essays on his website.
Here he is on the reimagining of Starbuck...
What I am sure of is this… Women are from Venus. Men are from Mars. Hamlet does not scan as Hamletta. Nor does Han Solo as Han Sally. Faceman is not the same as Facewoman. Nor does a Stardoe a Starbuck make. Men hand out cigars. Women 'hand out' babies. And thus the world, for thousands of years, has gone round.
His writing always seems to end in a big mashup of puns on clichés like that (it's always good to be reminded of what not to do(*)), and it's totally great to be reading something and thinking, Oh, OK, here's the bottom of the Crazy Well, and then have the author go Nuh-uh, motherfucker, here's a trap door! Shizahh!

I first realized I was in the presence of greatness when I read this excerpt from one of his books:

The funny thing about flesh is, once you get it off the hoof, or paw, and put it on the shelf in a cellophane wrapper, or into a stew in the center of the table, it all looks pretty much the same. You forget that it was once a cow or sheep or horse or monkey or calf. Or puppy. Ashes to ashes. Flesh to flesh. Blood becomes blood. Only the hypocrites in line at McDonald's or Carl Jr's, or the meat counter at Safeway, point their fingers. Let he who has not gnawed, cast the first bone. And it's a short throw from the tar paper shack of dog to the burger stand of cow. And so I discovered that one man's feast is another's famine. One man's joy is another's pain. One man's pet is another's pot roast. I learned that taste, like all sensorial experience, is relative. Or, as the Trapeze Artist said to the actor..."If there's more than one way to skin a cat, there's certainly more than one way to cook a dog."

Dirk Bennedict buys his meat by the pound.
If you know what I mean.


I'm going to buy a ticket for that Pets or Meat woman from Roger & Me.

On the acknowledgement page of that book, it just says "peyote".

JK! I love you Dirk Bennedict!

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