What Would Your Scroll Say, the Deaf Chef, and My Food Addiction
Recently, my friend Carolyn visited from Australia. I met her back at Cal in my younger years when I was more ambitious. And a little less jaded. We had History of Pop Art together and for the two weeks before she quit we sat next to each other and endured horrible, cryptic lectures in a warm cozy room perfect for sleeping. My favorite section was the one on performance art. Mostly because so many of these pieces were so oddball and freakin’ strange, how could you not love them? There was one guy, Vito Acconci, who would follow random people in the street and take pictures of their nervous reactions. In a piece called Seedbed he crawled under a ramp and masturbated while people would walk above him. They couldn’t see him, but boy howdy, did they know he was there. They got to hear the audio and every now and then, he’d say things like, “I’m grabbing your ass.” Sweet. Seriously, if I’d have known I could become famous and rich for being a creep, I would have honed my creep skills long ago.
Another of my faves was Carolee Schneeman who, in one performance, would strip naked, read from her book called Cezanne, She was a Great Painter and then would slowly (and for good reason) pull a small strip of paper from her vagina. And she’d read from it. I’m not sure I recall what it said on that scroll, but I wish I knew. I sometimes wonder what my scroll would say. In any case, I’m sure it was heartfelt.
I am way off topic here. Carolyn, my friend, told me that some girl we knew in school moved to Paris and is having a long distance relationship with a deaf chef. Mar’s sister is deaf and still finds ways to call him and cuss him out and so I know these things can and do work. Apparently MC Def Chef is hot and nice but deaf and has no way to communicate with her besides text messaging which sucks. And now her traditional Chinese dad wants to disown her because ain’t no daughter of his gonna marry some fool who cannot hear. For real.
A chef boyfriend would be the end of me. I love food so much, I’m totally ashamed. Like I cheat on the meal I’m eating with another one I’m secretly fantasizing about. Like oh, bacon, you’re so yummy and delicious and wonderful, and then I’ll start to think sexy thoughts about Brazilian barbeque. I feel so awful about it. But it cannot be helped.