Earlier, I mentioned the poem "Urban Hipster Dufus Yawn" on a blog post and thought I'd re-post since it relates to literature in some fashion. The poem appeared in the literary journal Swivel, which is definitely worth checking out. They publish writing by women that is suffused with wit. This poem epitomized the essence of the journal.
I anticipate that this book is going to contain a plethora of very odd stories. The flourescent green galley is sitting on my desk. I read one of the stories. It was about a spy/assassin doing a job in an airport. I thought the stories were supposed to be about "human love" so I was quite perplexed when I happened upon this particular story. But drawing upon the fact that the introduction is written somewhat sarcastically by the author's second grade art teacher, I wasn't about to take my first reading of the book particularly seriously.
This book is hilarious. The food depicted in its pages looks like the food my grandmother used to make. The photography is not at all glamorous and mimics Amy Sedaris' comedy. It is funny because it is intentionally ugly and slightly dumb. For Christmas, my mother equipped me to become a hostess by giving me this fabulous book that will instruct me to be a parody of a fifties housewife and a set of pots and pans that conveniently stack together to fit into my very small apartment. Not that these gifts will help me to get over my fear of entertaining. I might try one of the cake recipes from the book, but the majority of recipes are for meat dishes, and I happen to be a vegetarian. In one part of the book, Amy Sedaris pairs her love of pastry with her love for meat in a cake crafted entirely of cold cuts. My favorite part of the book might be the section entitled "cooking under the influence." The list of 25 different "munchies" delivered me into a fit of laughter. Chapter about blind dates is also amusing.
In preparation for the New Year's Eve party at which I was to be a guest, I picked up this book and started reading. I think it probably did more to instill my understanding of how bad of a guest I make than instruct me in proper guest behavior. But it was New Year's Eve. I suppose I can give myself a little slack for my party faux pas, including monopolizing the host's space heater when she was trying to end the party and go to bed and failing to be aware enough of my surroundings to notice the thieving of a few important electronic devices. But I think Amy Sedaris would agree that pirate music played on a duo of accordions is a mark of a good party.
-->More information at Library Thing.
