1999may17. I have just finished two mini non-ice cream ice cream bars of Tofutti “Cutie.” It’s part of my new laid-back California attitude. They are indistinguishable from regular ice cream bars, if only because the ice cream bars that I would usually buy once every ten months or so are priced at forty cents each and are built with mostly chemicals, glues, and sawdust (here I don’t want to imply that “Cuties” are constructed of said materials, no, no! They are built of tofu and “isolated soy protein” among other ingredients). So if you happen to see any press releases about “Cuties” touting how much they taste like real ice cream bars, think to yourself:
“Is that really a very hard thing to do?”
Thank you. Thank you. I’ll be signing books at the Altoona PA Borders from 3:00pm to 3:15pm.
Actually, I will be on the road later this week. I’m going home. I’ll probably be able to update the home page there (and the weblog will continue to be updated fifteen skrillion times a day), but I’ll be so busy checking back in with the whirlwind social life I had back in Detroit, I’ll probably get all dizzy and forget all about you. “Stop! Stop I say, I simply cannot ‘party’ every single night of the week!” I will exclaim. “This is a familiar refrain, sir, and its absence was truly regretted,” Jim, the leader of my posse, would retort. There would be a low-level bit of chortling within the ranks. I would slowly take a drag on my Montclair, and slyly indicate through non-verbal gestures that we should continue on to the next port of call. “Detroit,” I would sneer, while putting out my cigarette with my right bowling shoe.
Then we’d all converge on Jim’s apartment to play the “San Francisco” course of Test Drive IV and I’d emerge victorious because I had been there. I had been there.