May 9, 2013
It's been a hard week working with the ghost of Jim Henson on the screenplay for Dead Muppet Society Part Two, The Revenge of Fozzie, Walka Walka Walka.
By the way, Elvis says, "Hey." He's real happy about Twinkies coming back.
I feel like a neglectful parent, but I'm going to have to give you something I wrote back in 2002. I think I might have eaten too much fruitcake at the time...
Dangerous
Intro
What, exactly is the
attraction of marmalade? Pieces of orange peel floating in goo.
Would plastic or metal filings become delectable if we could just
find an appropriate sugary suspension?
Lawsuit-proof
disclaimer
Personally, I’ve
always been fond of Marmalade. My policy has always been to never
put down a food product that not only represents such a strong
tradition but also has potentially intimidating lawyers representing
it. Unfortunately, not all people have a podium from which they
might express their views (misguided as they might be). While I have
no desire to risk the ill will (lawsuit) of the marmalade industry as
a whole, I feel it incumbent upon me to represent the views of the
minority. As much as I enjoy marmalade, I still recall asking my
mother long ago, “what are these stringy bits?”
Actual
Irresponsible Column
Years ago, that great
gourmand, Andy Griffith, espoused the philosophy that anything is
“good” if accompanied by the proper salted cracker. (It does
make you think twice about the quality of Aunt Bea’s cooking)
It’s
this sort of thinking, along with Bill Cosby’s assertion that
there’s always room for cold gelatinous compounds that, in my
opinion, perpetuates marmalade in our society. But how does such a
thing get started?
Origins are a fuzzy
thing, but I’m willing to guess it went something like this. Sir
Francis Drake returns to England after another successful pirating of
a Spanish galleon. Among the purloined stores was a supply of
oranges. By the time they reach England the oranges have gone bad
and the ship’s cook throws them out. An adventurous domestic with
missing teeth and uncontrollable red hair (they always look that way
in the movies) salvages them from the trash heap and takes them home.
She tries one and though it’s rotting, it’s still several
degrees better than any food served in England.
Recognizing that
these little orange globes are the only things with “taste” she
will ever encounter, she preserves every scrap in any way she can
think of. Dutifully, recording her recipe (she also invented
fruitcake but I think others have dealt sufficiently that treat) she
foists it on succeeding generations who in the rush of nostalgia and
tradition ignore its overall lack of edibility.
In the final analysis
it’s all Sir Francis Drake’s fault. (I was going to blame Sir
Walter Raleigh but I figured the tobacco industry has had it pretty
rough lately, and he wasn’t known for taking too many Spanish
galleons. As a matter of fact, he was pretty much a wimp when it
came to ship to ship combat in general. He’d just sit there
smoking his pipe and passing the crumpets to Pocahontas.)
Sir Francis Drake, on
the other hand, was enthusiastic in arts of murder, mayhem and
plunder. The kingdom of Spain pressured Queen Liz 1 to turn him over
on countless occasions and to this day, he is banned from all the
fashionable Iberian beaches and the Generalisimo Francisco Franco
mausoleum gift-shop. Of course Sir Francis has been dead for nearly
400 years so is incapable of obtaining the perfect tan and can haunt
the gift-shop whenever he wishes.
It’s just as well
that Sir Francis has passed, for if he were alive today he would be
subject to the capricious vagaries that is the American Civil Court
System. No Dead queen with an inch and a half of cake makeup could
protect him from a power so potent that it can take a murderer and
make him give up his Heisman trophy.
“Sir Francis, do you
know why you have been called before this court?”
“Well, I spent
several years being a pirate. I killed countless Spanish sailors and
quite a number of aboriginal people in the bargain. I made pirating
fashionable and respectable among the lower strata of English
nobility, which ushered in nearly three centuries of murder, mayhem
and plunder. (It also did quite a number on the hawking and jousting
industries) I also started a number of salacious rumors about Queen
Elizabeth which led eventually to tabloid television.”
Gasps and cries of
“tabloid television!” echo throughout the courtroom.
“We’ll discuss the
tabloid television charge at a later date. You’re here to answer
for marmalade.”
“What’s marmalade?”
“A breakfast spread
popular with English grandparents and Paddington Bear.”
“I’m afraid I don’t
understand.”
“Try some.” The
bailiff, who is actually an aspiring actor, hands Sir Frances a slice
of toast with marmalade. He bows to the audience watching on court
TV.
“Hmm – a bit of
flavor here. Like any good Englishman, I’m not used to that. I
like the toasted bread idea. I do have one question though.”
“Yes, Sir Francis?”
Sir Francis appears as
if he’s not certain he wants an answer. “Just what are these
stringy bits?”
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