Irish Salad
by Ann Bogle
Scandinavians settled in Minnesota because it resembled Scandinavia. This morning I vomited salad I ate last night at an Irish pub. The salad was called "chop chop." I paid $19 for the food and two beers. I met the owner whom we help to become rich with our simple appetites. We were rich farmers from Scotland and Sweden. He is Irish but unlike other Irish people I know, Irish-American people, he is from Ireland. He is red-headed, swarthy and muscular. He imported the mahogany bar from Ireland. I wish my simple appetites might feed two in our decision instead of helping him if he's a tax-evader like so many of the restaurateurs. Asian restaurants serve vegetables with love. Overnight, I felt drunk, as if headed for hangover, but I hadn't drunk enough to cause it. What caused it? Superstitions dialed in sleep. Today I was thick with religious devotion. I had thought about delicious corned beef and cabbage not to be served at that public house on St. Patrick's Day. I wanted the Irish of Binghamton, the fire department, and the Irish of literature to comfort me. To avoid this drunkenness not caused by drinking. I was so balanced before it was revealed. Ladylike reserves be restored to me.
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Author's Note
Fri Mar 16 20:15:00 CDT 2007 |
Ana Verse: http://annbogle.blogspot.com
In 1995, I inadvertently stopped drinking on St. Patrick's Day, not knowing it was St. Patrick's Day, not knowing the date. That was 3 a.m. At 5 p.m. Cazz called to go out. I told him what I had done: sworn it off the day of St. Patrick.
In 1997, I inadvertently stopped drinking on Father's Day, not knowing it was Father's Day, knowing only that it was Sunday. My sober date for years was June 16th, Bloomsday.
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Yes to this. Great form and language - "Superstitions dialed in sleep. Today I was thick with religious devotion. I had thought about delicious corned beef and cabbage not to be served at that public house on St. Patrick's Day." Wonderful piece, Ann.
Ann's texts are like Godard's films in that there is a quality of collage, of intuitive rather than rational associations, (although they seem rational and inevitable in retrospect), and there is room for the aside, the observation from off camera, a movement in the scenes and lines outwards, as from explosions, rather than into a centrality, and finally a kind of thematic awning over all, so that the shade of drink and sobriety and impulse is cast over this, as the shade of metanarratives and commodification inform Godard's Number Two. As with his films, I feel a witness to journal entries with Ann's stuff, but generated by someone who sees it all, everything, precisely and differently.
two or three things we know about ann--
yes, dame ann bogle, to this one. the last sentence is your mantra. i heartily welcome this as the first piece to the paddy day challenge - even though it thrives - chop chop - on avoiding certain things irish. i like james' comment: yes, journal entries, but they don't pong, they ping.
Oh, boy. Drunkenness not caused by drinking! Bad feeling. This is an intriguing story.
Great writing, the direct style, straightforward.
The first sentences are, to my mind, examples of what gives your work so much strength. You illustrate the world with great attention and then it feels as if you are gossiping about your own life (I'm not sure I am explaining this sense I get correctly or exactly but it's unique). Then you move back to the factual--there's only one Ann.
Oh, Ann. Internally laughed and cried at this one. Loved: "Asian restaurants serve vegetables with love." Such a sweet sentiment out of the blue. And of course any mention of Bloomsday makes me swoon.
Lyrical. As any story of the Irish should be. Nice.
I wanted the Irish of Binghamton
your prose always surprises!
Gorgeous, Ann. Just pure delight to read.
the first two sentences alone are worth the price of admission. and then what a fine ending line.
For some reason, which I have not identified, this piece unsettles me, while not superficially sophisticated, upon inspection and refection, I can interpret it as dense and complex and seeming to intimate much that it doesn't explicitly state. The only drunkenness without drink that I can identify with is that sufi intoxications of Rumi - which tend to towards a freeform celebration - almost the opposite of the atmosphere of this piece. It was good to read this, thanks for sharing it.
Lots of originality and a raw humor to this one, Ann
Sincere thanks for these amazing comments.
Rev. March 29, 2010, 3 p.m. "He imported the mahogany bar from Ireland."
Nice piece of flash.
Fantastic job with this witty flash piece. I was absorbed the entire time. Great!
As a Twin-City homey I know the Scandahoovians all too well..love this piece!