I am ready to report that my most recent durable dietary
change—eating organic mushrooms—has made “a difference” in my life. I don’t
even know what to call them, white mushrooms, basic mushrooms, simple mushrooms,
bland mushrooms, little mushrooms?, but I purchase said fungus in a
plastic-wrap container at the organic food store, squeezing one of the
assemblage through the plastic in the sake of outcomes assessment. If nice and
plump, a good outcome, then I place container in basket. They’re always nice
and plump. Mostly, I just cut a few mushrooms (raw) into The Daily Salad. Why
didn’t I eat a mushroom earlier in life? Perhaps I fretted over its silly
appearance, or I worried that it would taste like paste, or maybe I figured
that friends would poke me with accusations. Now hear this, smart aleck: I’m
not talking about a “shroom”, the mystical, elusive medication that ostensibly
matures beneath a cow-pattie, whole bags of which have failed to enlighten a
single thrill-seeker. No, I’m not talking about a “shroom”, but a plain legume
that has bestowed upon me what I will call “a difference.” First, before I
describe “a difference”, I must insert some science. Namely, I have made no
other durable changes in dietary endeavors of late, my intake otherwise
continuing to involve the basic food groups: fine stouts and ales, The Daily
Salad, coffee, snacks, and protein. Thus, the addition of a mushroom must be
the cause of “a difference.” O, rubbery toadstool! O, noteworthy contribution!
O, neutral texture! But I digress. I am, in a word, better. This is “a
difference”. Sure, it could be a phase, this betterment, it could be an error
in accountancy, it could be an intoxication borne of a sudden enthusiasm, but it’s
not. I am—in a word—better. Sitting
there, during Rockford Files reruns a few weeks ago, I had to ask myself: What
accounts for this smoother existence, if not the mushroom? In a world where
television and doctors insist that you must have a moderate-to-severe
pre-illness, and you probably don’t (believe me) you probably don’t suffer from
a moderate-to-severe pre-illness, I am here to say, as a fellow who felt fine
to begin with, why not institute a trial mushroom regimen? The organic
mushroom, my friends, contains a respectable loveliness inside every little
cap, O yes.
Cultural Affairs Week Editorial Schedule
March 2: Crows & Owls
March 3: I Eat Mushrooms!
4 comments:
I might have initially owned a better, smoother existence to a Rockford rerun--but no, I dig, it's the mushroom. But what does the mushroom worry 'bout runnin' outta: mush or room?
profoundly wrong about thrill-seeking cow-patties.
I think it was the Rockford where someone threw a hand grenade into the chimney of his trailer. I'm like -- chimney? Trailer? I dunno about all this Rockford movie magic. But that's when I had the mushroom revelation, M.C.Z. I heard Nina Simone ("... I Feel Good ...") and I suddenly knew what she'd been saying, all these years.
Only thing mushroom worries 'bout runnin' outta -- cow pattie. You heard it here.
-----------------------b.a.
re: "profoundly wrong about thrill-seeking cow-patties"
hi, casey.
ah, well, i've seen whole bags of "shrooms" fail to produce one single coltrane hologram. i'd settle for any hologram. i'd take a cyndi lauper hologram, or a barbecue bob hologram, or, shucks, a wendell willkie hologram. he was the inspiration for u2's "one love" by the way.
there's a cartoon witch who ate a dopey fungus -- yeah, Shroom Hilda.
yrs,
b.a.
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