I’m not going to say I’m a gourmand, certainly not nearly to the levels of others in my family. Still I enjoy quality, fresh, well prepared food. Then tonight, after a tiring day, I made dinner for the kiddos and indulged myself by taking part in the feast. Twas a feast fit for college freshman or inveterate bachelor—chicken nuggets with macoroni and cheese, in a ketchup sauce.
That was mighty tasty. Low brow, really darn close to the bottom of the food hierarchy pyramid. No, not the pyramid from health class, the one with foie gras and filet mignon near the top and Ramen noodles and McDonald’s near the bottom. All the same, I enjoyed the heck out of that meal.
Why am I discussing my dinner here? Why do I discuss anything here? Why hasn’t someone shut me up yet? (Oh, that’s going to happen sooner than you might think.)
High brow as I imagine myself to be, I fear I am guilty of disregarding those ficly bits that are not of a lofty status. I miss the cheap jokes. The imagined sight gags elude me. My comments are not as effusive when the themes are common or unlightened.
In short, I’m missing out. Not everything has to be all Bronte, Longfellow, or Camus. Let us rejoice in the entire spectrum, from the lofty to the lowly, from the erudite to the crass, from the philosophical to the pedantic.
Read. Write. Comment.
Ficly or die.