Posts by Forsyth:


 
Musical Accompaniment:
 
The Smiths–Unloveable

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

The Smiths–Stop Me If You Think You’ve Heard This One Before

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Morrissey–Suedehead

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

 
An excerpt from my illustrated novel The Woo:
 
Stop & Shop’s different at night. Desperate. Shouldn’t be here when not working. You couldn’t find a more pathetic way to spend your 20th birthday. Not telling anyone it’s today. I somehow thought I’d be famous by now. Who should really be famous is Justine.
 
Mark holds up two cantaloupes and says: “Nina’s melons!” Ryan throws an apple. It hits Mark’s arm. Nina Lowry? Nina Lanuto? Nina Vacarri? Mark starts juggling oranges and Justine pelts him with green grapes. I’m surprised to feel responsible, like I need people to behave. How do I behave around Ryan now? He acts like nothing happened so I do too, pretending I don’t notice every little thing. I don’t want to know. Nina Scarduzio?
 
Mark buys a gallon of water. Justine pockets a pack of Trident. Thank God Fran’s not on. I don’t know the checkout girl. Ryan smiles at her. She has fake nails. He has no discrimination. I’m starting to feel supremely stupid.
 
 
 



 
I think of my father whenever I make eggs, or get caught in a lie.
 
On returning from Vietnam he was hired and fired as a short order cook in less than an hour. He claimed to have been a mess sergeant with the Marine Corps, but The Salty Dog kitchen staff knew the truth after one omelet.
 
    “Tom washed the omelet pan!”
    “He what? Impossible!”
 
Having been, rather, a sharpshooter, Tom didn’t know that one does not wash the traditional carbon-steel omelet pan between orders, but rather rubs it clean with a dry cloth, scouring the sticky bits with salt and vinegar.
 
This morning I pull the pan from the rack and lay a pat of butter at its center. I crack three eggs into a mixing bowl, add sea salt and pepper, and beat with a fork. I crumble feta, dice onion and chop tomato. I turn the gas on high, push the pat around, and just as it disappears I pour in the beat mixture, add the cheese, onion and tomato and watch the egg cook, the feta melt. Once it’s done I fold the egg, slide it onto a plate, sit down and eat. The omelet’s good and salty.
 
I got a job bussing tables at the Michelin-starred Fleur de Lys because I knew the maître d’. I only lasted one night. The draped walls and tented ceiling did not muffle the clatter as I cleared dirty dishes. I splashed the table linens with water and dropped bread on the plush rug. An older diner in pearls asked: “How on earth did you get a job here? After all, this is Fleur de Lys!” I didn’t answer, just lowered my head and filed back into the kitchen.
 
I finish the omelet and clean up after myself. The pan is one of those newer nonstick kinds, so I can just rinse it off and throw it in the dishwasher.