A Mystery Solved

Enthusiasts, you may remember your humble-in-public narrator posting this photo a while back; I could not figure out who “F. Seidel” was and neither could the comment section. (In its defense, the comment section was just one or two crazy people back then. As opposed to now.)

So, I just made a joke about Ginsberg trying to bang Bobby and went about my business.

But today, a new piece of the puzzle emerges: Lucky Chick, a one-woman show by Felicity Seidel is running in New York as part of the Fringe Festival there, and it is the story of Ms. Seidel’s being “plucked” from the crowd to be a Grateful Dead’s girlfriend, running guns with Hell’s Angels, flying on private jets, and all the other cool shit that beautiful women with physics degrees can get up to if they have a low threshold for boredom.

Lit Crit

I would rather read a family member’s suicide note than a Jonathan Franzen book.

Clam, Baked

…

…

…

Are you–

“We’re eating Benjy!”

–eating…Goddammit, Billy: this is weird even for you.

“Done a lotta shit in this life, man. Sold out football stadiums, orgied with Dan Healy, punched dick across this great nation and several other slightly shittier nations; never ate man.”

For a reason! Cannibalism is a bridge too far.

“What? Like you’ve never eaten anyone?”

…

That’s a terrible argument.

“Listen: I got all this Benjy and it’s gonna go to waste.”

How are you preparing him?

“Seafood Paella with Benjy Bits.”

Is there a vegetarian option?

“You can eat around the Benjy Bits.”

I’m not coming to dinner.

“You weren’t invited.”