Lippy...

Tonight, it’s off to Phillip Roth’s reading at the bookstore… with more mystery lip-thingies. I went to my doctor over lunch today, and he says that the sore doesn’t present like herpes, and since it’s so early, it’s very hard to tell. It hasn’t wept yet, and even if it had, he’s not sure that I’ve produced antibodies, so I might not test positive for anything. He says it’s highly unlikely to be any of the other usual suspects, either, but urges me to come back for testing if it keeps happening. Nice. So, no more sex for another week while my lip heals, then just wait for it to happen again (if ever) to get a chance to find out I have herpes, or maybe something worse. Yippie-ki-yi-yay. All I need now is to find out that Orpheus has had it all along and hadn’t gotten around to telling me, or that I picked it up from my dirty whore ex back when the stress wasn’t bad enough to force me to break out in hives.

I don’t have the energy to cook, tonight. I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to eat. Last night, I made Galician empanadas for O. and I, and they were bloody delicious. Next time, they’ll be even better, as I won’t make the mistake of estimating the time it will take the onions to turn into a carmelized goo. Also, I’ll properly fold over the crust-edge. Other than that, damn, was it delicious. I have a neat idea for a dual dish… I’d make a “Greek Turnover” using red onions, red and green peppers, cooking down as for the empanadas, then, instead of adding tomato, putting in the innards of a small roasted eggplant. After cooking down further, I’d spread it on the puff pastry (or phylo… Hmm…), and sprinkle with feta, serving with nicely grilled or olive-oil sautéed wine-marinated lamb. Or kabobs. Yummy!

Anyway, I’m not looking forward terribly much to the Phillip Roth. Mostly, I’m doing it for Orpheus, because he wants to see Roth give a reading and an interview. I could take or leave Roth. I kind of liked Operation: Shylock, but found it rather too pat, honestly. Good writing, though. I was far less than happy with Portnoy’s Complaint, and was so disgusted by the main character’s self-loathing I had to stop reading. Goodbye, Columbus I could take or leave, honestly. There’s just too much ugliness in Roth’s writing, and I don’t see the point of spending time on things so Operatically disgusting, building unpleasantness upon unpleasantness to a wholly noxious conclusion when life is already startlingly less than beautiful. I prefer my fiction not to eviscerate, as I’m reading for pleasure. For blood and violence, I go to the movies. It’s the kind of thing I don’t care to imagine myself. We’ll see what happens. I heard an interview of Mr. Roth on NPR a year or so ago that I found utterly charming, so who knows? Wish me luck…