On Plate Licking

05/26/2008 8:41 AM – 9:03 AM

And the things you realize as pertaining to yourself sometimes catch you off-guard. I am, in the center of things, a shallow creature. Which is to say, prone to enjoy things that are of no importance and do not endure. Three weeks later and I’m still savoring insubstantial dance pop. Like I did when I was fourteen. And nineteen. And, secretly, twenty-five. Which is not to say that I haven’t delved into the deep things (and looked stunningly handsome as I did so), but the deep things, once seen (or unseen, rather) do not sustain. They are stale, low-fat, low-salt crackers.

Or perhaps even less. To stretch the allegory to beyond it’s breaking point, the deep things are below the things-as-they-are and as such can offer no nourishment. They’re not even the healthy, tasteless crackers that mothers buy when they’re feeling fat: they are merely the plate that the food sits on. “Aha!” says the clever one, “I have reached the actual substance of the thing! It is bland and empty! I will now commence with existential despair.” Well, you know, feel free. But no, actually. You just pushed the food out of the way and are now licking the plate. That fatty, salty, sugary cheap thing that you scorned so dramatically is the actual food.

So put the food back on the plate and eat, you sullen child. Of course it’s vanity! Searching through your burger and fries, exclaiming constantly, “Vanity! Vanity!” Arriving at a plate now empty (having flung your food contemptuously to the floor) you proclaim with your smart, important scowl, “All. Is. Vanitas.” Very good. Having emptied your plate, you arrive at an empty plate. Importantly. It might have done you better to eat your way to bottom and order another round, but, yes, you were very important-looking as you judged. I applaud your excellent performance piece. I will not, however, be voting for an NEA grant on your behalf. This fat little boy with glasses and a bad haircut sitting next to you at the counter, reading a comic book and tearing up at the mountain of troubles that Peter Parker has yet again to endure, I prefer his performance. True, he gave little thought to the food, yet when he did, he thought it very good and having reached an empty plate, as anyone who sits down at the counter will find they do, he was full. Well, he was after he had the peanut-butter Sunday. And another root beer. And he licked the plate too. He thought no one was watching, but I saw him. He’s definitely a fatty.