A Kingdom of Tender Colors by Seth Greenland

Author:Seth Greenland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Europa Editions
Published: 2020-07-23T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

I have steeled myself for the ordeal ahead of me, informed my friends, masturbated into a cup. As my cells continue to enthusiastically replicate I want nothing so much as a drink. The news is sinking in. The muckety-mucks do not disagree. There has been no misdiagnosis, no mistake in the lab. No tap on the shoulder where someone says Joking! No deus ex machina. Where is a double scotch? There’s a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black in the pantry.

Do I have the drink?

Susan ordinarily likes a glass of wine, but since she is pregnant Chardonnay is a no-go zone. Under the circumstances, I can’t believe she’s not guzzling pitchers of margaritas, but right now? A model of self-control. Frankly, who could blame her if she got completely plastered?

“Would you like some wine with dinner?” she asks me.

“I would love a glass of wine, but no thanks.”

“Why not? You could use a glass.”

What can be controlled? Food has always been something I’ve loved and no matter how much I ate, I never gained weight. And I was indiscriminate in my consumption: steak, ribs, pork chops, pizza, lasagna, spaghetti, roast beef, bacon, ham, turkey, chicken, salads, potatoes, white rice, noodles, Chinese food, Indian food, Thai food, Japanese food, Mexican food. In other words, pretty much anything.

Now, in an attempt to assert some kind of mastery, I perform a review of my intake. From a cursory reading of newspapers and magazines, I am dimly aware of the chemical content of much of the animal protein we consume. It is becoming widely known that hormones, chemicals, and additives with unpronounceable names are being zealously pumped into the chicken and beef we ingest routinely. Following the initial foray into the literature of cancer, I dip a tentative toe into the literature of healthy eating. The consensus among the healthy eaters is simple: meat and chicken are bad. In my overwrought state, I consider the level of hormones and chemicals and additives in beef and poultry and think it’s a wonder everyone who eats them doesn’t drop dead on the spot or grow chicken wings on their neck.

“I’m not eating chicken or beef anymore,” I announce to Susan.

She looks at me neutrally. “Okay.”

“I’m not ready to swear off fish.”

“We can eat fish if you want.”

“And I don’t think I can be macrobiotic at this point.”

“I’m getting a macrobiotic cookbook. It’ll be fun.”

Fun? Oh, god. Now I really need that drink. But I have decided to forswear drinking. I enjoy drinking and have long admired the great alcoholic writers. Alcoholism is a far better tragic flaw than hubris, the one favored by the ancient Greeks. Hubris, for the classics-deprived, is excessive pride, as in pride cometh before a fall. Drinks, too, often cometh before a fall—down a staircase for instance. But no one ever bothered to coin that phrase.

What do I think I am going to prove by not drinking?

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