FRUITI TUTTI

FRUITS AND OTHER DIETARY NEEDS

by a FRUITCAKE

For breakfast this morning (at 4:30 AM Eastern, it's what I used to call a late supper!) I ate some fresh strawberries. As a child, you could not pay me to eat any kind of fruit, except bananas (Hey Banana Girl, I'll buy all you harvest). These straws are luscious (is that an onomatopoeia?) berries. Thing is--now I'm wondering, "What ELSE do I like, which hitherto had been on my 'do not put in mouth' list?"

Funny...long ago, strawberries were a no-no, while a little taste of muriatic acid was, well, just what I needed. Mostly I only sniffed it, but sometimes I yearned for that "burn" which could only be satisfied by sipping something with the term "acid" in its name--my wonder drugs. Also it was a habit of mine to put my thumb in my mouth, and huff and puff, until I passed out, then awaken a few seconds or moments later, feeling dazed, but otherwise refreshed. At least I told myself that. To this day I do not know if that's what they called "huffing", but it could well be. Back then, on the farm, it was my OWN idea, though. So much for wonderful self-medication.

Maybe that is why my memory these days is shot--long term, short term, and mid-term. Or could it be those several years when I bought a $1.99 gallon of White Port every afternoon, which would last until the next afternoon. Sometimes, in combination with vodka, beer, and Southern Comfort, I'd get a gallon of White Port TWO days from the last one. The store clerk would then ask if I had been ill. Now WHAT might EVER lead him to think that?

Through all these times, I spent ten years as a violinist with the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, and played around the country at different festivals, did a stint in recording studios in NY, played one year in Birmingham AL Symphony, et alii.

Later in life--age 32--I found my true career. All my friends were there, all those beautiful bottles--my only true friends left on this earth. That was before those same friends turned against me.

And I did become in those eight years, the best bartender my boss ever knew. I know that's true, because he told me that the night he fired me. (I had been sober nearly a year!)