Friday, August 29, 2008

By Kofi Fosu Forson

The Julia Child tapes are worn out and so the images are often dizzying, yet my unimaginative response reveals an abundance of teeth like Jimmy Carter in his heyday. Not so much the Jimmy Carter in suit and tie as he addressed The State but the Jimmy Carter being ridiculed in the black and white pages of daily journals; venues for immortalized heroes. Jimmy Carter, Mickey Mouse and Adidas were early influences. By rule, among my friends back home, Mickey Mouse is virgin, Jimmy Carter loved peanuts and Adidas was the choice of footwear. I wonder if Julia Child in her international stature feels content with her fame. The television is momentarily snowy. Somehow I can still see Julia's pudgy form. I don't ever want to be in the public eye sooner than expected, a caricature of all that defines me. I would like to adjust my fly and not have the whole world looking. What would seem hilarious about Julia decked in kente selling mangoes would be her ability to feed the children of Nima. Julia Child is every nourished child's grandmother, and her dresses reflect her age. Glamour has never been my claim to fame. It is more the weight my words carry. In fact, Dracula is the ultimate in G.Q., much like my friend, Roberto. We have been friends since college, and he has always been hung up on seduction, walking the halls of Rhode Island School of Design as a pseudo-vampire dressed in black. Would if I could change his name to Roberto: The Italian Vampire Balducci. He claims a grip that deadens most pale necks.

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