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    Taken September 6, 1978. I had requested a cake shaped like Bert and Ernie, and my mother painstakingly handcrafted this cake from scratch, using hand-colored frosting and black licorice for hair. My only memory from the day: I was ripshit because I had requested a piece of Ernie’s smile, but mom gave it to my neighbor Shannon instead (because she was a guest).
Now that I’m an adult, I get whatever fucking piece of cake I want.
Last night N and I had a celebratory birthday-eve dinner in Greenwich Village. Greil Marcus was just a few tables away. It’s reassuring that a cultural critic can afford to eat at expensive restaurants on days other than his birthday. It gives me hope that someday I’ll be properly compensated for my brilliant observations.

    Taken September 6, 1978. I had requested a cake shaped like Bert and Ernie, and my mother painstakingly handcrafted this cake from scratch, using hand-colored frosting and black licorice for hair. My only memory from the day: I was ripshit because I had requested a piece of Ernie’s smile, but mom gave it to my neighbor Shannon instead (because she was a guest).

    Now that I’m an adult, I get whatever fucking piece of cake I want.

    Last night N and I had a celebratory birthday-eve dinner in Greenwich Village. Greil Marcus was just a few tables away. It’s reassuring that a cultural critic can afford to eat at expensive restaurants on days other than his birthday. It gives me hope that someday I’ll be properly compensated for my brilliant observations.

     
    1. derasso posted this