There is one unfinished dialogue, that I always had hoped to see fleshed out
a bit here on this discuss, and thats a dialogue that went on and on in
Phaedrus's head, when asked what he thought about cookery and how it related
to pandering.  It must of have been a real show-stopper of a dialogue,
because it's back and forth drove the guy out of the classroom, out of
academia and for a short period, into the nut house.  And yet didn't stop
there!  On and on that dialogue went, getting ZAMM out and published and
producing Lila.  Because it's a very deep issue, that's why.


> Dan said:
>
>
> ...And if I did write to please the reader (ideal or otherwise) I am quite
sure my writings wouldn't be from the heart. They would be contrived. My
words wouldn't be my own. They would belong to someone else... someone I was
trying to imitate... someone I was trying to please.
>
>
> dmb says:
> Well, yea. That would just be pandering. The ideal reader I'm talking
about is NOT designed to help one produce contrived imitations. Quite the
opposite. I think the idea is supposed to give the writer a frame of mind
that allows him to write the kind of thing that he would most like to read
himself. It's a device that sort of gives you "permission" to write exactly
what you think is good, to write the book that you'd want to read.



John:  I think that both dan and dmb are wrong.  I think Dan fools himself
into believing that underneath it all, he's got words that are "his own".  I
don't believe there are any such words.  I don't think there is any such
"my" that can own.  All words are signs and predicated upon a sender and a
receiver.  There is no other way words can even exist.  If I type away here
in my own personal language, then I'm not typing words, I'm not writing, I'm
typing gibberish.  I'm typing.  "That isn't writing, it's typing" said
Capote to Kerouac - an interesting comment because although wrong, it did
illustrate that there is a difference.

But this goes deeper than the mere fact that all language is shared.
 Writing  is communication.  The idea of "ideal reader" is always there in
every writer's mind, even if the ideal reader is just himself.  For this
"himself" is constructed out of the plethora of inputs and influences in the
writer's past, his dreams and aspirations of what he wants to be and do, is
in fact, that most significant other which drives the process of writing and
communicating ideas.

So what's wrong then, with "pandering"?  Isn't that just a an academically
pejorative epithet intended to keep good little boys and girls silent in
their nice neat rows?   Originally I guess, the word meant prostitution.
 Old Plato's point being then that good cooks are whores?

Maybe.  For some reason, people just love my barbecue.  Especially my
chicken.  And it is good, but there's no magic ingredient or secret I can
think of.  I just throw the meat on the heat and take it off when I think
its done.  I marinate first, true, but usually with whatever comes to hand,
nothing special.  I do insist on actual charcoal.  I think chicken cooked
over a propane flame is an abomination.  Real coals convey a smokey
sweetness as they slowly turn to ash.  And "slowly" is a key term.  It takes
at least an hour and half to get done, and for real flavor, you should let
it slowly smoke into perfection for about 2 1/2.    Which takes time and
planning, I admit, but it's not that difficult to just wait for something to
be done.  It's not like it takes all that much skill to rest.  But I notice
that it is hard for some people.

Then, there are the accoutrement.  Roasted potatoes are a must.  Put them
right in the coals, wrapped in foil, turning them at 20 minutes and they
come out moister and tastier than any other way of cooking them.  And I like
to plop sweet corn, in its natural wrappings, right down next to the chicken
and let it steam in its own leaves and get slightly browned on at least two
sides.  the sugars and starches carmelizing nicely.  And usually, I also
have a couple of stuffed onions in there, where you hollow out an onion with
a knife and then mix the onion that you cut out of the middle with ground
beef and sage and garlic, and then wrap it up in foil and add it in with the
potatoes, and when its all done, you cut open the onion on top of the baked
potato and they complement each other very well.

That's the meal I fixed for some friends I made here, a widow and her
brother who were living in the house where I remodeled their basement, and
their other brother and his wife.  Very nice people who'd invited us to the
Medora Musical (Marsha: you would have loved it!  Such singing!  Such
dancing!)  and I wanted to offer them a thank you meal.  They raved about it
and were so grateful and it didn't take that much effort really, but like
anything done well, it was appreciated.

Some call it pandering, some call it cookery.  I call it life.
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