Thursday, September 29

Madeleine Hearts the New Yorker (and Vodka! and Weddings!)

“Guests will sit on big black velvet pillows decorated with gold crest, like Romanoffs. We follow menu of Tsar Alexander III. Best beluga caviar, served only with blinis and sour cream. Highest quality piroshki! Russian meatballs in vodka sauce on black toothpicks, quail eggs with horseradish cream, red borscht, whole roasted sturgeon, suckling pig, beef Stroganoff. Chilled Imperia vodka! We drink, we drink, we drink!”

The New Yorker -- "A Better Life"

And from Philip Levine's poem "I was Marrried on the Fiftieth Birthday of Pablo Neruda" in the New Yorker (sorry no specific link; poem is not online; let's all pray this is not a copyright violation, since I think we all know how Madeleine feels about suing):
Neither of us knew how crucial a day
it would become in the history
of poetry

[snip]

while I was in a courthouse in Boone,
North Carolina, staring at a poster
of three auto wrecks and the one word
"Think!" in blazing red. The circuit judge
who'd just asked me, "Do you plight your troth?"
--seeing my befuddlement--saved the day:
"Just say yes, young fellow, and we can all
move on to what you been waiting for."

And now here's some info on Pablo Neruda.

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