Server Brings Scrambled Egg Whites

This morning I read an interview with a highly regarded contemporary novelist whose passion seems to lie more in typography than prose, who writes quasi-supernatural post-modern novels which have an element of user participation that I feel is there to cover up for his lack of thematic weight or ability to create characters or anything resembling a human moment in time, all of which is neither here nor there, because what I really want to talk about is the interviewer, or, rather the editor of the piece, who thought it was a good idea, during the middle of the almost-interesting conversation between interviewer and interviewee, to inject a parenthetical which reads (Server brings scrambled egg whites), that’s right, Server brings scrambled egg whites, because, I don’t know, I guess it’s important that we know that Mr. Novelist eats scrambled eggs whites, because, well, I have absolutely no fucking clue why this is a piece of information I need to know, but now I do, I know that a man who consciously decided that you, the reader, needed a book that, in order to read it, you need to turn it like a steering wheel, no shit, in order to read the book he wrote you have to turn the book, while you are holding it, like a steering wheel, this guy, who, by the way, went to Harvard, in case you didn’t know that, he went to Harvard, if you’ve ever read an interview with this guy you know for sure that he went to Harvard, and I’ve read more than my fair share of interviews with this guy because I’m trying to figure out why he is so highly regarded, because he is highly regarded, and I have no idea why, but I do know one thing, and it’s that this guy went to Harvard and that he likes to eat scrambled egg whites, (Server brings scrambled egg whites), and when I read that the first thing I said to myself is what Vietnam vets used to say to themselves whenever they witnessed some unholy horror in the jungle, or some absurd circumstance that put the whole experience into relief, the sheer pitch black humor of it all, what my Uncle still says to this day when shit hits the fan (I don’t have an Uncle who served in Vietnam): “There it is.”

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