Author (#32)June 2006 Archives
339 (censored) St., Apt. Hot Dog City
NY, NY
You can write me there if you wish.
Hot Dog City was incorporated on May 27, and since then it's established a reputation as a thriving municipality. By all traditional measures of standard of living, Hot Dog City, as its slogan reads, is a wonderful place to live. We enjoy modest median and average incomes, we are healthy and young and good looking, our real estate market is robust, and we boast cell phone coverage that is never, ever, ever, ever spotty. But Hot Dog City is a tiny town, and as its only resident, I am lonely here. You should come and visit some time. I would give you a tour. It would be good for our relations.
"Welcome to Hot Dog City!" I'd boom from under the brim of my stovepipe hat upon seeing you approach the city limits. "Come in, come in! Hot Dog City welcomes you."
I would promptly fix you a hot dog, a Nathan's Famous Hot Dog from the year's supply of Nathan's Famous hot dogs that sits in Hot Dog City's vault.
"Can you afford this?" you'd ask uncertainly before accepting it. You'd be concerned that I were depleting a valuable municipal resource, and you might even suggest a public referendum to approve the expenditure first because that's the kind of person you are, always thoughtful and always selfless.
I'd quickly laugh off your suggestion and press the warm hot dog into your hand and tell you that Hot Dog City could more than afford to bequeath to you such a tasty gift. "Aw, shoot! We have many hot dogs here in Hot Dog City. It's what we're known for. It's how we got our name. When you came here today, Hot Dog City boasted a hot dog supply of 480 hot dogs. Now, sure, we don't have as many hot dogs as we did during our heyday last night. But fear not!" And I'd clap my hands together once before resuming my thought impassionedly. "Hot Dog City isn't going anywhere. In fact, our future is bright. In 10 short months, another shipment of hot dogs will arrive at our port, and in the meantime these hot dogs will carry us through. Would you like another?"
You'd say yes, and I'd hand you another famous Nathan's Famous delicious Hot Dog City hot dog. And then I'd resume the tour.
I'd show you the botanical gardens, which are fake and downstairs from Hot Dog City's main drag. I'd point to the reservoir to the north, to the commissary to the northwest, and to the recreation center to the east, all of which are open to residents of Hot Dog City 24 hours a day. I'd show you the public restroom, which is clean and doesn't cost a nickel. "Now this should be the model for all other municipalities facing a shortage of clean, public toilets," I'd say. And then in jest I'd shout into the air to our neighboring city's mayor, "Mayor Bloomberg, are you listening?" Our tour would last a full five minutes.
With nothing left to see, you'd thank me for the tour. "Well, thank you for the tour," you'd say. "I can see that Hot Dog City is, indeed," and you'd wink, "a wonderful place to live!"
I'd smile and blush and shuffle my feet because you'd have flattered me so, and then my smile would fade away. I'd look at you forlornly, with teardrops moistening my eyes, as I'd looked upon the rest of the day prior to your arrival.
"You'll come back, won't you?" I'd ask, for the first time that day sounding lonely and vulnerable.
"When I can," you'd answer vaguely, which wouldn't be much consolation.
I'd take you to the edge of Hot Dog City and then walk to our famous vista to watch you walk away down the street. I'd lay my elbows upon the sill of the window and my head upon my hand and wave to you goodbye. I'd watch you disappear into the commotion of surrounding New York City, and then I'd look out onto your town and back in on my town, and I'd wonder why no one else wished to live with me here, here in Hot Dog City.
"I'll wait for you," I'd softly whisper, not meaning to actually speak. "I'll wait for you here in Hot Dog City, such a wonderful place to live. Such a wonderful place to live?"
The title of my play refers to the thirteenth hour of the Fourth of July, the hour during which the hot dog title is contested each year. The setting sun represents Takeru Kobayashi, who hails from Japan, the Land of Rising Sun. The original title was "And in the 13th Hour of the 185th day of the Year 2007 A.D., a Sun that Rose Six Years Ago Will Set Below the Sea: The Joey Chestnut Story," because I wanted to acknowledge that Kobayashi has dominated competitive eating without interruption since he first arrived on our shore six years ago. I opted for the shorter title because I worried that some people would forget how the longer title had begun before they'd finished reading it the first time. I didn't want them to have to go back and reread it again. I wanted to do them a favor.
The first scene opens at 12:40 PM on Coney Island on the Fourth of July. Joey Chestnut can be seen in the background in dim lighting beating Kobayashi. Eater X can be seen in the foreground, in the intense glow of three overlapping spotlights, eating far fewer hot dogs than Joey Chestnut and Kobayashi. George Shea can be seen in the middleground. He is talking. No. Wait. He is shouting. Yes! George Shea is shouting. "Tim Janus, Tim Janus, Tim Janus, Tim Janus," he cries. The play is poorly thought out.
If my play is ever made into a movie, Joey Chestnut will play Joey Chestnut. He can play himself without auditioning for the role because he's such a small part of my one-act play that it won't even matter if he can't act. No one will notice because his part doesn't require him to recite any lines. He just has to look like he's eating, which I know he can do. Eater X might play himself in the movie, but I'm not sure yet. I haven't decided. But it doesn't really matter right now anyway. We're at least a year away from casting.
If "And in the Thirteenth Hour the Rising Sun Shall Set: The Joey Chestnut Story" is ever made into a movie, I will start a profile of Eater X on imdb.com. It will go on and on and on about every nuance of his life. Doris Kearns Goodwin will write it. I will also start a profile of Joey Chestnut. It will begin, "Joey Chestnut is the world's top ranked competitive eater according to the International Federation of Competitive Eating, and he knows Tim Janus, who..." and then it will go on and on and on about every nuance of Eater X's life. I will have written the first sentence; Doris Kearns Goodwin will have written the rest. She will spare no superlative in describing Tim's impact upon the human race, the planet earth, outer space, the fifth dimension, and cancer. She will have interviewed his parents and his sister, who will bolster her assessment that Eater X is among the most important figures in modern history. She will attempt to interview Eater X for the piece, but because he is so modest and would never dream of aggrandizing himself, he will decline her request for an interview. Awe will ooze from her prose. You will wish to drink it.
Of course, none of this plan will come to pass without a victory by Joey Chestnut on the Fourth of July, which is I'm busy working on a second play too: "This is the Most Amazing Sunrise Ever. Can You Believe It? Seven years and Counting! Long Live Kobayashi."
Michael Landon is my master.
He told me so in a dream.
He came to me while I slept and said, "You can rest now. Your job here is finished. You've been good."
It meant the world to me to receive his praise, and yet I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to be done. "But, Michael," I said. "It's not. My hair is not as long as yours. I have work yet left to do."
And Michael Landon laughed--not a hard laugh, not a mean laugh, not a smug laugh, but a chuckle, a confident, hearty, cheerful chuckle that made me think he knew better than I and made me feel young.
Michael Landon placed his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. "Son," he said. "Your hair will never be as long as mine. It's not as long as mine now, and if you grow yours longer, I will grow mine longer too. I'll be one step ahead of you always."
I raised my eyes to meet his because while he'd spoken, I'd cast mine toward the ground, unable to look him in the eye as an equal. "Well," I said, and I fumbled for the words to disprove him. "What if I were to, what if I were to, what if I were to cut your hair off while you slept? Why, then my hair would be longer than yours!"
And Michael Landon laughed again, but this second laugh was different. It didn't end of its own volition and trail off as the first one had, tired and ready to rest. He cut it off abruptly instead as if it hadn't been a laugh at all. And then he stared at me sternly and spoke to me firmly and tried, I think, to break my spirit. "But you can't cut it off. I'm a ghost!"
And my eyes got red and filled with water, and I looked at the ground and said, "Yes, Pa." And then I turned and ran away to the creek past the mill.
Editor's Note: If you need another study guide, just ask.
Ingredients:
1/2 cup butter
1 ounce of tobacco*
3 squares semi-sweet chocolate
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 large eggs
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon Frangelico liqueur
* A vanilla or cherry cavendish is best, but in a pinch a couple of Camels will suffice. Use menthols if you like your brownies minty.
Directions:
1) Using a double boiler, melt the butter over low heat.
2) When the butter has melted, add the tobacco. If you've had a rough day or just love a stiff buzz, use a little extra.
3) Simmer for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.
4) Remove from heat, and let stand for five minutes.
5) Strain the tobacco leaves from the butter by pouring the mixture through a cheesecloth or sieve.
6) When the cheesecloth and its contents have cooled and can be handled, wring the remaining butter from the cheesecloth.
7) Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
8) Combine the butter and chocolate in a saucepan, and mix until melted. Set aside.
9) In a mixing bowl, combine the sugar and eggs. Beat well.
10) Add the chocolate mixture to the eggs. Mix well.
11) In a separate bowl, combine the flour, baking powder and salt. Slowly add them to the chocolate mixture.
12) Add the vanilla extract and Frangelico, and stir.
13) Spread evenly into a well-greased 12 x 7 x 2-inch baking pan.
14) Bake at 350-degrees for 30 to 35 minutes.
Serve with beer.