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Possums, we are great believers in the powers of time, and just look what time has done for Gael Greene. Though scarcely four years old, her memoir, Insatiable: Tales from a Life of Delicious Excess, has gone from being execrable (and we were trying to be kind) to being a minor camp classic, and may soon be a television series.
How do you judge campiness in the case of memoir? Well, just imagine a drag queen doing a dramatic reading. Would a drag queen love it? Would it work?
We submit that, under this criterion, Insatiable qualifies. Just have a look at this passage:
“I…remember the terror and joy of discovering masturbation. I shared a bedroom with my sister….At night after lights-out, I would get my sister to sing along with me so she wouldn’t hear the sound of the bed creaking as my body rubbed against my wadded-up pajama bottoms. I did my heartrending Judy Garland vibrato as we sang ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ and then segued into a popular wartime anthem, ‘The White Cliffs of Dover,’ and its reassuring images of bluebirds flying free in a near tomorrow. Till, exhausted and satisfied, I fell asleep.”
Now, possums, take a minute to catch your breath. Let your eyes, which undoubtedly were popping, settle gently back in their sockets. That was quite something, eh?
Be honest now, possums. If you didn’t know it was Gael Greene’s story, wouldn’t you think it was the memoirs of a drag queen, and perhaps a parody of what an ur-drag queen’s childhood was like? Who else would beat the bishop while vocally impersonating Judy Garland?
As you can see, Gael Green really is Top Chef Master of Her Domain, and we urge you to get yourself a copy.
There is one another thing that intrigued us about this passage—the bluebirds. The cited Vera Lynn World War II classic famously promises that “there’ll be bluebirds over/ the white cliffs of Dover,” and “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” asks, “If happy little bluebirds fly/ beyond the rainbow, why can’t I?” Would it be unreasonable to assume that Gael Greene associates bluebirds with masturbation and sexual release? Could that be why she has taken to vigorously to Twitter?
Possums, fear not. We’ll get to our impressions of, and reactions to, the first episode of Season 2 of Top Chef Masters in two shakes of a lamb carpaccio’s tail, but we simply could not go on without getting this off our chest.
Well, more like getting this unstuck from our craw, where it has lain for a few weeks since we read this account of Judge Gael Greene’s date night, er, morning, on her Twitter feed.
Ah, yes, that renowned romantic masterpiece Precious…. You know, possums, the one that features—in no particular order of tribulation—incest-rape, teenage pregnancy, Down syndrome, illiteracy, morbid obesity, poverty, colorism, AIDS, and Mariah Carey.
Or, as Miss XaXa so pithily put it, “Gael, girl, that’s just naaasty.”
Mercifully, the tweet does not contain sufficient temporal clues to determine whether the necking took place during or after the watching of the film. Frankly, there’s not much of a choice between the two, for either you were inspired to neck by the film, or the film wasn’t repellent enough to put you off your necking. (As for the culinary accompaniment to a viewing of Precious, surely salad is a little unimaginative, given that pig’s feet, bacon, and fried chicken make memorable appearances in the film.)
Now, if that is the Insatiable Gourmet’s idea of a date night (or date morning), we submit that she is not the right person to judge a challenge designed around the proper meal to accompany a first date. Indeed, we would question her very aesthetic bona fides. Sure, we know from her autobiographical tales of the Elvis-bagging days of yore that she’s a freak bitch, baby, but is this a freak too far?
What say you, possums? Are we not giving a fair shake to the kooky, oversexed, milliner’s wet dream of a great-aunt?
