I’m not sure if it was all the germ-infused hand-shaking at an event last night, the food I ate after wards, or the result of a stunning – nay, shocking – breech of etiquette made by yours truly but an hour after delivering a lecture all about etiquette, but my gut is, um, not functioning properly. Sipping-mint-tea, staying-in-bed, cursing-the-heavens not functioning properly. Enough said.
Last night I gave what is now my annual etiquette lecture to the willing seniors of my alma mater. The idea behind the event is that they are going out into the world and need some information besides Habermas’s theory of the public sphere in order to function in the adult world, that, perhaps, they will be brought to lunch or dinner as part of a job interview and they just might want to know where their bread plate is. They always seem very appreciative of the information and, I hope, the spirit in which I give it.
I think they all would have gotten a big kick if they had seen me about an hour later, at the bar at Yakuza Lounge, sharing a plate of duck fried rice (with duck confit, shitake mushrooms, and duck cracklings – hey, it seemed like a good idea atthe time) with a friend: When a chunk of the rich rice fell on the bar in front of me instead of into my mouth and I picked it up with my fingers and shoved it in my pie hole. It was wrong, but post-etiquette lecture it was pretty funny, and I’ll always go for the cheap laugh. Is a churning gut my punishment?
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