If the world were a fair and decent place (like Denmark) this, or something like it, would appear when you Google the name "James Graham".
In yesterday's post I mentioned the opening of the Corner Bodo's. Doing this unearthed an un-identifiable and terrible rage and anger within my soul. Soon, I realized that it was the memory of being sold out in the article posted above.
Back in 2002, I was a young man in the midst of training to become a bagel-master. Cream cheese was carefully applied. Every effort was made to assure a safe and even slice through the heart of the bagel. Starving college students were brought bagels to augment their brain-power diets of Ramen noodles and whipped cream cartridges. I was using the forces of good to leven the spirit of my community.
During my training, I was approached by a "friend" calling himself a "jouranlist." He was working for a struggling alerternative to the alternative weekly and he had an idea. An old adage, he told me, was that when distribution was down, an article on bagels and those who made them was a sure-fire stabilizer. Being a lover of my community and the freedom of the press, I agreed to be interviewed on all topics Bodo's.
Several days later James Graham appeared at my apartment with a tape recorder and a six-pack of beer. Deep into a mid-afternoon viewing of the original Shaft, I welcomed him in and the interview began. I answered questions ranging from "What's your favorite part of the job?" to the inevitable, "When will the Corner Bodo's open?" The interview ended shortly thereafter, and I went back to the blaxploitation calssic.
In the time between the interview and its eventual publishing, things grew dark. I was unable to smile as wide as I had for the previous year and a half. I could hardly eat a cup of soup and two bagels for lunch and sometimes dinner as well. A pall had been cast upon me, and I was unsure of its origin. One morning, instead of rising with the sun to bring the bagels to the people, I simply stayed in bed, waking restlessly several times to peek through my blinds at the day that would see the demise of my bagel knight-hood.
What had befallen me? How had a once loyal servant to the bagel-addled become so jaded as to deny them service? It soon dawned upon me that, perhaps, all was not well with Mr. Graham. Calls were not returned, emails were left unreplied-to. Was the developing pain in my neck the result of a voodoo pen molesting my word DNA and depositing the remains filthily on the page?
Yes. Yes, it was.
On the day I first returned since my dethronement to the bagelry, I walked in to a sea of weekly newspapers with bagels on the cover. This wasn't good. Picking one up from a co-worker I glanced at a page and saw:
"We're brainless helper monkeys. Just walking back and forth... 'Ooh, there's a ticket. Ooh, there's a bagel.'"
Funny how quotes are shortened to titilate, no? My answers to the interview questions, which oozed of devotion and profound respect, had been destroyed like whales and minks - the poacher taking only what he needed, and, unable to use the rest of the animal, discarding the majority of the great beast's remains. Apparently, my noble portrayal of the restaurant and those who ran it would do little to boost readership.
Pieces of them would look like the prettiest titties you've ever seen.
Graham denied my accusations of fraud, saying the tapes didn't lie and that he merely delved into the world of journalistic privelege when quoting me. He soon turned tail and left our peaceful hamlet for the tiny burrough of Williamsburg, evidently fearful of the legion of outraged citizens zeroing in on his location.
The moral of the story, folks: When you eat your delicious bagel from the new Bodo's on the Corner in only a couple more weeks, say this as you take your first bite:
"Fuck you, James Graham."
PS - He used to totally hit on my mom, too.
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