Friday, November 21, 2003

Martin Sexton and comfort foods

I was introduced to Martin Sexton by Karen S back when we were living in New York. She was born in Worchester, Mass just like the diner cars in this entry's song, Diner. But she not made of Aluminum Bakalite and glass, but sugar and spice and everything nice. It's a dubious disctintion to have spent any amount of time in "Woosta", but not so much to have spent time hanging out in diners. I bought his CD, Black Sheep, for the diner song, but grew to love his rich magical voice and clever guitar playing. If you have the chance to see him live, you too will see that his style is not made up on the mixing board.

I have a long and glorious history of time spent in diners. It started when I was a kid. My dad would take us to the Red Fox Diner where his friend Ari (we called him Harry) would serve us ice cream in ice-y cold metal parfait bowls. These types of experiences can have a strong influence. Years later when I was still too young to go to bars but old enough to drive around with friends, I would find myself looking for a diner to hang out in. Christopher and I would drive around listening to music way too loud on the stereo of the family Ford LTD Country Squire station wagon. He'd drive me crazy by quizzing me to identify the song after only a bar or two of music. And everytime I challenged him he would get it right. But I was talking about diners. The New York suburbs are filled with them. From the glitzy, neon-laced Greek ones to the quaint country-kitchen ones up near Albany where I went to college.

I have been blessed with friends who share my pleasure in the foods that you can get here. I still recall trying to get dry toast from the greasy one across the street from my first apartment in a slightly seedy neighborhood on Washington St. They were so damn efficient there (or else I might have been a little slow in my hung-over state) to catch them before they slathered the bread with butter.

Alicia replaced Chris as my regular diner companion. Often it was for a cup of coffee or a late night dinner of pancakes, because breakfast food always tastes better after a long day when you can really savor it. I'd love to hear about your diner stories. Oh yeah and if you think Martin rocks as much as I do, buy his CDs.

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