Prologue

It was a beautiful weekday morning, much too beautiful to go to work, so my roommate Dan and I both decided to call in sick. We lit up a joint, fell on the couch and watched an old Star Trek rerun, promising ourselves that we would go out as soon as the episode was over. But this was not to be.

“They’re gonna show the Space Hippies episode,” Dan announced, “we can’t leave now,” so we watched and giggled and sang along with the big-head hippy with the space-age guitar, “Headin’ out to Eden, yea brother. Headin’ out to Eden, yea brother. Yea.”

Before long, we broke out the Ben and Jerry’s and in between bites, became embroiled in a deep, philosophical debate of the strangest ice cream flavors we had ever encountered. It started out small and not too strange. Dan opened with green tea ice cream. I countered with red bean. He shot back immediately with jalapeno pepper, but then I let him have it: cucumber. “Yes, cucumber ice cream,” I told him, “Surprisingly refreshing.”

I thought I had him beat, but he held the winning hand all along. “I once went to a Baskin-Robbins in St. Louis, Missouri,” he began, “In this palace of 31 flavors, the unlisted, yet available, 32nd flavor was… tuna fish ice cream,” then he leaned back, clasped his hands behind his head, and smiled like the Buddha.

Tuna Fish Ice Cream. It blew my mind. I had to know what it was like.

“I don’t know,” he said, “I didn’t try it.”

“Didn’t try it? How could you not try it? Not even a little taste? On one of those little spoons. Just to see.”

“I wasn’t gonna try it. That’s disgusting.”

“But that’s the point!” I screamed. I screamed for ice cream. For the life of me I couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t be curious enough to try. I knew I would have tried it, would had to have tried it. I needed to know everything about it. How fishy was it? What kind of tuna was it? Was it Chunk Light? Was it Albacore? Was it a smooth blend or were there chunks of tuna in it? What kind of mix-ins would go with it? And how about toppings? I imagined perhaps a melted cheddar cheese.

He didn’t want to discuss it any further so he went out for a walk. But I couldn’t let it go. I stayed on the couch all morning, fixated on the idea. The more I thought about it, the more I knew it wasn’t only about tuna fish ice cream; it wasn’t even about food anymore. It became something infinitely greater.

It became my call to arms, my credo. I could see it emblazoned in gold and dripping fire:

Taste the Tuna Fish Ice Cream!

In whatever form it may take. Anything out of the ordinary, bizarre, improbable, implausible, unthinkable, or undeniably downright disgusting, I am compelled to try; and, on occasion, actively seek out. Stir-fried Locusts? Sure, I’ll try it. Jump out of an airplane? Why not? Sex with a Thai transvestite? Gimme two!

For better or worse, in one way or another, this credo has been responsible for most of my life and career choices since that morning twenty years ago. Was it worth it? Today, Dan’s got a respectable career teaching college English. Me? Once a prospective employer sees my resume, I never get hired, but they always invite me to lunch, so they can hear my stories. So now, if I’m feeling hungry, I just apply for a job.