The Cow And I

Midway

My esteemed opponent reminds me that we are now just over the hump, with half of our Year of Beef come and gone. This occasion has allowed me, likewise, to pause and reflect on my experience thus far in our mutual undertaking.

In a sense, this contest didn’t begin on January 1, 2004. It began a long, long time ago, in October 1987, the year of our matriculation at the University of Chicago, in an isolated dormitory separated from the rest of campus by a vast, unkempt stretch of grassy fields that we called the Midway.

Newly liberated from the parentally-imposed shackles of pre-collegiate youth, I arrived at college, and the Matthews House dorm, with an unquenchable taste for freedom, and an appetite for reckless excess. I planned to consume the world. From the first day of classes, I embraced the Great Books Tradition as though my life depended on it, developed a close and altogether fierce relationship with my academic peers, and generally ate through the coursework (aside from an 8 a.m. chemistry lecture, during which I snoozed much of the time). But my appetite didn’t end in the classroom. I was drive to indulge in my leisure time as well, with no parental figures on hand to stop me. And here at Matthews House I met my equal in the form of a tanned, lean, worldly hedonist from the St. Louis suburbs, one Mr. Petzall. Almost immediately I realized I’d found a kindred spirit, one who subscribed to my philosophy of unbridled consumption. But perhaps more importantly, here was someone who nurtured my appetites, who egged me on, who provided a catalyst for my excess:

“So you enjoy listening to ‘Pink Floyd: the Wall’? Hell, let’s play it over and over and over again in the dark, for hours.” And that we did, until it began to ooze from the pores of our psyche like the sharp stench of asparagus in one’s urine. “So you like this ‘tobacco product’? Here’s some more. Lot’s more. And lot’s more where that came from. What was I saying?” “So you like making bug art? Let’s explore this, shall we?” And so on.

It was easy to lose myself in these pursuits. Over time, it became even easier, as the Midway conveniently defined the northern boundary of a sort of “Safe Zone” within which we felt free to engage, at will, in whatever form of reckless abandon that suited our fancy at the moment. And in those weeks and months spent safely ensconced in our isolated dormitory, we cultivated this growing consumption-fixation, in whatever form it manifested itself.

Later still, our sushi duel, to which I referred in a recent blog (to which he replied in yesterday’s entry), represented a luminescent example of our desire to explore our boundaries. Whatever the precise nature of the outcome, it was the pursuit that mattered. We were brilliant, we shone like diamonds that night (aside from my opponent’s furtive scurrying to the lavatory near the end), and after 120-odd pieces of sushi had been tucked away into our grotesquely expanded stomachs, how could either of us say he had lost?

Somehow I knew, as this exhibition lasted only one night, that it wasn’t the end of our journey. We hadn’t gone far enough, not even close. Max, in his superior wisdom, knew this perhaps more than we did ourselves, and that’s why he wasn’t surprised at all when asked to serve again as Judge.

Which brings us to BeefStakes. My motive for participating has been, primarily, to re-kindle our mutual exploration of our limits. We’ve grown since our college days. We’re perhaps less reckless (even though, as Guy suggests, perhaps I am still “famously stupid about food”). We have familial responsibilities now. We both have wives, he has a son. Our political, spiritual and social philosophies have evolved. We don’t wear bras anymore, or jump into the Mississippi River on Thanksgiving, or stack twelve mattresses in a hallway closet to accommodate a bleary-eyed reveler in need of a comfortable place to sleep it off.

But we are fundamentally the same two people who, 17 years ago, looked at each other from across the room and dared to ask the question “How much?”

I still don’t know the real answer to this question. Nor, I would imagine, does Guy. But once again, with the Midway conveniently framing our search for this ultimate truth, I can safely respond:

“More”

Posted by eric at July 1, 2004 07:57 PM