Noah Cicero made me cookies. Noah Cicero made a big box of them and sent them to my publisher and my publisher sent them to my mother and then when my mother came down to visit me this weekend she brought them and we ate them all. My grandmother and my mother and even my girlfriend, we all ate them. They were maybe the best cookies we had ever eaten. We ate them on the train and while we were walking to the little Italy section of town we ate them. Then we ate them while trying to decide which restaurant to go to which was really a tough decision because why did we need to go to a restaurant when we had such delicious cookies. Then this logic dawned on us and we didn’t go to any restaurants. There was a library book sale across the street so we went there instead and everyone got a book. My mother, my grandmother, even my girlfriend, we all got books. And we ate Noah Cicero’s cookies while we did it. Then we decided it would be a shame if we didn’t eat at an Italian restaurant while we were in the little Italy section of town so we went back across the street and sat in the closest restaurant. And it was good. It was good because we had Noah Cicero’s fucking cookies. We didn’t even eat the bread they gave us. I threw a slice at a pigeon sitting on the window sill. Then things got really strange and I wondered if I hadn’t eaten too many cookies. I don’t really know. All I know is that people in the restaurant started clapping and the Navy came marching through and this guy started talking to us about things none of us wanted to talk about. He was a dirty old man and he said everyone was attractive but me. He said, “Aren’t you a bunch of pretty ladies, what are your names?” And everyone said their name except for me. I said, “Why don’t you go back to your table,” but he didn’t leave. Someone asked his name and he said, “Tom Selleck,” which damn near made me reach across the table and punch him out, but I didn’t because I was afraid the Navy might come back through and mistake the situation as me beating up a poor innocent old man rather than what it would have actually been, me beating up Tom Selleck. It was at this point that I understood this other Tom Selleck wanted Noah Cicero’s cookies which was very distressing because my grandmother was holding the box and I was worried she might offer them up to this dirty old man. And then this man, this fake, broke down and began crying right in the middle of the restaurant. And we all asked him what was the matter, but he didn’t answer for a long time. Then after he wiped away all the tears he said his grandson didn’t believe in America’s pastime and would rather play lacrosse. It was obviously an attempt to gain sympathy and ultimately get one of Noah Cicero’s cookies, and for a second I was worried. I was worried because my grandmother began rambling about how she once saw Jackie Robinson’s first major league game. Then she pointed at me and said, “He’s got Babe Ruth’s autograph.” I was sure an offer for cookies was about to be extended, but then I remembered she had never been to Brooklyn and the closest thing I had to an autograph of Babe Ruth was an old clipping my grandfather had cut out of the paper honoring the passing away of good old George Herman. At this I knew she was playing this other Tom Selleck for a fool and he seemed to know this as well, but there was nothing he could do. In a last ditch effort he tried to reach across the table and shake my hand, but my mother swatted it away before it even got halfway there and my girlfriend even got into the action by throwing the rest of the loaf of bread at this other Tom Selleck’s head. And that’s when he walked off and left us to enjoy our meal, even though it mostly remained untouched. We all played with our plates a bit, toying the noodles with our forks, but mostly we just passed around the box of Noah Cicero’s cookies. And then the check came and we were all about to go when I remembered, I don’t have a publisher which meant there were no cookies from Noah Cicero. “Fuck,” I said and the Navy all looked at me as they came marching back through and my grandmother and mother and even my girlfriend covered the shock looks on their faces with their hands. And as I looked at them I realized I had been the only one not to eat my food.

As for Noah Cicero I’m not really sure what to say. Maybe its best not say anything at all or maybe I should just say that his latest book, Treatise, reminds me of what they said about Miranda July’s No One Belongs Here More Than You, “Dolphins aren’t sharks, but they would eat my feet too,” or maybe it’s best to not to compare it to something it isn’t and instead say, “Treatise is obviously something, but I think it says its nothing or at least disguises itself as nothing and this is where it becomes something that is nothing. It is a book (something) full or nothing (something that is nothing)”