Your pasta story is not as good as mine because mine involves a bowl of spaghetti that gets possessed by the spirit of Babe Ruth and becomes the new home run king. And then there's a fusili sculpture of Jerry Seinfeld that gets sat on by George Costanza's dad and then I eat a bowl of penne and it reminds me of my childhood and it causes me to write a story that over the course of 1500 pages becomes apparent it's not about my childhood but about the tragic passing of time and I called the book "Remembrance of Things Pasta". But then Lee Marvin orders a bowl of linguini and I had to bring it to him and he accuses me of bring him spaghetti. He knocks the bowl to the floor and overturns the table. As he storms out of the restaurant he knocks over tables and throws chairs on the wall and slaps other patrons on the back of the head. One such patron was named William Rose who turned his experience into an album title.

But that is so outlandish that it's im-pasta-ble.