Real Good Talk

So, what do you think, son?

Um … I don’t really … get it?

Oh.

I think it might be too grown-up for me.

No, that’s not it. I understood it pretty well when I was your age. I probably didn’t lay it well enough out for you.

No, it’s not your fault. I just — don’t understand.

Well, then, it is my fault, and I’ll just have to explain better, okay?

Okay.

So, maybe you just need a better understanding of the basics.

Probably.

Okay, so. Let me see.  Okay.  Back in the ‘70s —

The 1970s?

That's right.  See, there was this movie called Deliverance. John Boorman. Great flick. Uh — probably, that is a little too grown-up for you right now, but anyway, in this movie, a bunch of these city guys go on a rafting trip in this really remote area, out in the woods, in the country, right? And what happens is — well, someday you’ll see the movie, but the point is, at one point in the movie, they stumble across this old cabin with these hill people in it, and one of them is this — well, obviously just profoundly mentally disabled kid with a banjo, he kind of looks like this …

Ha!

No, no. Don’t laugh. That’s not for laughing at.

Sorry.

My fault, I shouldn’t have — I mean, you have to have respect for people, even when they’re —

I know, Dad. I’m sorry.

Anyway, there’s this scene where the kid, and this other guy, who also has a banjo, they do this kind of banjo duet that starts out real simple, right?  But then it gets just like, crazy wild, very complicated, tremendous technical … banjo … virtuosity, right?

Okay.

And this song, it’s called “Dueling Banjos.”

Oh.

And it became this huge hit at the time, which was pretty unusual, because even back then you didn’t hear a lot of banjo on top forty radio.

Right.

And it became this like, indelible cultural icon, “Dueling Banjos,” right?

Uh-huh.

You got that?

Okay.

So — okay, now. Do you even know who Marlon Brando was?

Nuh-uh.

Okay. Well, Brando was this actor, widely seen by a lot of people as just, you know. The preeminent film and theater actor of his generation. Me, I don’t know. I don’t really see it, but that was the opinion. Anyway, he had this very distinctive voice, and in some of his later films, he really started to — well, like in The Godfather?  He was all “Tell Luca Brazi to come in.”

Haha! Oh. Sorry.

No, no. It’s okay to laugh at that. That’s fine.

But you said —

Yeah, I know. This is different.

Oh. Okay.

So, because he had such a distinctive voice, and such a recognizable way of speaking, practically everyone in the world at that time did a Marlon Brando impersonation, get it?

I … guess so.

So you, see, you put the two things together, and you get —

Dueling Brandos! Oh, I get it!

Right! See, it’s the song, “Dueling Banjos,” used as a backdrop for two guys doing their —

You’re over-explaining it, Dad.

Sorry. So. We good now? You want to watch the rest?

Sure, I guess.

What? Is there something else you don’t understand?

Well. What was that thing about the wolverine?

…

…

…

…

I think maybe they must’ve just been really high when they wrote that.

Oh. Cool.

Yeah.

…

….

I love you, Dad.

I love you too, sweetheart.

Deep Cuts

“Oh, my God.  Are you kidding me?”

“Trust me, will you?”

“Trust you?  You brought me to a strip club!”

“I’m asking for one minute.”

“Is this what I am to you, now?  That poor sad bastard who’s girlfriend dumps him, so his best friend takes him to a strip club?  Am I that much of a cliché?”

“Will you do me a favor?  For two seconds.  Just … close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes.”

“Please.”

“Do you actually understand how a strip club works?”

“As a favor me to me?”

“Fine.   I — oh my God.  Is that … Sour Times?”

“It is.  And that … is Tiffanique.”

“Wow.  I — I’ve never actually seen anybody strip to Portishead before.”

“?!!”

“Portishead.”

“Thank you.  And Tiffanique does not strip.  She’s a dancer.”

“She’s a very good one.  Look, her top came right off, from the dancing.  God, do you remember this?  I had this on 12” vinyl.”

“The white label promo, I remember.”

“I played that thing half to death.”

“Uh-huh.  Until …?”

“Until … Kathy threw it across the room like a Frisbee that time I made us late for her cousin’s wedding.”

“And?”

“And it went out the window and hit a light pole, and then I didn’t have it anymore.  Very good.  You’ve made your point.”

“My friend, I have not even begun to make my point.”

“Look, I know you never liked her, but Kathy … she was special, you know?  I really thought she was the one.”

“She sold your stereo on craigslist!”

“She’d got that little iPod docking thingy, she thought we needed more space.  She didn’t know.”

“She knew exactly.  She got like, three hundred bucks for the whole system.  Those were QUAD ESL-57 speakers!”

“I had to drive all the way to New Hampshire to buy those things.”

“You had the speakers longer than you had her, for God’s sake.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.  You’ve never had a relationship like that.  But it’s different once you’ve been with someone who really gets you.”

“Gets you —?  Tiffanique gets you better than Kathy did, and she’s never even met you.”

“Look, I’m just saying —”

“I know what you’re saying, but I think you need to consider the possibility that somewhere out there, there may be a woman whose musical tastes extend beyond Lady Gaga.”

“That’s not fair.  Kathy was — there was so much more to her than that.  She — okay, you know what?  I’m not even sure how I feel about a half-naked woman straddling a pole to Oh, Comely.   Although now that I’ve had a moment to think it over, I have to say I feel pretty good about it.”

“Uh-huh.  And how did Kathy feel about Jeff Mangum?”

“She said his voice sounded like a cat trapped in a dishwasher.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, it does actually sound a little like that.”

“Ted, please!  Can you just admit it?  The woman never understood you.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, no?  What did you she get you for your birthday last year?”

“Boz Scaggs’ Greatest Hits.”

“I rest my case.”

“Dude, what is your problem with Boz Scaggs?”

“I just don’t see it.”

“John Darnielle said he considers Boz Scaggs to be — ooh!  boobies — one of the best rock poets of all time.”

“I respect the man, I respect the opinion.  I just don’t happen to agree.”

“Jesus, this is brilliant.”

“She’s very talented.”

“I meant the song.”

“That’s good too.”

“You know, if you listen really close, at the end of this cut, you can actually hear the engineer going, 'Holy shit!'  It’s like he can’t even believe how good it is.”

“I told you that!”

“That’s right.  You did.”

“Because I’m your friend.”

“You are my friend.”

“And I look out for you.”

“You do look out for me.”

“And as your friend, who has always looked out for you, I am begging you to see the upside to this breakup.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I am right.”

“I mean, it’s not the end of the world, right?  So, okay, the last two years of my life have just pretty much fallen to shit, but if it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t meant to be.  And if I could love Kathy, I’m capable of loving someone else.”

“Somebody who likes you for who you are.”

“I could fall in love again.  I could fall in love with —”

“Veranda.”

“Veranda.  Veranda?  Really?  You know what?  She’s a smokin’ hot redhead, taking her clothes off to Neutral Milk Hotel.  Her name could be Funyuns.  I’d find a way to make it work.”

“This is all I’m saying.”

“Hang on a minute, I got a text.  It’s from Kathy.  She’s sorry.  She wants to talk.”

“No.”

“Craig.”

“No, come on.  You are so close, man.”

“I’m gonna call her.”

“That’s what the old Ted would do.  Fight that impulse!  The new Ted has options!  He’s had a glimpse of a better life.  A beautiful life of music, and art, and nudity.”

“So, what?  I should start dating strippers now?  You think I should I should marry Veranda?”

“That’s ridiculous.  You have no shot with Veranda.  And no one’s talking about getting married.  I’m talking about a world full of beautiful, hot women who share your values.”

“My values?  Are you kidding me?  You know what this is?  This is Pauly and the girl from the video store.”

“Oh, this is so not that!”

“How is it different?”

“It’s completely different!”

“How is this any different from Pauly and the girl at the video store, or Dave and the comic shop girl, or — any guy anywhere and any tattooed female barista at any Starbucks, ever?”

“You’re ruining this for me.  You know that?  You’re ruining this whole place for me.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I’ve shattered your illusions, but unfortunately that’s all they are.  And that’s not good enough for me any more.  Keep your … inaccessible … fantasy stripper music nerd girls.  I’m a grown man, and I have a chance at something real.  Real happiness, in a real relationship, with a real woman.  Who may not be perfect, but you know what?  Neither am I.”

♪ With your feet in the air and your head on the ground/You try this trick and spin it, yeah ♪

“Then again, the heart wants what it wants.  Hey, hold my seat.  I’m gonna go get some singles.  And ... maybe some fives.”

Little Trenchmouth

Once there was an awful pie-faced little girl, with a nose like a thread-spool, tiny appleseed eyes, a mouth as wide as a ditch and a great lolling tongue as thick as an elk’s.  Her name was Little Trenchmouth, or at least, such would have been her name had  anyone ever thought to give her one, but at her birth her father had taken one look at her and enlisted in the Foreign Legion, and at the sight of her new babe, her mother had wept until she died of dehydration.  As she grew, the child became such a dreadful, unpleasant-looking thing that most people only called her “Hey there,” when they thought to call her anything at all.  “Hey there!” they would say, “Come here!”  Or with far greater frequency:  “Hey there!  Go away.”

All the other children made great sport of her because of her horrid flat face and great gaping mouth.  “Hey there!” they would call out, “hey — no, no.  Stay where you are.  Yes, that’s better.  But hey you over there!  What an awful little pie-faced girl you are!”

And so she was a sad and friendless little trenchmouthed creature, sleeping in doorways and nibbling on stale crusts the baker would throw her out of pity for her wretched state.  “Hey there,” the Baker would say, “Here are some stumps of yesterday’s bread for you to — no, no!  Keep your distance.  Yes, that’s fine.  I’ll just toss them to you from here.”

All Little Trenchmouth desired in all the world was to be cared for and loved, even if only for a moment, but sadly, her mouth was so very like a trench that it was not to be.

One day, as Little Trenchmouth sat dozing in the warm sunshine in the town square, she heard someone cry out in alarm, and when she opened her eyes, what should she see but a great dark plume of smoke rising from the church steeple.  A careless scrubwoman had overturned a candlestick inside the church, and now the whole of the little structure was smoldering like dry tinder. 

All at once the whole town came running, carrying buckets and pans and cups full of water, in hopes of dousing the fire before it could spread to the rest of the town.  Man and boy they toiled, passing basin and pail hand over hand from the well to the church, but the fire raged on despite their labor.

Then all at once, who should come racing toward the church, her head tipped back and her vast cistern of a mouth brimming with well water?  It was Little Trenchmouth, who despite her ill-treatment by the villagers had come to help to quench the terrible flames!

“Hey there!” cried the man closest to the church.  “That’s the girl, come along — No!  No, no!  That’s close enough — Ah!  Well.  There’s nothing to be done for it, I suppose.”

And he picked up Little Trenchmouth by the waist and dashed her headlong toward the church, sending forth an astonishing quantity of water onto the flames.

When he set her down again, Little Trenchmouth ran back to the well as fast as her feet could carry her, to fill her remarkable trough of a mouth again and again, until at last the fire was extinguished, and the people of the town stood awkwardly regarding her hideously beaming face.

“Hey there,” they said.  “Hey there!  That was … quite something.  Much obliged."

And after a moment they went about their business, leaving Little Trenchmouth to bask in the glow of her mighty deed.

The next day, Little Trenchmouth woke with a feeling she had never known before:  a sense of accomplishment and hope.  At last, she had found her place in the world.  Unfortunately, nothing else caught fire that day, nor indeed the next day or the day after that.  And so, on the night of the third day, while her neighbors slumbered unaware, she found some paraffin and a box of matches and set light to the schoolhouse.

Gaily she trotted off to the well and filled her gaping maw to the brim.  As the sleepy townspeople gathered in bewilderment around the suddenly and inexplicably burning schoolhouse, she presented herself, her great full mouth slopping over onto the paving stones, to the man nearest the fire.

“Oh!  Um — it’s you,” he said, in great confusion.  “Well.  I suppose we’d better …”

The man lifted her by the waist and hurled her streaming mouth at the flames, then set her down again.  Once more she skipped merrily off toward the well, and soon enough the fire was subdued.  A little faltering cheer went up from the crowd, and as her new friends stumbled home in relief and mild suspicion, Little Trenchmouth breathed a happy sigh of belonging.

Still, it was a small town and there weren’t that many public buildings in it, so in the ordinary course of events, large conflagrations were a comparatively rare occurrence.  Little Trenchmouth waited as patiently as she could, but when a week passed and nothing else caught fire of its own accord, she hied herself to the Chandler’s shop.

Standing on tiptoe, Little Trenchmouth brandished a silver penny in one hand, while pointing eagerly with the other at the shelf that held the kerosene.

“All right you,” said the Chandler.  “I’m on to you.  Stay there while I send for the constable.”

And so Little Trenchmouth was run out of town with an angry mob at her back, and from that day forward she never stayed in any one town for long, but everywhere she went, she left behind the thrilling tale of a sudden, unexpected fire, and of the hideous little pan-faced girl who saved the day.

For in this life, every one of us has a special talent.  It only takes finding it out, and putting it to good use.

The end.

Unique Treats

New York offers a dazzling variety of choices for dining out, from fast food to exotic ethnic cuisines.  But if you’re looking for something that’s off the beaten path — literally! — you’ll want to check out some of these truly unique specialty restaurants.

The Frigid Bitch, located in the Vinegar Hill section of Brooklyn, is a bit of a hike, but well worth the trip.  Frigid Bitch takes the current trend of high-quality, small batch frozen desserts in unexpected flavors, and elevates it to a whole new level.

Dairy chemist Shandra Malouffe starts with creamy, silky smooth full-fat cream and organic sheep’s milk for her super-indulgent ice cream base.  To this she adds the perfect balance of raw cane sugar and free range vegetarian duck eggs, which give the ice cream an added richness and unparalleled smoothness, along with an indefinable quality we can only describe as “duckiness.”

The base is the same for all the ice creams at Frigid Bitch.  It’s what happens next that makes them truly unique.  Shandra and her team offer a tantalizing assortment of off-the-chart flavors like “turnip espresso,” “caviar, papaya and leek,” “turtle crème,” and their signature flavor: “smoky prawn and rosewater.”

The complex, briny, smoke-infused intensity of the prawns, with the unexpected light floral sweetness of the rosewater come together with the tang of the sheep’s milk and that trademark Frigid Bitch duckiness to create a taste sensation you won’t soon forget — if ever.

Shandra explains:

“I like to push the boundaries of what’s considered ‘normal’ in ice cream.  I ask myself, what haven’t I tried before?  What hasn't anybody ever tried before?  What would it literally never even occur to anyone to even think of trying in an ice cream.  And then I try it.”

Of course, if you’re lactose intolerant, Frigid Bitch also offers a variety of dairy-free and vegan soy cream, with flavors like “black sesame and shitake,” “caper and onion,” “yam, fig and olive” and my personal favorite, “accordion solo,” which is pretty much indescribable except to say that after about the third spoonful, it really does start to taste exactly like Tico Tico.

For those in search of lighter fare, Pang, in the Morningside Heights section of Manhattan, is the destination of choice.  At the artful and eclectic Pang (brainchild of famed gastrocateur Julian Mo), they recommend you bring your imagination and your sense of whimsy — but check your appetite at the door! 

That’s because every dish on Pang’s extensive menu is a thing of beauty and a joy forever — literally!  If you’ve ever heard the expression “too pretty to eat,” they were probably talking about Pang, where the glistening, upscale, highly photogenic and completely inedible entries have been featured everywhere, from the covers of high-end foodie magazines to the pages of Instagram and Pinterest.  Their signature dish — bright pink yellowfin tuna steak, with golden caviar and a dazzling, bright green fava bean pesto, is a feast for the eyes ... and nothing else.  Like everything on the menu, it’s a gorgeous symphony of color and texture.  Just don’t try putting it in your mouth.  Here at Pang, every item is perfectly composed, seductively lit, and painstakingly designed for optimal presentation on Facebook.  There’s even a special appetizer plate that actually looks as if it was shot in Lomo.  The chefs at Pang are true artists — or rather, the “artists” at Pang are true artists, because frankly “chefs” in the traditional sense are pretty much irrelevant to the process.

If even the visual representation of food is a little too much for you to handle, try one of Pang’s trademark “poppers.”  These tiny glass capsules are snapped open under the nose, providing the imbiber with an uncanny bouquet of floral and vegetal essences, combined with the aromas of sizzling steaks, bright tropical fruits, or dense chocolate.  All with just the subtlest whiff of amyl nitrate to heighten your dining experience.

If you’re an adventurous gastrophile with an eye for the truly unique, we highly recommend you run — don’t walk! — to this amazing and utterly original gem of a restaurant.  Just remember to eat before you leave the house.

Never have the twin indulgences of sex and chocolate been so brilliantly melded as in the underground atmosphere of Lagniappe, on Doyers Street in Chinatown.  That’s right, we said “underground,” and we meant it.  Literally!   To discourage casual street trade, this dimly lit and vaguely unsettling jewel of a patisserie is hidden away in the basement of a barber shop sandwiched between a used furniture store and an abandoned fabric wholesaler.  But if you’re brave enough to make the trip down those crumbling and badly-lit stairs, you’re in for one of the most unique confectionary experiences of your life.

“Lagniappe” refers to the old New Orleans custom of “a little something extra” added to a customer’s purchase, and as practiced by proprietors Chuck and Daisy Marchand, it takes on a whole new significance.

Take for example their chocolate cognac truffle.  You’ve had truffles before, but we guarantee you’ve never had one quite like this.  These perfect morsels are made with Scharffen Berger extra dark chocolate, which is 82% cacao; top-quality Madagascar vanilla and real Jenssen’s Arcana cognac.  But if that wasn’t enough, each exquisite mouthful is hand-shaped and rolled precisely 32 times between the supple breasts of a 15-year-old French prostitute.  Chuck and Daisy actually contract with a string of top-flight Parisian brothels, who keep these underage lovelies at work in shifts seven days a week.  And still, they can barely keep up with the demand — especially around the holidays!  So order early.

Looking for something a little more daring?  Then the Religieuse at Lagniappe is bound to please.  Each of these heavenly choux pastries is filled with your choice of mocha or hazelnut crème patisserie, and served with an insouciant — but masterful! — over-the-knee, bare-bottom spanking. 

But for the truly courageous, we recommend the Spécialité de la Maison:  Lagniappe’s crowning achievement, the Black Mamba.  Chocolate, rum, burnt sugar and black cherry coulis are aerated in a Co2 charger until they’re basically just a chocolate-and-sugar-infused froth.  The froth is then injected into a veterinary-grade gelatin capsule and inserted into the anus by the nimble fingers of some of Belgium's most highly-skilled and publicly disgraced chocolatiers.

(Please telephone at least 24 hours in advance to special order.)

Slice of Life

So anyway, I says to her, I says Mabel, I says, if you — what the !?!?  Oh my God. 

Rose.  Rose, you’re not gonna believe what happened.  My uterus just fell out! 

Whaddya mean, am I serious?  Why would I make up a thing like that?  Of course I’m serious.  This is mortifying!  My entire uterus just fell out in the middle of Eighteenth Avenue.  Right in front of the pork store. 

No, the other one.  Spicoli’s, by Bay 22nd.

Really?  Oh, I don’t care for them at all.  I got the mortadella there that one time, it was very gamey to me. 

I think we’re straying a little from the subject, Rose.  I mean, what am I supposed to do now?  Well, I mean, do I pick it up?  Do I leave it there, what? 

I don’t know, this never happened to me before!  I only had the one, this is the first time it ever fell out. 

Oh, Rose.  Really?  What if a dog finds it?  Well, what good is that gonna do, cover it with a newspaper?  Dogs have a very keen sense of smell, Rose.  They’re dogs.  Besides, where would I get a newspaper? 

No, I don’t have one with me.  I have the Readers’ Digest, but I’m not finished with it yet. 

No.  Because it just doesn’t seem right to me, that’s why! 

It came out of my body, Rose!  Besides, what if someone slipped on it?  They could break their neck, you think I want to get sued? 

How?  From the DNA, of course.  Jesus, Mary and Joseph, where have you been?  Don’t you ever watch Law & Order?

Well.  That’s a good point.  I mean, it’s not like I’m exactly using it these days.  Still.  It just seems like a shame.  Fifty-six years, Rose.  To just walk away like that?

Sigh.

Eh, who’s to know? 

I’ll tell you one thing, though, this skirt is going to the dry cleaners. 

Astrology for Real Life

Aquarius (January 20-February 18)

As a water sign, you more than most can appreciate the sinful pleasure of a good, ten-minute shower in the mornings.  Why not take one today to really rev up your engines?  You’ll need it to face down that morning commute.  While you’re at it, why not put on some fresh, clean work clothes and a dab of cologne?  Nothing brightens up a day at the office like feeling really well-groomed.

If you can find a lull in the work day, try to balance your checkbook and pay any bills that may be due.  You’ll be glad you did.

Pisces (February 19-March 20)

You are well-known for your imaginative, creative side, but rarely find an outlet for it in your day-to-day life.  This trend is likely to continue, but a steady paycheck and decent benefits will seem a better and better tradeoff as you mature.  Why not take in a movie to brighten things up a bit?  Toward week’s end, a few sniffles may lead you to think you’re coming down with a summer cold, but in all likelihood it’s just a harmless allergy.

Aries (March 21-April 19)

Today would be a good day to go out and get some fresh air and sunshine during your lunch break from work.  On the other hand, it might rain, so be sure to bring along an umbrella “just in case.”  The small, collapsible kind you can carry in your bag will probably be your best bet. 

If you have some down time this afternoon, you may want to try updating your blog.

Taurus (April 20-May 20)

Been feeling a little overwhelmed lately?  Maybe you haven’t been taking enough time to cater to your own needs.  This evening, why not indulge yourself on the subway ride home with some music on your iPod, or a few chapters from that new book you’ve been reading?  But remember to limit your self-pampering to harmless, healthy treats.  That ice cream may look like the answer to all of life’s problems right now, but you’ll only regret it in the morning!

Gemini (May 21-June 20)

This morning, why not spend some quality time with those strangers in your bed, say over a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice and a crossword puzzle?  Instead of just turning them out into the street and tossing their leather goods after them, like always, shake things up a little!  Take the time to get to know them.  Or at least to differentiate them from one another.  Ask where they got that amazing super-sized rotating apparatus, or what they use to prevent chafing from the latex, or if they can breathe okay in that mask.  It may take time, but with Mercury in retrograde it’s good to do all you can to keep the lines of communication open.  And you never know — that guy in the scuba gear and nipple clamps may actually turn out to be a useful business contact! 

Cancer (June 21-July 22)

A special someone may be on your mind today.  If it’s somebody you know well, why not give him or her a call and make some weekend plans?  If it’s just a harmless daydream, try to enjoy it without getting too carried away. 

Leo (July 23-August 22)

If there’s something you’ve been putting off, now’s the time to get down to it.  It may be making a dental appointment, getting a haircut, checking your email or any one of a thousand little things.  Stop procrastinating and get it done!  You’ll feel better once you have.

At lunchtime, why not skip the pizza or greasy burger and take a brisk walk around the block?  It will help clear your head and do wonders for your waistline.

Virgo (August 23-September 22)

The subway will probably be very crowded for your commute today, so don’t plan on getting a seat unless you get on very close to the beginning of the line.  Your luck will change later in the evening, when you’ll be pleasantly surprised that there is actually a relatively enjoyable program on TV after all.  You will look forward to the weekend, but mostly just on principle, and not for any particular planned event.

Libra (September 23-October 22)

Today might be a good day to get up an hour early and toss in a load of warm-water wash.  The laundry room is usually deserted first thing on weekday mornings, so you won’t have to wait for a machine, and you can use the time between cycles to shower, dress, and run a dust cloth around the living room.  You’ll be killing two birds with one stone! 

Later, a friend or family member may call to ask about your weekend. 

Scorpio (October 23-November 21)

There may be some talk around the office about a co-workers cock-up, but don’t worry — it probably won’t involve you in any significant way.  On the way home, why not stop at the grocery store and pick up any items you may have noticed you were running low on? 

Sagittarius (November 22-December 21)

Yours may well be the “luckiest” sign in the horoscope, Lucky Sagittarius!  But you can’t always depend on that luck, so even though the dry cleaner had your shirts ready early last time, that probably won’t happen again this week.  Don’t waste time stopping by there on the “off chance” — just wait until tomorrow and save yourself the aggravation.

Capricorn (December 22-January 19)

You may oversleep this morning, but by no more than ten minutes, so it won’t make you late for work or anything.  Your health will be best served if you opt for a lighter, more nutritious breakfast: a bran muffin and some fruit over that eggs Benedict, perhaps.  Things will be hectic at the office, but not so much that you can’t handle it, and it may even make the time go faster. 

Fresh polls! Tuppence the pound!!

Hey I can make polls!  I have never made one before, but now I am.  Making one, which I didn’t even know I could because Blogger doesn't really let you do polls in your posts but guess what?  You totally can!  So here is my poll.  It is my first, brand-new sparkly ever one.  Please take it!  All of you, and eat it, that you may know life everlasting.

Question the first of my poll, which is mine and which belongs to me by R. Violet Brackets Miss Brackets:  This is my poll.  How do you like it so far?

£  I think it is just splendid, thank you for having me.

£  Nonsense, the pleasure is all mine.

£  Really, you’re too kind, and I can’t say enough good things about your poll!

£  Oh, posh!

£  No, really!  It’s very informative, and so neatly typed!

£  Oh, you!  How you do go on!

£  Uh-oh.  I think maybe I was wrong about being able to do a poll in a post.  Oh, crap. Well, press on.

£  Holding hands and long quiet walks on the beach.

Question Number Two:  As polls go, how do you think this one rates? 

£  I think it is first-rate, top-drawer, top-hole, top-flight, tops & bottoms, bottoms up, P-O-S-H POSH with a capital pee.

£   I think there's a chance you don’t have the best possible grasp of this whole “poll” concept.

£   I think you may be on to something there, Lance.

£   I think Rosy was at a “business meeting” today and had a couple lil ole martoonies for lunch.

£   Please.  I had them with lunch, not for lunch.  There’s a difference, you know.

£  “With lunch,” “for lunch” — in the vernacular of the drunkard, the two are one and the same.

£  Lighten up, Grandma.  It’s not like I came in to work tweaked.

£   Non-smoker, politically left-of-center

The third question of my poll is this:  The poll is halfway over!  How do you think it is holding up?

£   Admirably.  Admirably.

£   I think it is losing a bit of steam, but I have confidence it will rally and build to a momentous climax!

£   I have my doubts, frankly.  It could either end brilliantly, or end even more brilliantly!

£   Snort.  You said “climax.”

£    As comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt as she is in an evening gown, and looks great in both.

The final (Final) question:  “Poll" is a funny word, because it sounds like “pole,” which reminds me of:

£   The Eastern European gentleman who threw the clock out the window because he wanted to see the ess-car-go!

£   Cock.

£   The annexation of the Sudetenland, which wasn’t even funny you heartless bastard, so I don’t know what the FUCK you’re laughing at.

£   Dick.

£   Something else, which I will explain in Comments.

£   Friends first, but could be so much more!

That concludes my very first ever Blogger poll.  I hope it has given you much intense physical pleasure and a deep sense of emotional well-being, while helping you to while away many a carefree hour.  What do you think the topic of my next poll should be?  Here are some possible suggestions:  Hangovers; cock; the significance of the poll in the Medieval European agrarian economy; the difficulty of receiving unemployment checks when homeless; pistachio. 

Tell me what YOU think my next poll should be about!

Something You Might Not Have Known About Me

When I was a kid, I had this imaginary friend named Mr. Gumbo. 

Well, technically, he wasn’t my imaginary friend; he was the imaginary friend of this kid Chip Engleman, who lived across the street from us.  But Chip introduced us, and then a while later the two of them had some kind of a falling out.  I never found out the details; or rather, it was one of those situations where there are almost like, too many details?  Everyone’s got their own version of events and none of the pieces really add up and eventually you just figure screw it.  It’s probably more than I needed to know anyway. 

But I guess I was the only other kid in the neighborhood Gumbo really knew, so before too long, he was hanging out with me pretty exclusively.  Which wouldn’t have been so bad, if it had stopped there.  It was actually kind of cool at first.  I’d never had an imaginary friend before, and I was sort of getting to the age where if I didn’t have one soon, I probably never would.  And if I waited much longer, there’d be a whole lot of those “special” tests to take, and you know how those can eat into your schedule, so I figured, hey.  Imaginary friend.  How bad can it be, right? 

Little did I know.

I mean, it’s not like Gumbo was a bad guy or anything.  It was more that he had this total bug up his ass about Chip, who frankly wasn’t my favorite person in the world either, but it was like Gumbo just couldn’t fucking shut up about him.  I mean, he never talked about anything else, and of course, given the nature of their relationship, he was privy to a whole lot of information about Chip that I could have lived just as happily without ever knowing.  And of course he was just thoroughly pissed at him, so it was all filtered through this mess of conflicted emotions.  Meanwhile, he was always trying way too hard to be my new imaginary best friend.  “Oh, tell me all your secrets, Rosy!  Tell me what you wish hardest for way down deep in your tippy toes!”  Yeah, right.  So you can go rag on me to everyone in the neighborhood when we break up?  Sure.  That’s gonna happen.

Of course, looking back on it, I realize Chip must have hurt him pretty bad.  Eventually, when I was older, it dawned on me that Chip and Gumbo may have been more than just imaginary “friends,” if you know what I mean.  But at the time, all I knew was that Gumbo was a bitter, angry loser with a huge imaginary chip on his shoulder and a long list of grievances in his big pink polka-dot ditty bag, who I strongly suspected would go invisible and hide in the bathroom when I was on the toilet.  And it wasn’t just what he said, it was the way he said it.  “Chip is such an asshole, Chip is such a user, Chip Chip Chip,” in that high-pitched, slide-whistle-crossed-with-a-cuckoo-clock voice of his, which believe me didn’t help matters any.  And plus, you know.  The jingle bells.  Which of course I know he didn’t have a whole lot of control over, but sweet crap on a cracker, they just never.fucking.stopped.  Every time he moved, every time he spoke, every time he drew a freaking breath.  “Whine, whine Chip this” (jingle!) and “Blah, blah Chip that” (jingle!!)  It was enough to make you want to put the poor bastard’s head through a wall.

Anyway.  After about three months I couldn’t take it anymore and told him to get lost.  Sometimes I feel bad about it now, but I was just a kid at the time, and you know how it is.  Poor fucker just kept calling and calling, on and off for like, weeks afterward.  I never picked up, and since it was the imaginary phone, nobody else in the house ever heard it ringing, so after a while he just gave up.  Sort of pathetic, really.

Last I heard, he was crashing with the Thing that lived under Sue Ellen Gawicki’s bed, and the two of them were driving each other completely up the wall.  Which if you ask me was no more than either of them deserved.  I mean, I know it sounds harsh, but that Thing used to give Sue Ellen pluperfect hell, and she really was a very sweet girl.  I know a lot of the other kids didn’t like her, but she had a really cool sense of humor when you got to know her, and she couldn’t help it that she smelled that way.

Rock Soup

Once there was a boy known by one and all to be quite astonishingly stupid. 

“Great heavens, but you’re a stupid boy!” cried the schoolteacher, when, in the schoolroom, the boy one day produced a large and rather mouldy Stilton cheese in place of his lessons.

“That boy’s ignorance is a disgrace to my manhood,” wailed his father, who left the family when the boy took his first faltering steps at the age of seven, and they led him straight over the edge of a large and unmistakably overfull sewage ditch. 

“Oh what oh what did I ever do to deserve such a fool for a son?” wept his mother, when the boy, in an attempt to solve a particularly difficult math problem, accidentally burnt down the cowshed.

The boy was never troubled by these pronouncements, either because he was so spectacularly stupid that he didn’t understand their meaning, or because he didn’t realize they were directed at him (possibly both), but in any event he was completely oblivious to them, as he was to virtually everything else.  And so the years passed quickly and effortlessly for him. 

When the stupid boy was nearly grown to stupid manhood, it was decided that he should leave the village and seek his fortune in the wider world.  His mother took some bread and cheese, and a few small coins, tied them in a kerchief, and pointed her son in the direction of the road leading out of town.  She wiped away a tear as her son ambled off with no particular sense of urgency or purpose, and watched until he disappeared behind a dip in the rough old road.

The stupid boy walked for three days and three nights, stopping only to eat and sleep and try to work out where he was, and how he had got there. 

At the end of the third day, though it was only the first of October, a terrible winter storm blew up, covering the road in a thick blanket of snow.  The stupid boy stumbled blindly, gathering his thin cloak about his shoulders in an effort to keep warm, but the wind gusted hard and mighty and it was a terrible thing to see.  At last, frightened and confused, and with nowhere else to go, the boy presented himself at the door of his mother’s cottage just a little way down the road, which he had been walking back and forth on the whole time, simply turning when he reached one edge of the village and heading back in the direction of the other.

“Well,” sighed his mother.  “I suppose I really I ought to have seen that coming, oughtn’t I?” 

She made up a bed for her stupid son, and he passed the night there, warm and snug.

In the morning, his mother made once again to send her son out into the world to earn his keep, but such a great fall of snow covered the house and the road and the whole of the town, that no one with any heart could have turned him out in it.

Instead, the next days were spent in digging out the town, and the days after that in taking stock of supplies.  The snow had come early and caught the villagers unaware, and their provisions were in perilously short supply.  Each night the people of the village prayed that tomorrow, the sun would break through and melt the snow, so that they could travel to the next town and seek help there.  But each day the clouds remained overhead, and new snow fell.  Livestock froze in its tracks and died, and was soon eaten.  The crops had been only half gathered when the weather turned, and the rest lay frozen and buried.  Many had no firewood, even to melt ice for drinking water.  And in a few weeks time, it became clear that barring a miracle, the villagers would not last through the winter.

The desperate people gathered in the schoolhouse to discuss what they must do.  Everyone was frightened and hungry, and words quickly grew angry and threatening, when all at once, the stupid boy spoke up.  “I know what we shall do!” he cried, and so desperate and hungry were his neighbors that they ceased their quarrelling to hear his suggestion, despite knowing what a cotton-headed idiot he was. 

“We shall make rock soup!”

The villagers exchanged looks of confusion and anger.  Rock soup!  What sort of nonsense was this?!

“Listen here,” said the stupid boy.  “We have no food, and the firewood is nearly gone, but there is enough to light under a big cooking pot, and we could put ice in the pot and melt it, and then add rocks to the water and cook them, and eat them.  Rocks are plentiful!  The big men could carry the big rocks, and the women and children can find little rocks, for seasoning.”

The villagers began murmuring agitatedly amongst themselves.  Rocks?  Eat rocks?  They had never heard of such a thing.  “Here,” cried one man.  “Never mind the rocks.  Why don’t we eat this stupid youth?”

“Eat the stupid boy?” asked another, incredulously.

And then the cry was taken up by others.  “Yes!  The stupid boy!  We should eat the stupid boy.”

“Yes!” shouted the stupid boy (who really was monumentally stupid), “Eat me!”

And all the villagers sang out together:  “We shall eat the stupid boy!  Fire up the cooking pot, and we shall eat the stupid boy!”

And so they did, and he was surprisingly tasty, especially when mixed with the potatoes that one farmer had been hoarding, and the leeks of another, and salt from yet a third, not to mention a few small rocks that the women and children gathered, for seasoning.  In fact, he made a fine soup which lasted for five days.  And on the morning of the sixth, the weather warmed, and the snow began to melt, and several of the younger men, their strength restored by the nourishing broth, traveled to the next village .  There they were able to obtain desperately needed supplies, and returned home with onions and potatoes and kindling and several of the less cooperative neighboring villagers, who were cooked and eaten in much the same way as the stupid boy.

So the people of the village survived the winter, and the name of the stupid boy, and of the others they subsequently cannibalized, was never spoken again, for fear of social embarrassment and possible prosecution. 

And they all lived happily ever after, proving that even the least among us can contribute, in our own way, to the greater good of all, if only we accept our lot cheerfully.

The End

Notes on a scholarly text

I'm by no means an expert on modern economics, but shortly before his death in 2006 I had the opportunity to hear John Kenneth Galbraith speak, perhaps more cogently, compellingly and persuasively on this topic than anyone I have ever heard speak, on any topic, before or since.  It's hard to explain how he was able to make such a dry and dusty subject so interesting, especially to a lay person like myself.  But bear in mind that through his entire presentation, Mr. Galbraith was naked, covered in jam and wearing a Hello Kitty mask.  Keep in mind also that his comments were presented on a cross-town L train at approximately 4:15 on a Saturday morning, and that frankly, I'm not entirely sure it was really John Kenneth Galbraith at all, or for that matter, that Jesus has any direct impact on the consumer price index.  In fact, I was sort of drunk at the time.  Actually – you know what?  Just forget I said anything.  I don't know what the hell I was thinking about.  Sorry.