Monthly Archives: April 2003
Ling-Ling: Special K?
Man: What’s wrong with Special K?
Ling-Ling: Nothing, nothing. It’s just…
Man: It’s five-thirty in the morning in Central Europe, sorry, all the garden shops, florists and nurseries are still closed. Where am I supposed to get bamboo at five-thirty in the morning?
Ling-Ling: Don’t sweat it.
Ling-Ling: No thanks, I had a cup. If I drink too much of that I’m like this, you know? BZZZ!!
Man: What now?
Ling-Ling: Nothing. Just wondering: what’s with all the wet voles?
Man: Don’t get started. Forget the voles.
Ling-Ling: He was here, wasn’t he?
Man: I said don’t get…
Ling-Ling: You of all people. I can’t believe you fell for the weasel.
Man: Shut up.
Ling-Ling: What is it with humans and talking animals? The most cynical, skeptical person, it doesn’t matter, they meet a talking animal and believe everything he says.
Man: That fish in New York recently…
Ling-Ling: Oh, the fish was real. Forget the fish. But a weasel?
Man: How should I know. And anyway, what’s a panda got that a weasel doesn’t?
Ling-Ling: Massive fucking claws, for one thing. I’m not pulling your leg. Look at these massive fucking claws, dude. Those little kids going, ooh, how cute? Sheeit. Climb in the cage with me for a second, little kid. Just one second. Cute.
Man: What about libido, though? A weasel has you beat there.
Ling-Ling: Libido, schmibido. Who needs it? You have any idea how sick I am of all the negotiation and begging sex involves? Jee-sus-Christ. I’m in heaven, I get to lie around all day eating and watching prOn.
Man: All day?
Here’s a relationship tip for you: when your daughter is asking her parents what first attracted them to each other, and it’d your turn to answer, “She cracks me up,” is not necessarily an acceptable answer.
Weasel: Yogurt? Lo-calorie yogurt? That’s all you’re eating for breakfast? I thought the diet was over?
Man: Well, it is, but I hate to gain everything back right away, you know?
Weasel: Jesus, yogurt. So these chocolate eggs are up for grabs, then?
Man: Until the kids get up, guess so. Look, how do I know you’re really my spirit guide?
Weasel: What, you were expecting maybe a jaguar? A panther with flaming eyes?
Man: I just, you know. You expect it to *click* when you meet your spirit guide, right? Some cosmic flash of recognition.
Weasel: Be glad you didn’t get a sheep. Lots of people get sheep. That’s really fucked up.
Man: I was thinking, tiger maybe. Or a big black bull.
Weasel: Hah! Or lemmings. They’re even worse than sheep.
Man: Look, if you’re going to eat something, eat it. Don’t just lick stuff and put it back.
My younger daughter showed me her specimen-viewing jar. I think she got it from her sister, who got it from well-meaning relatives who picked up some educational toys for the nieces and nephews at the local science museum gift shop once; her sister tired of it quickly.
A small plastic jar with a magnifying glass attached to the top. There was a fly buzzing around inside.
We were in a hurry to get to a restaurant on time, where we were meeting the grandparents for lunch before they left on a tour of Mallorca with the retired persons’ tour group they belong to.
Buzzing and buzzing. When he’d walk up the walls of the jar, out of range of the magnifying glass, she’d give it a good whack and he’d buzz around again.
The little naturalist.
“How did you ever get the fly into the jar?”
She brandished her hand like a secret weapon. “Just whacked him against the wall. He fell onto the floor, I stuck him in the jar and he woke up.”
The fly buzzed. Through the magnifying glass, it looked like a really big fly.
My curiosity was piqued by a line in a previous post about never having felt “at home” anywhere in the world. And I began to wonder again about all those notions of home that haunt us, how much home is a part of our collective mythology, marketing’s imagery, societal constructs and each person’s own concept of a mini-nirvana – the hope for a place where we can be fully ourselves…
And I wonder what it is that makes someone feel like a pariah in their homeland? Whence that dissatisfaction, that itch to see how those elsewhere go about this business of existence? Is it mere curiosity or a deeper need of displacement?