My wife told me I was laughing in my sleep so hard and so long I woke her up the other night. She says it was an evil laugh, not my usual laugh.
I wish I could remember the dream, I think.
Yearly Archives: 2012
Careers in Science: Selenology
What is the air speed of a swallow?
Tired of quoting from Monty Python and the Holy Grail to his teenaged daughter on their commutes into town, the selenologist orders a DVD online. When it comes in the mail, he opens a couple bottles of Radler, which he calls Kinderbier and watches it with her.
He tries to give her some context as she churns through information on her smartphone while watching and talking to him.
“When I was your age, we could do only one thing at a time. We had to get our information from books and our movies in cinemas.”
“Ja, ja.”
Here in Castle Anthrax, we have but one punishment…
“We watched this movie over and over and recited it and watched it until we knew it by heart.”
He looks at the box. “This was made in 1975. Thirty-seven years ago.” He repeats the word thirty-seven several times at different speeds.
“Thirty-seven years ago, the world was a different place. Telephones still had rotary dials, anyone could change a headlight bulb, and I was exactly your age. Okay, roughly. One year older maybe. But without your grace. Anyway we went to movies, mostly. Luis Bunuel, Monty Python, whatever. Different things.”
“Okay.”
None shall pass.
She laughs a few times, this makes him feel better because he didn’t remember the movie being this slow.
“Geeze. Thirty seven years ago, time moved differently. In my memory, the movie doesn’t drag on like this.”
The status update his daughter posted two minutes ago has seven likes and two comments.
Your father smells of elderberries.
“I have to watch Sound of Music someday, too. Being American and Austrian, and living in Austria, I mean.”
“Totally. Like, you’re like a trifecta or something, only without whatever third element would make it a trifecta.”
“Huh?”
“Forget it.”
“Anyway, this movie is engraved on the brains of a generation. I wanted you to see it so you would understand.”
“Okay.”
I’m not dead yet.
Posted in Careers in Science, Das Gehirn, Familie, Metamorphosism
Tags: Careers in Science, gamma, memory, monty python
Imprinting
Turns out I was wrong about summer lasting only a week in Austria. Our garden has been exploding in the heat. The tomato plants are as tall as I am.
The heat has its nice aspects. I prefer less dramatic weather. A little cloudy, a little drizzle, like the Pacific Northwest where I grew up often is, but it’s nice to sit in the back yard naked pitting cherries.
And the heat does keep the slugs at bay.
I was coming to terms with the heat when my wife asked me to take out the compostable garbage. I don’t know what the system is like where you live, but in my village we have three garbage cans, one for paper, one for biodegradeable garbage, and one for burnable, sundry garbage. Glass and tin cans you have to take to a central collection place. Oh, and we also get these large plastic bags into which we are to put plastic garbage, such as plastic bottles – they’re collecting those tomorrow, can’t forget to put out the yellow bag. My wife called me from Japan this morning to remind me.
Apparently it was the first time the compostable garbage bin had been opened since the hot weather started. Not only was the interior absolutely alive with maggots, it was also dense with flies. They can’t have been flies that somehow got into the bin, they must have been former bin maggots that had completely passed through that phase and grown wings and so on and were just milling around in there waiting for someone to come and open the lid so they could all swarm out in this Carlsbad Caverns-style swarm.
So there I was, engulfed in rambunctious flies.
I don’t know what you think about at a time like that. I instinctively clenched every orifice tightly shut and thought about imprinting – that phenomenon where a baby duck decides the first thing it sees is its mother.
Luckily, flies don’t imprint.
At least not these flies.
Posted in Das Gehirn, Familie, Metamorphosism
Tags: flies, heat, imprinting, maggots, summer, waste disposal in austria
Scientists decipher cave painting
Here is the text:
Man wife car air conditioner broke. Wife go dealer fix. Mechanic quote. Wife say, Wow! Expensive!
Wife by nother car instead.
Man say how two people drive three car?
Wife say it good deal. Only little bit more than compressor.
Man say so why we need big car broke air conditioner then?
Wife say, for big IKEA stuff.
Wife say, that remind me…
Man say, look, many fat mammoth! I hunt now!
Posted in Das Gehirn, Familie, Metamorphosism
Tags: car repair, cave painting, ikea, science
Apocryphal fables: The man and the tortoise
Man: [Waters flowers, gives tortoise fresh water] Hi, little turtle. Tortoise.
Tortoise: You’re a little close to my rock, you’re making me nervous.
Man: Sorry. [Steps away from rock]
Tortoise: Hey, nice shoes!
Man: I… carry on, don’t let me distract you.
Tortoise: You have any more of that lettuce? For once I finish here? What’s up, you look down in the dumps.
Man: No, nah. I’m fine. I have time on my hands, is all. Just not infinite time, so I’m forced to prioritize my goof-off agenda, which re-stresses me.
Tortoise: Have you vaccuumed?
Man: Yep.
Tortoise: Mopped?
Man: Just finished.
Tortoise: Made the bed?
Man: Eh, yeah, sure I made the bed.
Tortoise: Decided what to cook on Sunday and done the shopping?
Man: I’ll do that tomorrow.
Tortoise: [Nods]
Man: I mean, should I play the cello, fire up the theremin, try to compose something, record something, write something?
Tortoise: Have you weeded the vegetable garden?
Man: I did that last week.
Tortoise: It grows back, you know. Mowed?
Man: I’m putting that off until tomorrow, in the hopes that it rains and gives me an excuse not to.
Tortoise: Respect. [Stares at man]
Man: What?
Tortoise: Did you really make the bed?
Man: Mostly.
Tortoise: If I were you, I would write an erotic novel entitled Transit of Venus.
Man: I think that’s been done.
Tortoise: Can’t copyright titles, dude.
Man: Plus, aren’t you supposed to write what you know?
Tortoise: I would totally write it, but I’m busy.
Man: Maybe I will try to come up with a name for the musical genre in which I compose. Unfortunately creepcore is taken.
Tortoise: Crashcreep?
Man: Hrm. Nice.
Tortoise: Don’t mention it.
Posted in Das Gehirn, Metamorphosism
Tags: composition, crashcreep, erotica, leisure, tortoise, writing
Transit of Venus
Did anyone else spend 5 minutes staring at the moon thinking what a ripoff this was?
Posted in Das Gehirn, ferner liefen, Metamorphosism
Tags: astronomy, moon, transit of venus
You can take the boy out of the country
Rubey McHickstein delivers something somewhere for work. Supposedly you can just drive inside and park there while you drop off, but he gets somewhat lost on a labyrinthine set-up of one-way streets and unusual traffic-flow-patterns around the place so he ends up just parking slightly illegally on the street and going inside this building designed to be on the impressive side and drops off his thing amongst all these guys in suits newer than his and hurries back to his car.
On the way back to his car, this Italian guy parked on the street goes, Hey can you help me? I need to get to some address everyone has fucking heard of and knows where it is you know where it is?
And Rubey McHickstein says, yeah, I’m not from these parts mister but yeah, sure, it’s over there.
And the Italian guy goes, I’m Italian you speak Italian I’m in town for meetings I’m a tailor you know what that is? I make these suits see? God what a day I’ve had, you want a suit? What size are you you want a nice suit? You’re a 56 I think.
52, says Rubey.
56 Italian, says the Italian. Here’s a nice summer-weight suit, you try that on isn’t that nice? Oh, it’s a little big, let me find a smaller size here you go now that fits good can you close the button? It fits great you like it?
I was just thinking I needed a new suit, isn’t that weird, says Rubey.
Here let me give you a second suit, says the Italian tailor. Here’s a nice black one try it on oh it fits great! Where you from? Oh, you American? Obama Berlusconi Sicily bunga-bunga! You know Berlusconi? Catastrofe! Here take a jacket too, you want a nice summer jacket?
Bunga-bunga, says Rubey’s pene.
Hang on a sec, thinks Rubey. This is suddenly a lot of swag. WTF?
Yeah, very busy. I had an accident over on some fucking street no one has heard of because it doesn’t exist. I drive a Cayenne you know Cayenne? Nice car! But I have an accident, watching women, I’m a Casanova, you know Casanova, watching woman. The Italian gent shows Rubey a blank accident report. Rent this Avis. €2500 for a week at the Intercontinental. Now my credit card is maxed. I live in Rome. You know Rome you should come visit me sometime but don’t bring your wife I already have lots of women so can you help me out for gas back to Rome?
Er, says Rubey. Let me see what I have. Rubey gives the guy a hundred euro bill, thinking, shit, even if they’re cheap suits, and a cheap jacket, it’s still a deal.
I hope you’re not insulted, but could you give me back one of the suits, says the Italian.
Wut, says Rubey.
I’m a tailor. Here, look at this gigantic pile of business cards but only for a split second so you can’t actually read any of them, these are all the places I make clothes for. Look at this label, you’ve heard of this label right?
Yeah, of course, says Rubey, who got only a sort of kaleidoscopic view thru his trifocals. WTF you think I am, a rube or something?
Don’t you have any more? You know how far it is to Rome?
I wish you were in Rome now, thinks Rubey. For whom, at this point here, a waxing bad feeling has finally metamorphosed into a lightbulb, which has turned on. Here, I have a great idea.
Twenty Euro? Ten?
No, here, you take both suits and the jacket, and return my 100 Euro, plz, says Rubey.
And the Italian tailor actually does return a €100 bill to Rubey, and Rubey goes on his way, hoping he has not got a ticket during this little interlude, amidst a generous portion of Italian expletives, repeating to himself, If it seems too good to be true, it is.
And then Rubey considers where best to spend his €100 bill, which he is 50% sure is counterfeit now.
Posted in Das Gehirn, Metamorphosism