Adventures in the Pointless Forest

Our closest relatives, Pan troglodytes.

Chimpanzees are just like you and me except that they are much stronger, much meaner, more violent, and much more terrifying. Also they have fangs and absolutely no limits. There is a nice bit in an episode of Planet Earth, for instance, showing an adult chimp cheerfully eating the hand of a chimp infant in the aftermath of a raid. 

If you value your peace of mind, do not read the incredibly horrific story in Wednesday's NY Times about the chimp in Connecticut that was shot and killed after attacking someone last year. You might think: Oh, I've heard that story. The woman was on Oprah! The headline doesn't sound like the story dwells on anything too disturbing. "After Shooting Chimp, a Police Officer’s Descent." It's about the cop, not the mauling! Well, you would be wrong. So wrong that I am not even going to link to the story, for your protection.

Instead, you can read a conversation that I had about making that mistake.

Some things that happened, and how I felt about them.

1. A couple of weeks ago, one of my students gave me a jar of homemade kimchi. Hooray! I was delighted.

2. I ate the kimchi and found it very good. Some of it went into a quesadilla, which will either sound insane or delicious to you, depending on your inclination and experience. My vote is firmly on the side of delicious. When I next taught the class with the kimchi-making student in it, he gave me the recipe for his kimchi (on an index card) and I gave him the hot tip about quesadillas (in conversation). I think we were both happy with this exchange.

3. I lost my purse. As you might imagine, this made me feel extremely clever, and not at all like an idiotic, empty headed booby. Replacing all the cards, I knew, would be as nothing compared to the arcane process of inducing the bowels of the university to produce new keys to my office. The greatest despair, however, came from the unavoidable evidence that I am profoundly incompetent. I sniveled and Steve patted me on the head.

4. That evening, I received a call from my car insurance company.

5. My insurance company had exciting news to report: Someone had turned my purse in to the police! The police, in their turn, had looked through my things. Finding no phone number, but an insurance card, they intrepidly placed a call to the insurers, who were not about to give my phone number to anyone, but called me with the number of one Officer Greene.

Officer Greene and I had a pleasant chat about the appearance of my bag. Then he dispatched a constable to my door for a hand delivery. (Slow news day, I suppose.) To my delight, the policeman who arrived was wearing a uniform jacket that appeared to be two or three sizes too large for him.

I didn't get his name, but I hope it was Officer Treehorn.

6. The police also provided the phone number of the person--a student visiting on a year abroad--who had found the bag in the first place. I called the next day to thank him and to get his address so I could send him a card (which is to say, money). I hate, hate, hate calling strangers on the phone, but clearly it had to be done.

"I was wondering what kind of person would own this purse," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I am from Korea," he said. "And I looked inside and I saw that there was a recipe for kimchi. And I thought, 'Maybe this is a person who loves Korea!'"

7. I am not, I admit, especially a person who loves Korea or even thinks about it terribly often. I do love kimchi, though. Also it is a great relief to be able to let myself into my office without assistance. So, okay, this week I am ready to love Korea. Why not? Kisses!

Thoughts at three a.m.

I'm awake! I'm so very awake.

I wonder if this means something.

Maybe it's a sign that I'm about to go into labor.

It's incredible how completely awake I am.

I feel just like a mollusc.

...

Ah. Hm.

Maybe I'm not so awake after all.

[zzz]

Mole.

This man does not like his apartment complex. There are RUDE PEOPLE in the building, and CARS TOWED JUST BECAUSE and THE MAINTENANCE people come in with no warning. But most importantly:

MOLE
I have mole growing around my bat tub, the maintenance told me it's not mole and just cocked it well it came back IT'S MOLE!

 

For the past two days, Steve has been treated to frequent faux-exasperated expostulations from my corner:

"Well, hell. IT'S MOLE."

"Take my word for it, IT'S MOLE."

"IT'S MOLE, okay, it's fucking MOLE."

Oddly, he seems to like it. Just before bed last night, I broke into his reverie. "For fuck's sake!" I said angrily. "Guess what."

He looked up, startled and concerned. I glared. He stared. Then an expression of great joy lit up his face. "It's mole!" he exclaimed. "Yes!" I said. "It's mole!"

Do you think he'll cock it?

Burn shit down.

Undercover Boss is a grotesque television show—imported from Britain!—in which high-level executives mingle with the peons, learn some utterly dismissible life lessons, and dispense pats on the head to workers who have been sufficiently abject and grateful for their lot. 

I shared this tidbit, from an article about the 7-11 episode, with Steve:

DePinto reports to work at 5:30 a.m. and meets the secret to their success—Dolores. This coffee queen has been working at 7-Eleven for 18 years, and she knows many of the customers by name. Outside of work, Dolores is raising five kids and dealing with serious health problems. She only has one working kidney and must have dialysis twice a week. "To have a person like Dolores in there, that's why we're selling 2,500 cups of coffee," he said. "Not because we have great coffee, but because we have Dolores."

After revealing his true identity, DePinto rewarded Dolores' hard work by giving her a special surprise—two season tickets to the New York Yankees, her favorite team.

No doubt the Yankees tickets come with a free pension and live-in nurse, as well as a rental dialysis machine. Another entry-level employee, Igor, gets his very own franchise, because he displays just the right mix of ambition and knowing his place:

"I'm living the American dream now. America is the best country in the world. You guys just do not really know how blessed you are," he said. "I am so motivated because I am so thankful for this country, which allowed me to survive and be happy."

DePinto said Igor's energy, enthusiasm and positivity are inspiring, and he's the type of man 7-Eleven wants to invest in.

I like you, shoeshine boy. You are humble and lovable.

"I'm going to pretend you're making this show up," Steve said. "Ha ha! It could appear right after Apartment Animal! So zany! In the next episode, the CEO of Wal-Mart goes undercover and a stocker kicks him in the balls."

"You wish," I said.

"I do wish."

"The CEO fell to the floor. Several other employees joined in the ball-stomping."

"'Ball-Kicked CEO,' next on ABC."

"With 'Yakety Sax'. Then they took his wallet. Sad trombone."

Amazingly (?) this show is based on a Channel 4 production. I wouldn't expect anyone involved with this to be able to walk around the UK without undergoing a hearty dose of ball kicking and wallet taking, but maybe I talk to too many Scots.

Sap flood.

We have been discussing what music I might bring with me to the hospital, to drown out the beeps and the Jerry Springer drifting down the hall and my water buffalo noises. Our friend J., for instance, said that she listened to a lot of Hem.

Today we were in the car, listening to an iPod mix I made a while ago for the purpose of playing on endless loop while I cranked out some deathless article or other. It includes things like School of Seven Bells and Tiger Trap and Iggy Pop doing "The Passenger" and Spoon. "How about this?" Steve suggested. "It's pretty!"

Then the New Pornographers' "Bleeding Heart Show" came on and to my surprise and dismay, I immediately burst into tears, because it reminded me of this high schooler-created music video and I am full of sappy sap sap sap.

Maybe we should stick to instrumental music instead. I eagerly await the full regrowth of my cynical protective shell, sometime around 2014.

And white!

We went to a... thing last night. It was a good time. These guys were there. I like their pictures. This one features an albino dinosaur of sorts.

One of the artists said: "His name is Francis. He's rare."

Things inside other things.

Holy hot dogs. We -- by which I mean Steve -- have finally figured out how to make my Dinner Reports sidebar feed thing behave just the way I want it to. At last (at last!) I can enter the information only once while maintaining both the little list you see beside you and the more copious archives behind the link. Truly this is a glorious day. Hallelujah, amen.

Eating! Some of the time I consume beautiful light healthful things made of bok choi and quinoa. Angels sing. I am extravagantly pure and the blood pumping in my veins is filled with vigorous organic hemoglobin. My baby! is of course even purer and more organic. It is a crescendo of wholesome natural purity. There are vibrations and resonances of micronutrients.

Other times, I eat GIANT SANDWICHES with PIEROGIES INSIDE THEM. Truly, I contain multitudes. Of pierogies. 

The end.

Comic novelty watermelon

I'm not sure why "vaguely put out" is my default expression in these photos. Maybe it's because I'm a sullen bitch! Possibly.

 

That's a little more human, though I feel it fails to convey the full rotundity of my person. The light cast upon my glowing visage is extra clear and white thanks to the snow swirling outside my office window. No watermelons out there.

Nice neck creases there, champ.

People passing me in the hall have taken to saying "How are you?" and giving my middle a Meaningful Look. I am not sure what they are going for, tone-wise. There is a general tendency for it to come out as a Groucho Marx kind of leer, which is surely not quite what anyone really has in mind. "If you know what I mean, and I think you DO, watermelon."

It is conspiratorial, but I am not sure who we are supposed to be conspiring against or what we are supposed to be conspiring towards. If someone would like to conspire to replace my class this evening with a grilled cheese sandwich and a nap, though, I would not object. In fact, feel free to conspire on my behalf all you like. What have you got to offer?

The past is another country.

They say "boner" differently there.

What a happy circumstance it is for us here in the present that "boner" once meant "stupid blunder." I own a copy of this collection of Batman stories featuring the Joker. It contains the infamous "Joker's Comedy of Errors," in which the titular villain goes on a crime spree organized around history's greatest boners. A very partial list of its delights:

Only a sense of humor like the Joker's could think of tranlating boners into crimes!

When the clown prince of crookdom sets out to re-create the classic errors of history for personal gain--and in addition readies a special boner just for Batman--it all adds up to one of the most exciting adventures ever to befall the dynamic duo.

The Joker's Collection of the Great Boners of History.

So! They'll laugh at my boner, will they?! I'll show them! I'll show them how many boners the Joker can make!

This emphasis on boners has given me an idea for a new adventure in crime!

I will take the great boners of all time and turn them into crimes!

See this picture? It shows a big boner of modern vintage.

Soon, Batman will make the boner of the year!

I'm worried about the boner he's readying for YOU!

It represents one of the classic boners of all time.

Confound that Batman! It is well that I am ready to trick him into HIS boner.

Gotham City will rue the day it mentioned the word boner!

Quite. The past also gives us this:

Vintage collections of howlers, illustrated by Dr Seuss! And this:

No excuse for draft boards to pull boners now (Jan 1949).

You might think that the 1980s were too recent to produce a prime-time character unblinkingly named Boner, but history disagrees.

What's more, the actor, Andrew Koenig, appeared as the Joker in a popular fan-made short film called "Batman: Dead End." Can this be a coincidence? Surely not.

That's right, Simpy. Never apologize, never explain.

Boner.