Nothing exists in this world that compares to Swedish candy. They don’t call it gummy candy for nothing. Screw teeth, who needs ‘em. When you're toothless (and gum-my, get it), you can tear into floppy gelatinous sugar like a rabid herring. In fact, that’s probably the inspiration behind the Swedish fish.
Besides Swedish fish, there are also green frogs, race cars, worms, pop bottles, pacifiers and what I had previous thought were unquestionably mice. At Swedish Club on Saturday, Tom got his hands on one of these mice. It was a green little sucker. After some careful study, Laura piped up that Tom had eaten, not a mouse, as previously suspected, but a gummy ferret.
Personally, I was skeptical of Laura’s provocative remark.
First, the creature in question was green. Not a soft, pleasing green, but a really radioactive green. I felt that a ferret would be too self respecting to parade around like a charlatan frog.
Second, the gummy rodent exhibited what I considered very mouselike traits. There were the ears, the rotund abdomen area and the slender tail.
And third, it was simply too synchronistic. Mercedeh had just been talking about a ferret moments before. It is statistically dubious that right after a whole conversation about a ferret, one would find another ferret damply flopped on a plate.
Also notable is the following coincidence: the first ferret, also a cross-dresser. This first ferret more traditionally cross-dressed in girl ferret habiliments, unlike the ferret Tom ate, which took a more cold-blooded style. Nonetheless, in both cases, drag-action was afoot.
What Mercedeh had said was that when she was in D.C. waiting to see the Dali Lama give a rousing and inspirational speech which profoundly influenced her world view, a guy shambled by walking a ferret. The ferret happened to be wearing a little pleated ferret skirt.
Mercedeh said, “Ohh, how cute she is.”
And the guy told her that the ferret was a male, but the skirt get-up was the only ferret outfit he could find locally.
Why not, I guess. I love me a drag queen as much as anybody who lives 20 feet from the “runway” in Chelsea. If the guy wants to raise a transvestite ferret, that’s his own business. Anyway, it takes a long time for a lady of any gender to learn not to pluck at her crotch when her pantyhose start to droop-- best to start early-- especially if you have four legs.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Thursday, July 07, 2011
It sends chills down my spine, this axiom of Franklin's. I do not sing in the shower welcoming the new day as a gift from our Creator. I am not a pre-10 AM self-starter. I do not let my first hour set the theme of success and positive action that is certain to echo through my entire day.
Frankly I have no idea what happens before 9. I'm not coherent in that timeframe. But while I'm strewn out on my petard, come to find out the Morning People are gloriously prancing about checking priority to-do's off their ambitious daily plans. By the time I get to work, it's practically the next day for them. Each and every crack of noon, I hear about the miles run, the pages turned, the hostile takeovers accomplished.
So you can't blame me for concluding there's some sort of occult jubilee that goes on at dawn in which time is warped and one hour becomes like seven or eight. All the Morning People clasp hands and murmur and a productivity portal opens in the time-space continuum. Then there's a big party where the Morning People whoop it up with fiesta maracas and day-glo pants.
I had been feeling so bereft and forlorn due to my tragic inability to shake my money maker beneath the majesty of the rising sun. But then I learned three things which made me pretty happy even if I'm so D-List for the Morning People Party:
1) After Zumba on Tuesday, I said to Leslie that after about midnight, I didn't get much done except putzing around, and she said and I quote, "Well if I get up really early I just putz around until I have to get ready to leave." Aha! Not all Morning People receive yods of fruitfulness raining down upon them from heaven. Some of them might as well be slacker Night People.
2) When he read Ben's "early to bed, early to rise" advice, George Washington was quoted to respond: "I don't see it."
And 3) Facts add up to Ben Franklin smack talking. Not for nothing, in between his statesmanship and jotting down bons mots, he managed to find time, quite a lot of time, to take part in wildly blasphemous ceremonies that invariably culminated in drunken orgies involving randy ladies dressed as nuns.
Unless this is what he meant by "early to bed."