Sunday dinner at the Smith's. In clockwise order around the table: Mr. Smith, Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Bloom, Catherine Bloom, Margaret Bloom, Megan Cupcake, Mr. Bloom (at the far end), Clotilde, little Alexander, Mr. Smiley, Molly Bloom and Roderick. Mr. Fuzzums and Miss Kitty remain hidden under Catherine's chair. Alexander sits on an oddly shaped and brightly colored booster seat. On the menu today: roast pork, apple sauce and little green things. Clotilde brings a gift of pickled beets, which Mrs. Smith gratefully accepts and hides, hoping that Clotilde won't expect them to be served.
"What brings you to town, Mr. Smiley?" asks Megan.
"Oh, you know," says Mr. Smiley. "Just visiting."
"There's a new coffee place in town," says Mrs. Smith. "It's called Just Java."
"Oh, yes," says Mr. Smiley. "I went there last week."
"How was it?"
"Well..." Mr. Smiley ponders this. On the one hand, fair trade coffee; on the other, absence of whipped cream, no sprinkles, the question of coffee beans feeling pain, tiny spoon, exploding head. "It was nice."
Roderick is excited about his History of Accounting course. "Did you know that Luca Pacioli didn't actually invent double-entry bookkeeping? He merely codified it in his Summa de arithmetica, geometria, proportioni et proportionalità, a textbook for use in the schools of Northern Italy."
"No," says Mr. Bloom. "I had no idea."
Roderick warms to the subject. "The Summa, published in 1494, was a synthesis of the mathematical knowledge of his time and contained the first printed work on algebra written in the vernacular. It is also notable for including the first published description of the method of bookkeeping that Venetian merchants used during the Italian Renaissance, known as the double-entry accounting system. The system he published included most of the accounting cycle as we know it today. He described the use of journals and ledgers, and warned that a person should not go to sleep at night until the debits equaled the credits. His ledger had accounts for assets (including receivables and inventories), liabilities, capital, income, and expenses — the account categories that are reported on an organization's balance sheet and income statement, respectively. He demonstrated year-end closing entries and proposed that a trial balance be used to prove a balanced ledger."
Mr. Smiley listens intently, especially to the part about not going to sleep at night until the debits equal the credits. He finds this thought a little disturbing. Do his debits equal his credits? He does not know. Extracting a little journal from his pocket, he writes a note to himself to check on his debits and credits, and to make sure they are well behaved.
"Personally," says Mr. Bloom, "I want nothing to do with debits and credits. I'd rather pay my accountant to attend to them."
"Also," says Roderick, "Pacioli introduced the Rule of 72."
"Ah, the Rule of 72," says Mr. Smith. "What would we do without the Rule of 72?"
"Dessert anyone?" chirps Mrs. Smith.
The response is immediate and unanimous. In Beauneville, dessert is invariably pie, and nobody ever declines pie.
After dinner, while Molly plays the piano, Megan corners Roderick in the hallway. "Say something about Accounting," she whispers, rubbing up against him. "It makes me hot."
"Maybe later," says Roderick. "Molly's playing Charles Ives' Concord Sonata, and I want to hear the part in Hawthorne that Ives described as 'something to do with the children's excitement on that "frosty Berkshire morning, and the frost imagery on the enchanted hall window" or something to do with "Feathertop," the "Scarecrow," and his "Looking Glass" and the little demons dancing around his pipe bowl; or something to do with the old hymn tune that haunts the church and sings only to those in the churchyard, to protect them from secular noises, as when the circus parade comes down Main Street; or something to do with the concert at the Stamford camp meeting, or the "Slave's Shuffle"; or something to do with the Concord he-nymph, or the "Seven Vagabonds," or "Circe's Palace," or something else in the wonderbook--not something that happens, but the way something happens; or something to do with the "Celestial Railroad," or "Phoebe's Garden," or something personal,which tries to be "national" suddenly at twilight, and universal suddenly at midnight; or something about the ghost of a man who never lived, or about something that never will happen, or something else that is not.'"
Meanwhile, Mr. Smith, Mr. Bloom and Mr. Smiley sit on the front porch. Mr. Smith and Mr. Bloom sip a fine Calvados; Mr. Smiley sips chocolate milk. They reflect on life in general, and matters philosophical.
"So, Mr. Smiley, what are you doing with yourself these days?" asks Mr. Bloom.
Mr. Smiley sips his chocolate milk. He frowns, purses his lips, ponders the question. The chocolate milk is tasty. "Oh, nothing, really," he says.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
No Sprinkles
Mr. Smiley pilots the Bubble Van up the Cidertown Road towards Beauneville. Clotilde, in the passenger seat, contemplates the countryside. Little Alexander, buckled into his oddly shaped and brightly colored car seat, dozes.
"Look!" says Mr. Smiley, pointing. A bright red Tesla Model S rests by the side of the road, near the faded Welcome to Beauneville sign. Betsy Flapper paces beside the car, talking animatedly on her iPhone.
"I think it's the Flapper girl," says Clotilde. "Should we stop?"
"She might be bird watching," says Mr. Smiley. "It's not nice to disturb people engaged in avian observation."
Clotilde agrees. They drive on. Truthfully, though, there is no such rule in Smiley etiquette. It's just that the Flappers make Mr. Smiley uncomfortable for some strange reason.
"What do you mean, plug it in?" Betsy shouts into her iPhone. Betsy's brand new Tesla has 265 miles on the odometer, which just happens to be the driving range. "Nobody ever said anything about plugging it in! My mother will fucking kill you!"
The customer service rep from Glen Falls Tesla is unmoved. Since the Town Meeting voted to mandate zero emission vehicles for all residents, there is a six month waiting list for cars.
Betsy ends the call angrily and stands by the side of the road, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. She's visiting Beauneville to check on the latest outlet for her franchise operation, Just Java, purveyors of craft coffee.
After about thirty minutes a dusty red tow truck rattles up the Cidertown Road from Beauneville, passes Betsy, makes a U-turn, passes Betsy again going in the other direction and pulls to the side of the road just ahead of the dead Tesla. A big young man wearing dirty coveralls slouches to the ground from the cab and slowly shambles around the back of the truck to the side of the road where Betsy stands.
"Hah y'all," says the young man, first eyeing the Tesla, then Betsy.
Betsy rolls her eyes. "I'm an important businesswoman and they send me Gomer Pyle."
"Mah name ain't Gomer, ma'am, it's Jimmy." Jimmy pulls a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his nose. He points to the Tesla. "That thar's one of them 'leck-trick thingies ain't it ma'am?"
Jimmy graduated from Beauneville Latin summa cum laude last May, and delivered a valedictory address on themes of idolatry in Paradise Lost. He wants to pursue a career in NASCAR or country music.
Betsy rolls her eyes again. "Tell me you have a Tesla charging station in town."
Jimmy shakes his head. "Nope. Ain't got one of them."
"Well you do have electricity, don't you?"
"Yup."
"So can you at least tow me in to town and plug it in? And don't scratch the fucking paint."
Betsy stomps to the back of the car, opens the trunk and retrieves her Salvatore Ferragamo Python briefcase, which contains her loaded fifteen-inch MacBook Pro and her copy of Lean In. Taking care to avoid dirtying her black Carolina Herrara Flared Doupioni Shirtdress, she gingerly climbs into the cab of the tow truck while Jimmy struggles with the hook and chain.
Meanwhile, in downtown Beauneville (if Beauneville can be said to have a downtown), Mr. Smiley pushes open the door to Just Java, the new coffee shop in town. It's across the street from Zeppelin Drugs. Ordinarily, Mr. Smiley is a loyal customer of the Cafe Venice, but today he has a yen for something new.
The sign in the window says Just Java: The Crafted Cup. Mr. Smiley likes that.
"Good morning, my name is Justin," says the young man behind the counter, "and I'll be serving you today. Welcome to Just Java. We only serve coffee made from Fair Trade coffee beans."
Mr. Smiley is pleased to learn that Just Java only serves coffee made from Fair Trade coffee beans. It tastes so much better than coffee made from Unfair Trade coffee beans.
"Thank you, I would like a Cafe Schmozzle, please."
As you know, a Cafe Schmozzle is made from warm chocolate milk, with whipped cream. And sprinkles.
Justin points to the menu board. "We just serve freshly crafted coffee, but you can choose from any of these Fair Trade beans."
The menu board displays a long list of countries Mr. Smiley doesn't know anything about. He's a little disappointed they don't have sprinkles.
"I guess I'll just have a cup of your most popular brew." When Smileys are confronted with challenging choices, they generally have what everyone else is having. This is a useful convention, except when Smileys are in groups.
Justin dutifully measures two scoops of the Extra Fancy Kona Medium Roast into the grinder, replaces the lid and presses the "on" switch.
The noise startles Mr. Smiley. "What's that noise?"
"Just grinding the coffee, sir."
Mr. Smiley ponders whether coffee beans feel pain when ground. He considers bringing this up as a topic of discussion, then decides against it. It's not nice to bring up disturbing questions.
Justin finishes grinding the coffee -- exactly twenty-two seconds -- and dumps the fine powder into the funnel of a plastic Aeropress. Pouring hot water into a beaker, he inserts a thermometer.
"What's that for?" asks Mr. Smiley.
"We use water that is exactly eighty degrees Celsius."
"Oh."
"That's one hundred seventy five degrees Fahrenheit," adds Justin, helpfully.
Mr. Smiley prefers Celsius. He doesn't want to burn his mouth.
Justin pours the water into the Aeropress. Dampening the plunger, he compresses it slowly, counting twenty seconds out loud. Removing the plunger, he pours the hot liquid into a tiny cup, places it on a saucer with a tiny spoon and positions the beverage on the counter just so. "That will be nine fifty," he says, proudly.
Mr. Smiley likes the tiny spoon. "Do you have any whipped cream?"
From Justin's expression, Mr. Smiley ascertains that whipped cream is not an option.
Gingerly, he takes a sip. His head explodes. Not literally, of course.
Later in the day, Mr. Smiley and Clotilde go for a stroll on Main Street with little Alexander. They pass Just Java; Betsy's Tesla is parked out front, with an extension cord running into the store.
Mr. Smiley describes his visit earlier in the day.
"How was it?" asks Clotilde.
Mr. Smiley ponders his customer experience. Absence of whipped cream, no sprinkles, the question of coffee beans feeling pain, tiny spoon.
"It was nice."
"Look!" says Mr. Smiley, pointing. A bright red Tesla Model S rests by the side of the road, near the faded Welcome to Beauneville sign. Betsy Flapper paces beside the car, talking animatedly on her iPhone.
"I think it's the Flapper girl," says Clotilde. "Should we stop?"
"She might be bird watching," says Mr. Smiley. "It's not nice to disturb people engaged in avian observation."
Clotilde agrees. They drive on. Truthfully, though, there is no such rule in Smiley etiquette. It's just that the Flappers make Mr. Smiley uncomfortable for some strange reason.
"What do you mean, plug it in?" Betsy shouts into her iPhone. Betsy's brand new Tesla has 265 miles on the odometer, which just happens to be the driving range. "Nobody ever said anything about plugging it in! My mother will fucking kill you!"
The customer service rep from Glen Falls Tesla is unmoved. Since the Town Meeting voted to mandate zero emission vehicles for all residents, there is a six month waiting list for cars.
Betsy ends the call angrily and stands by the side of the road, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. She's visiting Beauneville to check on the latest outlet for her franchise operation, Just Java, purveyors of craft coffee.
After about thirty minutes a dusty red tow truck rattles up the Cidertown Road from Beauneville, passes Betsy, makes a U-turn, passes Betsy again going in the other direction and pulls to the side of the road just ahead of the dead Tesla. A big young man wearing dirty coveralls slouches to the ground from the cab and slowly shambles around the back of the truck to the side of the road where Betsy stands.
"Hah y'all," says the young man, first eyeing the Tesla, then Betsy.
Betsy rolls her eyes. "I'm an important businesswoman and they send me Gomer Pyle."
"Mah name ain't Gomer, ma'am, it's Jimmy." Jimmy pulls a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his nose. He points to the Tesla. "That thar's one of them 'leck-trick thingies ain't it ma'am?"
Jimmy graduated from Beauneville Latin summa cum laude last May, and delivered a valedictory address on themes of idolatry in Paradise Lost. He wants to pursue a career in NASCAR or country music.
Betsy rolls her eyes again. "Tell me you have a Tesla charging station in town."
Jimmy shakes his head. "Nope. Ain't got one of them."
"Well you do have electricity, don't you?"
"Yup."
"So can you at least tow me in to town and plug it in? And don't scratch the fucking paint."
Betsy stomps to the back of the car, opens the trunk and retrieves her Salvatore Ferragamo Python briefcase, which contains her loaded fifteen-inch MacBook Pro and her copy of Lean In. Taking care to avoid dirtying her black Carolina Herrara Flared Doupioni Shirtdress, she gingerly climbs into the cab of the tow truck while Jimmy struggles with the hook and chain.
Meanwhile, in downtown Beauneville (if Beauneville can be said to have a downtown), Mr. Smiley pushes open the door to Just Java, the new coffee shop in town. It's across the street from Zeppelin Drugs. Ordinarily, Mr. Smiley is a loyal customer of the Cafe Venice, but today he has a yen for something new.
The sign in the window says Just Java: The Crafted Cup. Mr. Smiley likes that.
"Good morning, my name is Justin," says the young man behind the counter, "and I'll be serving you today. Welcome to Just Java. We only serve coffee made from Fair Trade coffee beans."
Mr. Smiley is pleased to learn that Just Java only serves coffee made from Fair Trade coffee beans. It tastes so much better than coffee made from Unfair Trade coffee beans.
"Thank you, I would like a Cafe Schmozzle, please."
As you know, a Cafe Schmozzle is made from warm chocolate milk, with whipped cream. And sprinkles.
Justin points to the menu board. "We just serve freshly crafted coffee, but you can choose from any of these Fair Trade beans."
The menu board displays a long list of countries Mr. Smiley doesn't know anything about. He's a little disappointed they don't have sprinkles.
"I guess I'll just have a cup of your most popular brew." When Smileys are confronted with challenging choices, they generally have what everyone else is having. This is a useful convention, except when Smileys are in groups.
Justin dutifully measures two scoops of the Extra Fancy Kona Medium Roast into the grinder, replaces the lid and presses the "on" switch.
The noise startles Mr. Smiley. "What's that noise?"
"Just grinding the coffee, sir."
Mr. Smiley ponders whether coffee beans feel pain when ground. He considers bringing this up as a topic of discussion, then decides against it. It's not nice to bring up disturbing questions.
Justin finishes grinding the coffee -- exactly twenty-two seconds -- and dumps the fine powder into the funnel of a plastic Aeropress. Pouring hot water into a beaker, he inserts a thermometer.
"What's that for?" asks Mr. Smiley.
"We use water that is exactly eighty degrees Celsius."
"Oh."
"That's one hundred seventy five degrees Fahrenheit," adds Justin, helpfully.
Mr. Smiley prefers Celsius. He doesn't want to burn his mouth.
Justin pours the water into the Aeropress. Dampening the plunger, he compresses it slowly, counting twenty seconds out loud. Removing the plunger, he pours the hot liquid into a tiny cup, places it on a saucer with a tiny spoon and positions the beverage on the counter just so. "That will be nine fifty," he says, proudly.
Mr. Smiley likes the tiny spoon. "Do you have any whipped cream?"
From Justin's expression, Mr. Smiley ascertains that whipped cream is not an option.
Gingerly, he takes a sip. His head explodes. Not literally, of course.
Later in the day, Mr. Smiley and Clotilde go for a stroll on Main Street with little Alexander. They pass Just Java; Betsy's Tesla is parked out front, with an extension cord running into the store.
Mr. Smiley describes his visit earlier in the day.
"How was it?" asks Clotilde.
Mr. Smiley ponders his customer experience. Absence of whipped cream, no sprinkles, the question of coffee beans feeling pain, tiny spoon.
"It was nice."
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Jesus Who?
Bach wrote no cantatas for Lenten Sundays, as it was the practice at the Thomaskirche to eschew music until Palm Sunday. Mr. Mendelssohn spends the season in Key West, and members of the Chorale sleep late on Sundays.
Mr. Blech of the Theology faculty presents today's inspirational message: "Benign Indifference or Utter Obliviousness: Towards A Theology of 'Nice'."
Meanwhile, Dickie Wickett hosts a housewarming for the new home he shares with Katie Zeppelin out on East Cidertown Road. He pulls Roderick aside. "C'mon, take a look at my new car."
Roderick follows Dickie through a hallway, then down a flight of stairs to a finished basement. Dickie opens a door at the far end and steps into a large immaculate white garage.
"Wow!" says Roderick.
"It's a 1950 Jaguar XK 120," says Dickie, proudly. "I bought it with Bitcoins."
Roderick is kind of interested in this whole Bitcoin thing. "I hear that you're running a Bitcoin exchange."
"That's right," says Dickie. "It's more lucrative than search engine optimization, and Katie can run Condoms.com on her own."
"So how do Bitcoins work?"
"Simple. People give me money, and I give them Bitcoins."
"Then what?"
"Nothing. They keep on giving me money and I give them more Bitcoins."
"What happens when people want to redeem their Bitcoins?"
"Heh. I give them more Bitcoins."
"And if they want to convert Bitcoins to cash?"
"They go to another exchange."
Roderick makes a mental note to look into this whole Bitcoin thing.
Mary Bloom arrives in her new J.C.Penney Sassy and Slutty outfit. Katie welcomes her. "Love your outfit," she coos. "What happened to the 'pure and unsullied' look?"
"Well," says Mary, "I'm not a virgin anymore so I guess I'm a whore."
"If the shoe fits. Drinks are over there, help yourself."
Roderick arrives to chat with Katie. "How're things at Lake City?"
"I dropped out. We're making a mint with the website and Bitcoin exchange."
Roderick and Molly drive back to Old Ivy in time for the Sunday evening lecture. Mr. Vinkle of the Philosophy faculty presents his research on religion in Scandinavia, the title of which is "Jesus Who?"
Mr. Blech of the Theology faculty presents today's inspirational message: "Benign Indifference or Utter Obliviousness: Towards A Theology of 'Nice'."
Meanwhile, Dickie Wickett hosts a housewarming for the new home he shares with Katie Zeppelin out on East Cidertown Road. He pulls Roderick aside. "C'mon, take a look at my new car."
Roderick follows Dickie through a hallway, then down a flight of stairs to a finished basement. Dickie opens a door at the far end and steps into a large immaculate white garage.
"Wow!" says Roderick.
"It's a 1950 Jaguar XK 120," says Dickie, proudly. "I bought it with Bitcoins."
Roderick is kind of interested in this whole Bitcoin thing. "I hear that you're running a Bitcoin exchange."
"That's right," says Dickie. "It's more lucrative than search engine optimization, and Katie can run Condoms.com on her own."
"So how do Bitcoins work?"
"Simple. People give me money, and I give them Bitcoins."
"Then what?"
"Nothing. They keep on giving me money and I give them more Bitcoins."
"What happens when people want to redeem their Bitcoins?"
"Heh. I give them more Bitcoins."
"And if they want to convert Bitcoins to cash?"
"They go to another exchange."
Roderick makes a mental note to look into this whole Bitcoin thing.
Mary Bloom arrives in her new J.C.Penney Sassy and Slutty outfit. Katie welcomes her. "Love your outfit," she coos. "What happened to the 'pure and unsullied' look?"
"Well," says Mary, "I'm not a virgin anymore so I guess I'm a whore."
"If the shoe fits. Drinks are over there, help yourself."
Roderick arrives to chat with Katie. "How're things at Lake City?"
"I dropped out. We're making a mint with the website and Bitcoin exchange."
Roderick and Molly drive back to Old Ivy in time for the Sunday evening lecture. Mr. Vinkle of the Philosophy faculty presents his research on religion in Scandinavia, the title of which is "Jesus Who?"
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Wardrobe Malfunction
Shawanna fiddles with her blonde braids. "Shee-it, mothafuckah!" she shouts into her iPhone. "Ah ain't no baby momma!" Angrily, she presses "End".
"Ahem," says Mr. Bloom, standing at the Sritt-Nick counter.
"What choo want?" demands Shawanna, glaring at Mr. Bloom
"Um, I'm here to see Mary Bloom."
"Ah ain't no do'man, crackah," says Shawanna, pointing to the staircase with a lily-white finger. "You wants to see a young'un, you just goes."
"Thank you." Mr. Bloom climbs the stairs to the fourth floor and turns to the right down the corridor. It's a typical Sunday morning at Sritt-Nick. The floor is littered with cups, beer cans and, not too far from Mary's door, a pool of vomit.
Mr. Bloom knocks on Mary's door.
Mary, in pajamas, opens the door. Her eyes are red, and a little tearful. "Oh, hello, Daddy," she says, stepping aside. "Come on in."
"Wait! I'm not dressed!" cries Melissa, stark naked except for the t-shirt she is presently trying to pull over her head.
"It's okay, silly, it's just Daddy," says Mary, petulantly. Melissa continues to struggle with the t-shirt and succeeds in pulling it over her head and down to mostly cover her private parts. "Daddy, this is Melissa, my roommate," says Mary.
"Pleased to meet you," says Mr. Bloom. "Nice bush."
Melissa squints, then gropes for her glasses and puts them on.
Mr. Bloom hands a gift-wrapped package to Mary. "I thought you might be a little blue, so I brought you something."
Mary's eyes light up. "For me? I wonder what it is!" She takes the package and quickly removes the gift wrap, breaking into a smile. "Wow, a Waterworks Natural Vagina Douching Device! How thoughtful!" she hugs Mr. Bloom.
Melissa squints. "What is it?"
Mary unwinds from Mr. Bloom and holds the gift out so Melissa can see it. "You use it to wash your...you know."
"Oh."
"You can borrow it if you wash it after."
"Um, okay."
Mr. Bloom sits on Melissa's bed and gestures to Mary to sit next to him. "So what's bothering you?"
Mary looks down and fidgets with her bracelet. "Well, you see..." her voice trails off. Mary can barely hold it together.
Mr. Bloom puts his arm around her. "Hey, honey, you can tell me anything, I'm your Dad. Trouble with a customer?"
Mary shakes her head. Her face reddens, a tear runs down her cheek and drops to the floor. Suddenly, she rises from the bed, strides to the desk, rummages through some papers, returns to the bed, thrusts a sheet of paper at Mr. Bloom and buries her head in his shoulder, sobbing.
Mr. Bloom glances at the letter, which bears the heading National Virgin Society. He begins to read aloud:
Skimming, Mr. Bloom comments. "So...they've decided you can't compete for Miss College Virgin."
Mary nods. "Read the rest."
Mr. Bloom reads. "And they've terminated your membership in the Society."
Mary nods and sobs.
Helpfully, Melissa interjects. "Well, you really aren't a virgin."
Mary balls her fists, and pounds the bed, sobbing. "It's so unfair!"
Mr. Bloom gives Melissa a look and hugs Mary. "It's okay...we'll get past this together..."
"But, my customers! What will I tell my customers?" she wails.
"Oh, I don't think the johns care whether you're an actual virgin."
Meanwhile, at Old Ivy, Roderick awakes sandwiched between Molly and Megan. He sits up in bed and ponders the night before. Overall, the Vienna Ball went pretty well. There was that little snit between Natasha and Security over her fake service dog, and Megan's "wardrobe malfunction" during the polka s'gibt nur a Kaiserstadt, s'gibt nur ein Wien caused a bit of a stir; but the ringer on zither did a stellar job in Geschichten aus dem Wienerwald.
Roderick noodges the women awake. "Come on, it's almost ten!" Today is Quinquagesima Sunday, and the Old Ivy Bach Chorale performs the Bach Cantata Du wahrer Gott und Davids Sohn, BWV 23. With its unusual instrumentation (cornet, two oboes, three trombones, strings and continuo), the cantata gives the Reed twins (aka "the Double Reeds") a chance to shine on oboe; and Old Ivy's three trombonists (Larry, Pete and Zelda) get to play in the last movement.
Inside St. Cecilia, they sit and listen. The Double Reeds rise to the occasion, as do Larry, Pete and Zelda. During the final chorale, Christe, du Lamm Gottes, Megan checks online for video of her wardrobe malfunction.
"Ahem," says Mr. Bloom, standing at the Sritt-Nick counter.
"What choo want?" demands Shawanna, glaring at Mr. Bloom
"Um, I'm here to see Mary Bloom."
"Ah ain't no do'man, crackah," says Shawanna, pointing to the staircase with a lily-white finger. "You wants to see a young'un, you just goes."
"Thank you." Mr. Bloom climbs the stairs to the fourth floor and turns to the right down the corridor. It's a typical Sunday morning at Sritt-Nick. The floor is littered with cups, beer cans and, not too far from Mary's door, a pool of vomit.
Mr. Bloom knocks on Mary's door.
Mary, in pajamas, opens the door. Her eyes are red, and a little tearful. "Oh, hello, Daddy," she says, stepping aside. "Come on in."
"Wait! I'm not dressed!" cries Melissa, stark naked except for the t-shirt she is presently trying to pull over her head.
"It's okay, silly, it's just Daddy," says Mary, petulantly. Melissa continues to struggle with the t-shirt and succeeds in pulling it over her head and down to mostly cover her private parts. "Daddy, this is Melissa, my roommate," says Mary.
"Pleased to meet you," says Mr. Bloom. "Nice bush."
Melissa squints, then gropes for her glasses and puts them on.
Mr. Bloom hands a gift-wrapped package to Mary. "I thought you might be a little blue, so I brought you something."
Mary's eyes light up. "For me? I wonder what it is!" She takes the package and quickly removes the gift wrap, breaking into a smile. "Wow, a Waterworks Natural Vagina Douching Device! How thoughtful!" she hugs Mr. Bloom.
Mary unwinds from Mr. Bloom and holds the gift out so Melissa can see it. "You use it to wash your...you know."
"Oh."
"You can borrow it if you wash it after."
"Um, okay."
Mr. Bloom sits on Melissa's bed and gestures to Mary to sit next to him. "So what's bothering you?"
Mary looks down and fidgets with her bracelet. "Well, you see..." her voice trails off. Mary can barely hold it together.
Mr. Bloom puts his arm around her. "Hey, honey, you can tell me anything, I'm your Dad. Trouble with a customer?"
Mary shakes her head. Her face reddens, a tear runs down her cheek and drops to the floor. Suddenly, she rises from the bed, strides to the desk, rummages through some papers, returns to the bed, thrusts a sheet of paper at Mr. Bloom and buries her head in his shoulder, sobbing.
Mr. Bloom glances at the letter, which bears the heading National Virgin Society. He begins to read aloud:
Dear Miss Bloom,"Disqualified!" wails Mary. The random inspection two weeks ago, it seems, did not go well. The inspectors concluded that her virgo was not intacta; in fact, it was missing altogether.
We regret to inform you...
Skimming, Mr. Bloom comments. "So...they've decided you can't compete for Miss College Virgin."
Mary nods. "Read the rest."
Mr. Bloom reads. "And they've terminated your membership in the Society."
Mary nods and sobs.
Helpfully, Melissa interjects. "Well, you really aren't a virgin."
Mary balls her fists, and pounds the bed, sobbing. "It's so unfair!"
Mr. Bloom gives Melissa a look and hugs Mary. "It's okay...we'll get past this together..."
"But, my customers! What will I tell my customers?" she wails.
"Oh, I don't think the johns care whether you're an actual virgin."
Meanwhile, at Old Ivy, Roderick awakes sandwiched between Molly and Megan. He sits up in bed and ponders the night before. Overall, the Vienna Ball went pretty well. There was that little snit between Natasha and Security over her fake service dog, and Megan's "wardrobe malfunction" during the polka s'gibt nur a Kaiserstadt, s'gibt nur ein Wien caused a bit of a stir; but the ringer on zither did a stellar job in Geschichten aus dem Wienerwald.
Roderick noodges the women awake. "Come on, it's almost ten!" Today is Quinquagesima Sunday, and the Old Ivy Bach Chorale performs the Bach Cantata Du wahrer Gott und Davids Sohn, BWV 23. With its unusual instrumentation (cornet, two oboes, three trombones, strings and continuo), the cantata gives the Reed twins (aka "the Double Reeds") a chance to shine on oboe; and Old Ivy's three trombonists (Larry, Pete and Zelda) get to play in the last movement.
Inside St. Cecilia, they sit and listen. The Double Reeds rise to the occasion, as do Larry, Pete and Zelda. During the final chorale, Christe, du Lamm Gottes, Megan checks online for video of her wardrobe malfunction.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
In Honor of Joseph The Second
The Great Cathedral of Lake City stands resolute on Central Avenue, its elaborate Baroque facade only slightly diminished by the surrounding glass towers, the Whacko Taco restaurant across the street and the Big Box store diagonally across the intersection of Central and Main. If you stand at the right spot on Central, you can see the Cathedral's ornate South facade reflected in the mirrored face of the Gibralter Insurance Tower, a building that is now mostly empty as lawyers, trustees and claimants struggle over the carcass of that now defunct institution.
Roderick and Molly are in Lake City today. Roderick has a gig -- the Great Cathedral Orchestra needs a clarinet for the Mozart Requiem -- and Molly wants to catch up with Mary. Standing in the atrium of the Great Cathedral, Roderick reads a plaque:
"Excuse me, are you Roderick?" Roderick turns to face a fifty-ish bespectacled man in a scholar's robe.
"Um, yes."
"Welcome to the Great Cathedral! I'm Deacon Weems. You're the Clarinet?"
Roderick considers responding with a smart remark to the effect that while he plays a Clarinet he is not, in fact, a Clarinet. Instead, he just nods.
"Good. Follow me."
As they pass through a grand narthex into the enormous nave, Roderick inquires: "What denomination is this church?"
"We worship abstract greatness," says Deacon Weems, throwing the response over his right shoulder as he strides towards the altar.
"I don't understand."
Deacon Weems pauses in the transept, where members of the orchestra are setting up for rehearsal. He points to the empty chair that Roderick is supposed to occupy. "You believe that God is Great, don't you?" he asks.
"Um, yes."
"So there you have it." The matter settled, Deacon Weems strides away.
Roderick ponders that and frowns. "But..." The Deacon, however, has disappeared.
Molly strokes Roderick's hair. "I don't get it either," she says.
"What are you going to do during rehearsal?"
Molly holds up a copy of Finnegan's Wake. "I have some light reading."
Roderick smiles as he walks to his designated chair. Molly sure has an eye for the fun stuff. Seated, he opens his clarinet case, assembles the instrument, attaches a reed and noodles a bit. As he warms up, the other clarinet player arrives, a dark-haired and rather buxom young woman.
"Hi, I'm Roderick." Roderick extends his hand.
"Brandy."
"Sorry, I didn't bring any."
"No, that's my name. Brandy Rohrblatt." Brandy shakes Roderick's hand, sits, assembles her clarinet and noodles.
Roderick points to the Requiem sheet music on their music stands. "Who died?"
"Joseph the Second."
"The Emperor of Austria?"
"Joseph the Second, by the grace of God elected Holy Roman Emperor, forever August; King of Germany, Jerusalem, Hungary, Bohemia, Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia and Lodomeria; Archduke of Austria; Duke of Burgundy, Lorraine, Styria, Carinthia and Carniola; Grand Duke of Tuscany; Grand Prince of Transylvania; Duke of Brabant, Limburg, Luxembourg, Gelderland, Württemberg, the Upper and Lower Silesia, Milan, Mantua, Parma, Piacenza, Guastalla, Auschwitz, Zator, Calabria, Bar, Montferrat and Teschen; Prince of Swabia and Charleville; Princely Count of Habsburg, Flanders, Tyrol, Hennegau, Kyburg, Gorizia and Gradisca; Margrave of Antwerp, Burgau, the Upper and Lower Lusatia, Pont-à-Mousson, Nomeny and Moravia; Count of Namur, Provence, Vaudémont, Blâmont, Zutphen, Saarwerden, Salm and Falkenstein; and Lord of the Wendish March and Mechelen."
"Oh, that Joseph the Second."
"Yes."
"But he died in 1790."
"Yes."
"Why a Requiem now?"
"We celebrate Mass for all of the late royals, at least the great ones."
"Including the Hohenzollerns?"
Brandy looks around furtively. "Shhh. Don't mention that name around here."
"Why not?"
Brandy leans closer to Roderick and whispers: "The Hohenzollerns are fake royals. That whole 'King in Prussia' business with the Emperor Leopold? Totally corrupt."
"Ah," says Roderick, admiring Brandy's ample decolletage. "I always wondered about that 'King in Prussia' thing."
"Okay, people, let's get started." A youngish conductor raps on the podium. "For those of you here for the first time, I am Mr. Langestock, Music Director of the Great Cathedral, and this is Mr. Trillern, the Choir Director." He beckons to a mustachioed fellow wearing a purple blazer standing in front of the choir, who bows in response. "We're doing Mozart's Requiem in honor of Joseph the Second."
"Which Joseph the Second?" asks Mr. Trillern.
"Joseph the Second, by the grace of God elected Holy Roman Emperor, forever August; King of Germany, Jerusalem, Hungary, Bohemia, Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia and Lodomeria; Archduke of Austria; Duke of Burgundy, Lorraine, Styria, Carinthia and Carniola; Grand Duke of Tuscany; Grand Prince of Transylvania; Duke of Brabant, Limburg, Luxembourg, Gelderland, Württemberg, the Upper and Lower Silesia, Milan, Mantua, Parma, Piacenza, Guastalla, Auschwitz, Zator, Calabria, Bar, Montferrat and Teschen; Prince of Swabia and Charleville; Princely Count of Habsburg, Flanders, Tyrol, Hennegau, Kyburg, Gorizia and Gradisca; Margrave of Antwerp, Burgau, the Upper and Lower Lusatia, Pont-à-Mousson, Nomeny and Moravia; Count of Namur, Provence, Vaudémont, Blâmont, Zutphen, Saarwerden, Salm and Falkenstein; and Lord of the Wendish March and Mechelen."
"Oh," says Mr. Trillern, "that Joseph the Second."
Roderick and Molly are in Lake City today. Roderick has a gig -- the Great Cathedral Orchestra needs a clarinet for the Mozart Requiem -- and Molly wants to catch up with Mary. Standing in the atrium of the Great Cathedral, Roderick reads a plaque:
In 1910, Lake City was mired in progressivism. While fashionable architects sought to tear down historical buildings and replace them with the most modern style, architect Albert T. Skwayer just wanted to build nice buildings for his wealthy clients.Below the plaque there is a bust of Albert T. Skwayer with a Latin inscription that translates as "Fake History is better than No History."
"Excuse me, are you Roderick?" Roderick turns to face a fifty-ish bespectacled man in a scholar's robe.
"Um, yes."
"Welcome to the Great Cathedral! I'm Deacon Weems. You're the Clarinet?"
Roderick considers responding with a smart remark to the effect that while he plays a Clarinet he is not, in fact, a Clarinet. Instead, he just nods.
"Good. Follow me."
As they pass through a grand narthex into the enormous nave, Roderick inquires: "What denomination is this church?"
"We worship abstract greatness," says Deacon Weems, throwing the response over his right shoulder as he strides towards the altar.
"I don't understand."
Deacon Weems pauses in the transept, where members of the orchestra are setting up for rehearsal. He points to the empty chair that Roderick is supposed to occupy. "You believe that God is Great, don't you?" he asks.
"Um, yes."
"So there you have it." The matter settled, Deacon Weems strides away.
Roderick ponders that and frowns. "But..." The Deacon, however, has disappeared.
Molly strokes Roderick's hair. "I don't get it either," she says.
"What are you going to do during rehearsal?"
Molly holds up a copy of Finnegan's Wake. "I have some light reading."
Roderick smiles as he walks to his designated chair. Molly sure has an eye for the fun stuff. Seated, he opens his clarinet case, assembles the instrument, attaches a reed and noodles a bit. As he warms up, the other clarinet player arrives, a dark-haired and rather buxom young woman.
"Hi, I'm Roderick." Roderick extends his hand.
"Brandy."
"Sorry, I didn't bring any."
"No, that's my name. Brandy Rohrblatt." Brandy shakes Roderick's hand, sits, assembles her clarinet and noodles.
Roderick points to the Requiem sheet music on their music stands. "Who died?"
"Joseph the Second."
"The Emperor of Austria?"
"Joseph the Second, by the grace of God elected Holy Roman Emperor, forever August; King of Germany, Jerusalem, Hungary, Bohemia, Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia and Lodomeria; Archduke of Austria; Duke of Burgundy, Lorraine, Styria, Carinthia and Carniola; Grand Duke of Tuscany; Grand Prince of Transylvania; Duke of Brabant, Limburg, Luxembourg, Gelderland, Württemberg, the Upper and Lower Silesia, Milan, Mantua, Parma, Piacenza, Guastalla, Auschwitz, Zator, Calabria, Bar, Montferrat and Teschen; Prince of Swabia and Charleville; Princely Count of Habsburg, Flanders, Tyrol, Hennegau, Kyburg, Gorizia and Gradisca; Margrave of Antwerp, Burgau, the Upper and Lower Lusatia, Pont-à-Mousson, Nomeny and Moravia; Count of Namur, Provence, Vaudémont, Blâmont, Zutphen, Saarwerden, Salm and Falkenstein; and Lord of the Wendish March and Mechelen."
"Oh, that Joseph the Second."
"Yes."
"But he died in 1790."
"Yes."
"Why a Requiem now?"
"We celebrate Mass for all of the late royals, at least the great ones."
"Including the Hohenzollerns?"
Brandy looks around furtively. "Shhh. Don't mention that name around here."
"Why not?"
Brandy leans closer to Roderick and whispers: "The Hohenzollerns are fake royals. That whole 'King in Prussia' business with the Emperor Leopold? Totally corrupt."
"Ah," says Roderick, admiring Brandy's ample decolletage. "I always wondered about that 'King in Prussia' thing."
"Okay, people, let's get started." A youngish conductor raps on the podium. "For those of you here for the first time, I am Mr. Langestock, Music Director of the Great Cathedral, and this is Mr. Trillern, the Choir Director." He beckons to a mustachioed fellow wearing a purple blazer standing in front of the choir, who bows in response. "We're doing Mozart's Requiem in honor of Joseph the Second."
"Which Joseph the Second?" asks Mr. Trillern.
"Joseph the Second, by the grace of God elected Holy Roman Emperor, forever August; King of Germany, Jerusalem, Hungary, Bohemia, Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia and Lodomeria; Archduke of Austria; Duke of Burgundy, Lorraine, Styria, Carinthia and Carniola; Grand Duke of Tuscany; Grand Prince of Transylvania; Duke of Brabant, Limburg, Luxembourg, Gelderland, Württemberg, the Upper and Lower Silesia, Milan, Mantua, Parma, Piacenza, Guastalla, Auschwitz, Zator, Calabria, Bar, Montferrat and Teschen; Prince of Swabia and Charleville; Princely Count of Habsburg, Flanders, Tyrol, Hennegau, Kyburg, Gorizia and Gradisca; Margrave of Antwerp, Burgau, the Upper and Lower Lusatia, Pont-à-Mousson, Nomeny and Moravia; Count of Namur, Provence, Vaudémont, Blâmont, Zutphen, Saarwerden, Salm and Falkenstein; and Lord of the Wendish March and Mechelen."
"Oh," says Mr. Trillern, "that Joseph the Second."
Monday, February 17, 2014
Boodle House
A first year student approaches Molly at breakfast.
"Your interpretation of Schubert's C Minor was lovely," he says, referring to Molly's performance two weeks ago at the Schubertiade. Each year, the students and faculty of Old Ivy pay tribute to Schubert on his birthday, January 31.
"Thank you," says Molly.
"And I like the vagina pictures." Natasha's latest work, a tryptique devoted to you-know-what currently occupies an entire wall in the East Gallery.
"Thank you." Molly bites into a piece of scrapple.
After breakfast, Roderick attends a meeting of the Vienna Ball Orchestra Committee. Mr. Wienerwald presides. On the agenda: this year's program.
"Okay," harumphs Mr. Wienerwald, "let's review the rules. Sheldon, will you do the honors?"
Sheldon Wang, the concertmaster, rises and faces the group. "The first rule of the Vienna Ball Orchestra is you don't talk about Vienna Ball Orchestra."
The group titters slightly.
"The second rule of Vienna Ball Orchestra is YOU DON"T TALK ABOUT VIENNA BALL ORCHESTRA.
"Rule number three: An der schönen blauen Donau cannot be played in consecutive years."
Mr. Wienerwald interjects: "We played it last year, so that's out."
"Rule number four: Geschichten aus dem Wienerwald must be played...
"Rule number five: ...preferably, with a zither."
An uproar ensues. Geschichten aus dem Wienerwald includes an important part for the zither. Last year, and for the previous three, Sophie von Drittemann, zitherist extraordinaire, did the honors. But she graduated with honors last May and returned to Vienna. At present, Old Ivy is sans zitherists.
"Well, that's a fine kettle of fish!" exclaims Aretha Wang, a violinist only remotely related to Sheldon.
"I won't perform without a zitherist," proclaims Betsy Fife, one of the flautists.
"Okay, okay," shouts Mr. Wienerwald, raising his hand for silence. "I'll get a ringer from Lake City." Zitherists, it seems, are in short supply in Washington County, but when you really need one the Lake City Zither Society can usually put you in touch with one of their members. They don't come cheap, though.
Sheldon concludes the rules. "Rule number six: the Radetzky March may not be played under any circumstances."
Meanwhile, Mr. Smith is in Lake City for business overnight and has time on his hands. He visits the famous Boodle House for a tour.
The tour begins with a video.
"Your interpretation of Schubert's C Minor was lovely," he says, referring to Molly's performance two weeks ago at the Schubertiade. Each year, the students and faculty of Old Ivy pay tribute to Schubert on his birthday, January 31.
"Thank you," says Molly.
"And I like the vagina pictures." Natasha's latest work, a tryptique devoted to you-know-what currently occupies an entire wall in the East Gallery.
"Thank you." Molly bites into a piece of scrapple.
After breakfast, Roderick attends a meeting of the Vienna Ball Orchestra Committee. Mr. Wienerwald presides. On the agenda: this year's program.
"Okay," harumphs Mr. Wienerwald, "let's review the rules. Sheldon, will you do the honors?"
Sheldon Wang, the concertmaster, rises and faces the group. "The first rule of the Vienna Ball Orchestra is you don't talk about Vienna Ball Orchestra."
The group titters slightly.
"The second rule of Vienna Ball Orchestra is YOU DON"T TALK ABOUT VIENNA BALL ORCHESTRA.
"Rule number three: An der schönen blauen Donau cannot be played in consecutive years."
Mr. Wienerwald interjects: "We played it last year, so that's out."
"Rule number four: Geschichten aus dem Wienerwald must be played...
"Rule number five: ...preferably, with a zither."
An uproar ensues. Geschichten aus dem Wienerwald includes an important part for the zither. Last year, and for the previous three, Sophie von Drittemann, zitherist extraordinaire, did the honors. But she graduated with honors last May and returned to Vienna. At present, Old Ivy is sans zitherists.
"Well, that's a fine kettle of fish!" exclaims Aretha Wang, a violinist only remotely related to Sheldon.
"I won't perform without a zitherist," proclaims Betsy Fife, one of the flautists.
"Okay, okay," shouts Mr. Wienerwald, raising his hand for silence. "I'll get a ringer from Lake City." Zitherists, it seems, are in short supply in Washington County, but when you really need one the Lake City Zither Society can usually put you in touch with one of their members. They don't come cheap, though.
Sheldon concludes the rules. "Rule number six: the Radetzky March may not be played under any circumstances."
Meanwhile, Mr. Smith is in Lake City for business overnight and has time on his hands. He visits the famous Boodle House for a tour.
In 1905, Lake City was mired in progressivism. While fashionable architects sought to tear down historical buildings and replace them with the most modern style, architect Albert T. Skwayer just wanted to build nice homes for his rich clients.Heh! Thinks Mr. Smith. Roderick would like this.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
The Old Ivy Bach Chorale Takes the Week Off
At Lake City University, Mary Bloom lives in Some Random Doner That Nobody Knows House, known to its residents as SRDTNK, or "Sritt-Nick". Mary thinks the whole House concept is kind of stupid and despises her roommate, Melissa Mouse, a pre-Med student and actual virgin.
Mary sits on her bed and whines into her cell phone. "She gets all upset when I bring my customers in here. Like last night, I was going down on this guy and she keeps looking up from her Shmorganic Chem or whatever and giving me these looks -- like, you can tell she thinks its so disgusting."
Melissa turns the other way in her bed and pulls the covers over her head.
"That's too bad, honey," says Mr. Bloom. "Maybe you should cut her in on a piece of your business."
"But Daddy," Mary protests, "she's an actual virgin. I mean, you know, she hasn't actually done it with anyone, even a boyfriend. Can you believe it?"
"Hmm, yes, I see the problem. Maybe you should file a grievance with the Housing Office."
"I thought of that, Daddy, but it won't work. She's under twenty-one, so virginity is still technically legal under the rules."
"Oh, that's right, I forgot about that. Aside from the roommate problem, how's life?"
"Pretty good. I had fifteen clients last week, which is pretty good considering this little situation. Also, I have arrangements with three of my four professors, including Mr. Barville."
"That's great, honey. Listen, some of my agency clients are in Lake City next week. Think you can fit them into your schedule?"
"Of course, Daddy! You know I always make time for your clients! The usual fee?"
"Yes, the usual fee. Just send me a check with my cut when you get a chance."
There is a beep on Mary's cell phone. "Somebody's calling me. Gotta run, could be a client. Love you, Daddy!" Mary presses Send to connect to the other call. "Mary Bloom speaking," she chirps, in her most virginly voice.
"Dis be Shawanna at de fron' day-esk." Shawanna Cabot Wadsworth of New Canaan, Connecticut is white as the driven snow, but went full ghetto a few years ago to further her career in gender politics. She cornrows her blond hair, rummages clothing at second-hand stores, wears Uggs and can recite verbatim every word of every scene in every episode of Girls. "Dey be peoples wants to see y'all, and dey looks like dey be da man."
Mary wrinkles her nose. "Um, can I speak to Mary Elisabeth?"
"Ah'll go gets her."
Long pause.
"Good morning, this is Mary Elisabeth." Mary Elisabeth Purcells is the Front Desk Supervisor. Born a few blocks from the University on Lake and Sixty-Fifth, Mary Elisabeth grew up with her great aunt and grandmother while her father served time for aggravated assault and her mother tried unsuccessfully to recover from heroin addiction. Mary Elisabeth joined the church choir at Zion A.M.E. Church on Lake Avenue; she sang so well that she gained admission to the Performing Arts High School in Lake City, and earned a scholarship to Lake City University. She now covers nights and weekends at Sritt-Nick to supplement the small income she earns as a counselor at Lake City Neighborhood Community Centers.
"Somebody wants to see me?" asks Mary.
"Yes," says Mary Elisabeth, in a hushed and professional tone. "Two men, wearing suits. They say they are from the National Virgin Society. Something to do with your application for Miss College Virgin America. Do you want to speak with them?"
Mary pauses. National Virgin Society? What could they possibly want at this time on a Sunday morning? "Yes, please, could you put them on?"
There is a brief silence as Mary Elisabeth hands the desk phone to one of the men.
"Hello, this is Roger Rector from the National Virgin Society, is this Mary?"
"Speaking."
"We're here for the random virginity check."
"The what?"
"The random virginity check. You know, for your application."
Mary ponders this. There was a lot of fine print at the bottom of her application for Miss College Virgin, which she did not read.
"I'm not decent."
"Oh, I don't think that's a problem."
"My roommate is sleeping."
"We'll be quiet as mice. Only takes a minute."
"Can you come back later?"
"If you decline a random check, you will be disqualified from Miss College Virgin, and your membership in the Society will be revoked."
"Well, okay, come on up."
Meanwhile, at Old Ivy, Megan continues her novel:
Mary sits on her bed and whines into her cell phone. "She gets all upset when I bring my customers in here. Like last night, I was going down on this guy and she keeps looking up from her Shmorganic Chem or whatever and giving me these looks -- like, you can tell she thinks its so disgusting."
Melissa turns the other way in her bed and pulls the covers over her head.
"That's too bad, honey," says Mr. Bloom. "Maybe you should cut her in on a piece of your business."
"But Daddy," Mary protests, "she's an actual virgin. I mean, you know, she hasn't actually done it with anyone, even a boyfriend. Can you believe it?"
"Hmm, yes, I see the problem. Maybe you should file a grievance with the Housing Office."
"I thought of that, Daddy, but it won't work. She's under twenty-one, so virginity is still technically legal under the rules."
"Oh, that's right, I forgot about that. Aside from the roommate problem, how's life?"
"Pretty good. I had fifteen clients last week, which is pretty good considering this little situation. Also, I have arrangements with three of my four professors, including Mr. Barville."
"That's great, honey. Listen, some of my agency clients are in Lake City next week. Think you can fit them into your schedule?"
"Of course, Daddy! You know I always make time for your clients! The usual fee?"
"Yes, the usual fee. Just send me a check with my cut when you get a chance."
There is a beep on Mary's cell phone. "Somebody's calling me. Gotta run, could be a client. Love you, Daddy!" Mary presses Send to connect to the other call. "Mary Bloom speaking," she chirps, in her most virginly voice.
"Dis be Shawanna at de fron' day-esk." Shawanna Cabot Wadsworth of New Canaan, Connecticut is white as the driven snow, but went full ghetto a few years ago to further her career in gender politics. She cornrows her blond hair, rummages clothing at second-hand stores, wears Uggs and can recite verbatim every word of every scene in every episode of Girls. "Dey be peoples wants to see y'all, and dey looks like dey be da man."
Mary wrinkles her nose. "Um, can I speak to Mary Elisabeth?"
"Ah'll go gets her."
Long pause.
"Good morning, this is Mary Elisabeth." Mary Elisabeth Purcells is the Front Desk Supervisor. Born a few blocks from the University on Lake and Sixty-Fifth, Mary Elisabeth grew up with her great aunt and grandmother while her father served time for aggravated assault and her mother tried unsuccessfully to recover from heroin addiction. Mary Elisabeth joined the church choir at Zion A.M.E. Church on Lake Avenue; she sang so well that she gained admission to the Performing Arts High School in Lake City, and earned a scholarship to Lake City University. She now covers nights and weekends at Sritt-Nick to supplement the small income she earns as a counselor at Lake City Neighborhood Community Centers.
"Somebody wants to see me?" asks Mary.
"Yes," says Mary Elisabeth, in a hushed and professional tone. "Two men, wearing suits. They say they are from the National Virgin Society. Something to do with your application for Miss College Virgin America. Do you want to speak with them?"
Mary pauses. National Virgin Society? What could they possibly want at this time on a Sunday morning? "Yes, please, could you put them on?"
There is a brief silence as Mary Elisabeth hands the desk phone to one of the men.
"Hello, this is Roger Rector from the National Virgin Society, is this Mary?"
"Speaking."
"We're here for the random virginity check."
"The what?"
"The random virginity check. You know, for your application."
Mary ponders this. There was a lot of fine print at the bottom of her application for Miss College Virgin, which she did not read.
"I'm not decent."
"Oh, I don't think that's a problem."
"My roommate is sleeping."
"We'll be quiet as mice. Only takes a minute."
"Can you come back later?"
"If you decline a random check, you will be disqualified from Miss College Virgin, and your membership in the Society will be revoked."
"Well, okay, come on up."
Meanwhile, at Old Ivy, Megan continues her novel:
Mae Rose's remaining daughters died from various causes attributable to obesity, stupidity or both, except for Emily, who died when struck by lightning while cleaning the gutters.Today is the fifth sunday after Epiphany. Since Bach wrote no cantatas for the fifth sunday after Epiphany, the Bach Chorale takes the week off.
At the Church of the Holy Placebo, Dr. Feelgood's sentiments grow increasingly perfunctory. "The Memorial Service will be $199," he says, taking Mae Rose's hand. "Make your check payable to me. The organist is an extra $25, she prefers cash."
With few opportunities for conversation at home, Muffin takes to cruising the neighborhood, seeking companionship. One morning, she approaches a boy at a bus stop.
"Good morning," says Muffin. "My name is Muffin."
"Good morning," says the boy. "My name is Fred."
"Are you on the way to school?" asks Muffin.
"Yes. Just waiting for the bus."
"Do you live nearby?"
"Yes, just down the street, near the crazy fat lady with the sinkhole in her back yard."
Muffin smiles as well as a Dandie Dinmont Terrier can smile.
The boy smiles back. "I don't run into talking dogs every day."
Muffin considers responding with a nasty wisecrack, but suppresses the thought.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Banking Sounds More Interesting in German
Megan continues to work on her novel:
Meanwhile, Rosa Behaarte-Beine brings up her favorite subject at today's 'Sunday Brunch with Parvelescu'. "Why doesn't anyone talk about the positive aspects about life in the GDR?" she asks between bites of gluten-free non-GMO granola.
Parvelescu sips his coffee. "Like what, for instance?"
"Well, free health care, for one."
"Bismarck introduced universal health care to Germany in 1883. The Commies can't claim credit for that."
"Very little crime."
"You're right about that, and the police were very responsive. You didn't even need to call them. Just say 'Erich Honecker is a moron' in a loud voice and they'd show up in no time."
"No pointless consumerism."
"That's true, too. There was nothing to buy. Let me guess, you're from West Berlin?"
"Ja, Zehlendorf."
"Your mother and father vote SDP?"
"No, they're Greens."
"And you were born after the wall came down?"
"Ja, 1995."
"So you don't really remember the Wall?"
"Why does everyone complain about the Wall? Israel has a Wall."
"The distinction being that while Israel has a wall to keep terrorists out, the Berlin Wall was built to keep citizens of the GDR in. Because wanting to leave the GDR was the ultimate crime, punishable by death. Those who wanted to leave the GDR were, in effect, saying that the GDR was not paradise, a belief that could not be countenanced."
Rosa shrugs. "I suppose you're going to complain about the Stasi. It's kind of hypocritical for Americans to criticize the Stasi when you have Guantanamo Bay and NSA wiretapping."
"With the 'subtle' distinction that the GDR put its own citizens in Torgau for thought crimes, while Guantanamo Bay holds stateless individuals who admit they want to kill and maim American citizens." Parvelescu uses his fingers to emulate "square quotes" around the word 'subtle'. "And whether you agree with the NSA's tactics or not, it's inarguable that they act in the interests of all Americans while the Stasi -- whose motto was 'Sword and Shield of the Party' -- was an instrument of the Party and not the state. The Stasi would be equivalent to a large security apparatus working for the Republican Party to suppress political action by Democrats."
Parvelescu is on a roll.
"The GDR justified harsh measures against those who wanted to leave by citing the state's investment in education and training. That is the essence of the socialist bargain, no? We pay for your education, you belong to us."
Parvelescu leans back triumphantly, relishing the pleasure of flattening a first-year student. Not coincidentally, his new book The Socialist Bargain goes on sale next week.
Lily whispers something in Roderick's ear, something that sounds like "chuck" or "luck". Roderick just smiles. "Maybe later," he says, which for Roderick is code for "No, thank you."
After dinner, Roderick calls Mr. Smiley.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Mr. Smiley, this is Roderick."
"Hello, Roderick."
Roderick talks about his day, ending with Parvelescu's demolition of Rosa.
"Ah, the Berlin Wall," says Mr. Smiley, waxing wistful. "I was there with Miss Kitty the night the Wall came down. We made passionate love in the Potsdamerplatz near the wall. I went looking for the spot last summer, but there's nothing there but a HypoVereinsbank."
Hmm, thinks Roderick. Hypovereinsbank. An Aktiengesellschaft fur Konten, Kredite & Finanzierung, Geldenlage & Vorsorge. Banking sounds so much more interesting in German.
Heroic efforts by city workers saved the Port-O-Potties, but could not save Dahlia and her customer.Megan pauses, and shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Ouch, she thinks. Mr. Joyce is an awesome writing coach, but a bit hard on the buttocks. She makes a mental note to change her 'safe' word to something other than 'Ulysses'.
The memorial service, held at the nearby Church of the Holy Placebo, is sparsely attended. At the door, Dr. Feelgood holds Mae Rose's hand. "She was so young. And such a good earner."
Mae Rose sobs.
"He's creepy," says Muffin, as they walk to the car.
"I just don't know what we're going to do without Dahlia's cash," Mae Rose says, weepily.
"We can charge people fees to get rid of their cars," says Muffin, pausing briefly to contribute to the Church of the Holy Placebo's front lawn.
Meanwhile, Rosa Behaarte-Beine brings up her favorite subject at today's 'Sunday Brunch with Parvelescu'. "Why doesn't anyone talk about the positive aspects about life in the GDR?" she asks between bites of gluten-free non-GMO granola.
Parvelescu sips his coffee. "Like what, for instance?"
"Well, free health care, for one."
"Bismarck introduced universal health care to Germany in 1883. The Commies can't claim credit for that."
"Very little crime."
"You're right about that, and the police were very responsive. You didn't even need to call them. Just say 'Erich Honecker is a moron' in a loud voice and they'd show up in no time."
"No pointless consumerism."
"That's true, too. There was nothing to buy. Let me guess, you're from West Berlin?"
"Ja, Zehlendorf."
"Your mother and father vote SDP?"
"No, they're Greens."
"And you were born after the wall came down?"
"Ja, 1995."
"So you don't really remember the Wall?"
"Why does everyone complain about the Wall? Israel has a Wall."
"The distinction being that while Israel has a wall to keep terrorists out, the Berlin Wall was built to keep citizens of the GDR in. Because wanting to leave the GDR was the ultimate crime, punishable by death. Those who wanted to leave the GDR were, in effect, saying that the GDR was not paradise, a belief that could not be countenanced."
Rosa shrugs. "I suppose you're going to complain about the Stasi. It's kind of hypocritical for Americans to criticize the Stasi when you have Guantanamo Bay and NSA wiretapping."
"With the 'subtle' distinction that the GDR put its own citizens in Torgau for thought crimes, while Guantanamo Bay holds stateless individuals who admit they want to kill and maim American citizens." Parvelescu uses his fingers to emulate "square quotes" around the word 'subtle'. "And whether you agree with the NSA's tactics or not, it's inarguable that they act in the interests of all Americans while the Stasi -- whose motto was 'Sword and Shield of the Party' -- was an instrument of the Party and not the state. The Stasi would be equivalent to a large security apparatus working for the Republican Party to suppress political action by Democrats."
Parvelescu is on a roll.
"The GDR justified harsh measures against those who wanted to leave by citing the state's investment in education and training. That is the essence of the socialist bargain, no? We pay for your education, you belong to us."
Parvelescu leans back triumphantly, relishing the pleasure of flattening a first-year student. Not coincidentally, his new book The Socialist Bargain goes on sale next week.
Lily whispers something in Roderick's ear, something that sounds like "chuck" or "luck". Roderick just smiles. "Maybe later," he says, which for Roderick is code for "No, thank you."
After dinner, Roderick calls Mr. Smiley.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Mr. Smiley, this is Roderick."
"Hello, Roderick."
Roderick talks about his day, ending with Parvelescu's demolition of Rosa.
"Ah, the Berlin Wall," says Mr. Smiley, waxing wistful. "I was there with Miss Kitty the night the Wall came down. We made passionate love in the Potsdamerplatz near the wall. I went looking for the spot last summer, but there's nothing there but a HypoVereinsbank."
Hmm, thinks Roderick. Hypovereinsbank. An Aktiengesellschaft fur Konten, Kredite & Finanzierung, Geldenlage & Vorsorge. Banking sounds so much more interesting in German.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
A Useful Literary Device
Over brunch, Mr. Parvelescu opines on politics with Roderick, Lily Chang and Rosa Behaarte-Beine, visiting student from Germany. Rosa is a member of the Green Party, which would ordinarily make her something of a laughing stock on campus, but since she is somewhat hot the Old Ivy students tolerate her views on global warming.
They sit in the Dining Room of the Old Ivy Inn, near the fireplace. Outside, an icy wind blows from the Northwest. A cold front moves in, threatening to add several inches to the record snowfall this winter.
Earlier this week, Rosa tried to organize an anti-fracking demonstration at College Hall, but nobody showed up. Her timing was unfortunate; the demonstration coincided with several other events, including a lecture on "America's Natural Gas Boom" sponsored by the Political Economy Club; one of Molly's nude modeling sessions for the Human Figure Workshop; and a performance of the first of Haydn's "Apponyi" string quartets by the Old Ivy College String Quartet.
On that last point, the reader should note that if one is a devotee of the string quartet, one should not miss a single event in the Old Ivy College String Quartet's Haydn cycle. Six years ago, the quartet lost its funding when its donor, Mr. Lobkowitz of Beauneville, died and left his estate to care for his cats. Mr. Fermata, Dean of Music, told the members they would have to disband without additional funding, but agreed to support them for "one last Haydn cycle." At the current rate of one concert per month -- when college is in session -- the Quartet expects to wrap things up some time in 2016.
Meanwhile, nobody who has attended the first fifty-four concerts wants to miss the first of the "Apponyi" quartets.
Another reason for scant attendance at Rosa's demonstration: the administration, in solidarity with Rosa's opposition to use of fossil fuels, turned off the heat in College Hall. Their reasoning, which most on campus considered flawless, was that opponents of fossil fuel would not wish to be warmed by them. The result, of course, was that College Hall was almost unbearably cold. Rosa stood in the lobby, shivering, holding her sign ("Profits, No! People, Yes!") in one bemittened hand and banging a tambourine with the other bemittened hand for one hour. Roderick was actually kind of impressed with her performance -- he saw the last of it on the way back from the Political Economy Club and invited her to Sunday Brunch with Parvelescu.
Today's topic: the direction of American politics.
"Socialism," says Parvelescu, slurping his soup. Parvelescu is well-known for his concise and pithy commentary.
"Yay!" says Rosa.
"Oh, not that kind of Socialism." Parvelescu slathers butter on a roll and bites it.
"What kind of Socialism?"
"Free Stuff Socialism. That's where elected officials make timely and visible promises in return for votes, then actually deliver on small things like free phones and EBT cards."
"How does that differ from regular Socialism?"
"There is no planning, and no concern for actual human need. Nobody can live on a free phone and an EBT card; it's just a nice little gift, and since voting costs nothing voters can be bought cheaply."
"Isn't that bad for the economy in the long run?"
"Nobody knows what's good for the economy in the long run."
"Shouldn't we encourage people to be self-sufficient?"
"Think of democracy as a policy market. I prefer Beethoven to Lady Gaga, but in a mass culture Lady Gaga knows how to sell. I prefer Libertarian policies to Socialism of any kind, but Free Stuff Socialism appeals to the ninety-nine percenters who, by definition, outvote the one percenters. It doesn't matter if taxing the rich is bad for the economy; it's good politics."
Meanwhile, in her room, Megan continues to work on her novel.
They sit in the Dining Room of the Old Ivy Inn, near the fireplace. Outside, an icy wind blows from the Northwest. A cold front moves in, threatening to add several inches to the record snowfall this winter.
Earlier this week, Rosa tried to organize an anti-fracking demonstration at College Hall, but nobody showed up. Her timing was unfortunate; the demonstration coincided with several other events, including a lecture on "America's Natural Gas Boom" sponsored by the Political Economy Club; one of Molly's nude modeling sessions for the Human Figure Workshop; and a performance of the first of Haydn's "Apponyi" string quartets by the Old Ivy College String Quartet.
On that last point, the reader should note that if one is a devotee of the string quartet, one should not miss a single event in the Old Ivy College String Quartet's Haydn cycle. Six years ago, the quartet lost its funding when its donor, Mr. Lobkowitz of Beauneville, died and left his estate to care for his cats. Mr. Fermata, Dean of Music, told the members they would have to disband without additional funding, but agreed to support them for "one last Haydn cycle." At the current rate of one concert per month -- when college is in session -- the Quartet expects to wrap things up some time in 2016.
Meanwhile, nobody who has attended the first fifty-four concerts wants to miss the first of the "Apponyi" quartets.
Another reason for scant attendance at Rosa's demonstration: the administration, in solidarity with Rosa's opposition to use of fossil fuels, turned off the heat in College Hall. Their reasoning, which most on campus considered flawless, was that opponents of fossil fuel would not wish to be warmed by them. The result, of course, was that College Hall was almost unbearably cold. Rosa stood in the lobby, shivering, holding her sign ("Profits, No! People, Yes!") in one bemittened hand and banging a tambourine with the other bemittened hand for one hour. Roderick was actually kind of impressed with her performance -- he saw the last of it on the way back from the Political Economy Club and invited her to Sunday Brunch with Parvelescu.
Today's topic: the direction of American politics.
"Socialism," says Parvelescu, slurping his soup. Parvelescu is well-known for his concise and pithy commentary.
"Yay!" says Rosa.
"Oh, not that kind of Socialism." Parvelescu slathers butter on a roll and bites it.
"What kind of Socialism?"
"Free Stuff Socialism. That's where elected officials make timely and visible promises in return for votes, then actually deliver on small things like free phones and EBT cards."
"How does that differ from regular Socialism?"
"There is no planning, and no concern for actual human need. Nobody can live on a free phone and an EBT card; it's just a nice little gift, and since voting costs nothing voters can be bought cheaply."
"Isn't that bad for the economy in the long run?"
"Nobody knows what's good for the economy in the long run."
"Shouldn't we encourage people to be self-sufficient?"
"Think of democracy as a policy market. I prefer Beethoven to Lady Gaga, but in a mass culture Lady Gaga knows how to sell. I prefer Libertarian policies to Socialism of any kind, but Free Stuff Socialism appeals to the ninety-nine percenters who, by definition, outvote the one percenters. It doesn't matter if taxing the rich is bad for the economy; it's good politics."
Meanwhile, in her room, Megan continues to work on her novel.
"Where's Dahlia?" asked Mae Rose, several days later. The sinkhole has expanded, and now threatens the park out back.Meagan pauses, reads that last line and smiles. Mr. Joyce, the writing professor is right; a talking dog is a useful literary device.
"She's over by the Port-O-Potties, blowing some guy," says Muffin, who can't keep a secret.
"Damn, that girl can earn," mutters Mae Rose, glaring at Babs and Celia, who are sprawled in lounge chairs. "Not like some people around here."
"I'm working, Mama" says Emily, looking up from one of her books.
"You call that work?" says Mae Rose. "If you had any gumption, you'd be out earning some cash like your sister and not filling your head with them fancy books."
"But Mama," protests Emily, "I need a degree if I want to be a gender activist."
Muffin, bored with this conversation, runs outside to contribute a transformed version of this morning's dish of Alpo to the landscape.
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Megan's Wait
Lectures start tomorrow at Old Ivy. Megan works on her novel.
"Hi Roderick." Megan's heart goes thumpety-thump.
"The Klemperers are over again and we need a fifth for Geschichte der Schweizer Eisenbahnen. Can you join us?"
"Is it the strip variation?"
"Yes." The Klemperers live dangerously, and play a mean game of Geschichte der Schweizer Eisenbahnen.
Megan hesitates. "I don't know...I really don't get that game." Last Sunday Megan lost big time, being completely naked before any other player had removed a stitch of clothing. Otto Klemperer had proposed upping the stakes to spanking, but Roderick saved Megan's bacon by feigning a need for bedtime.
"Just follow my lead and don't worry," says Roderick. "You can sleep over if you like."
That last point sold Megan. "Be right there," she says, breathlessly.
Megan arrives at the Smith house a few minutes later. The game is already set up. Berolina is blinged up, as is her custom when she plays strip Geschichte der Schweizer Eisenbahnen. Once again, Molly feels like living dangerously and wears a single garment, a sundress with no underwear. Her shoes are somewhere upstairs.
"Dealing!" says Otto, shuffling the cards and distributing five to each player. He places the remainder of the deck in the center and turns the top card face up. "Ach! Ze SBB CFF FFS Ae 4/7. Player to ze right of ze dealer remove one thing, pliss!" He leers at Megan, who sits to his immediate right.
"What? Already? We just started!" protests Megan, who didn't have time to bling up.
"It iss ze rules, you vill remove one item, pliss."
"Oh all right," says Megan, pouting as she removes one shoe. "I really don't get this game."
Play continues; Berolina, Roderick and Megan drop out of the hand, leading up to a showdown between Otto and Molly. Otto licks his lips. He's holding the BAM Ge 4/4, an almost unbeatable card; he imagines Molly naked, though he hardly has to imagine since she's sitting cross-legged and he can see her blonde bush.
"BAM!" he says, slapping down his card, leering expectantly.
Molly gazes at it for a moment and, hand trembling, reaches for the top button on her dress. With her other hand, she plays her card, the BLS Re 465. "Rated at 6400 kW, I believe the BLS Re beats the BAM Ge 4/4, which produces a mere 3200 kW."
Stunned, Otto stares at the card for a minute, then slowly removes a shoe.
"Wow!" says Roderick to Molly, admiringly. "How do you know so much about Swiss railway locomotives?"
Molly shrugs. "I studied."
After an hour of play, Megan and Otto are completely naked, while Roderick is down to his boxers and Berolina has removed all of her bling. Molly remains fully dressed, or at least as fully dressed as she started.
It's Molly's turn to deal. "So how does the spanking variation work?"
Otto and Berolina claim to be tired, and the game breaks up.
Shortly thereafter, Roderick lies in bed with nude Molly curled up on his left and nude Megan curled up on his right.
"Roderick?" whispers Megan.
"Yes?"
"When are you and Molly going to do it, so then we can do it?"
Roderick, mindful that Molly is still awake, tries to be tactful. "Oh, I don't know. We have another eighteen months before the deadline."
"Okay," says Megan, snuggling up against Roderick. "I'm waiting."
"Arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf!" says Muffin. "Arf! Arf, arf! Arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf!"Megan's phone rings. It's Roderick. "Hi Megan."
"Muffin, shut up!" screams Mae Rose, throwing a shoe. Muffin deftly avoids the thrown shoe and runs out back, where Alice glides lazily on the rope swing.
"Arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf!" Muffin continues to bark, seemingly at nothing.
Alice bestirs herself slightly on the swing. "Ma! Shut up the fucking dog!"
Suddenly, there is a queer swishing noise, and the sycamore disappears into a sinkhole with a ploop, taking Alice with it. Muffin, being defter at foot than Alice, escapes.
Mae Rose runs out of the house and stares at the gaping hole where her back yard used to be. "Holy shit!" she exclaims.
"Don't say I didn't try to warn you," says Muffin.
"Now I'll never be able to sell this dump," says Mae Rose.
At the memorial service for Alice, Dr. Feelgood offers a eulogy. "She was lovely, big-boned, lazy, ignorant and a slut, and had no redeeming qualities to compensate. In the end, she was taken by a sinkhole, which seems ironic in a way that I can't quite articulate."
A woman in the church sobs. "So young, so young..."
Muffin rolls her eyes. "Please..."
Dr. Feelgood grasps Mae Rose' hands. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
"You mean Alice? At least she was insured, which I can't say for my house."
"Hi Roderick." Megan's heart goes thumpety-thump.
"The Klemperers are over again and we need a fifth for Geschichte der Schweizer Eisenbahnen. Can you join us?"
"Is it the strip variation?"
"Yes." The Klemperers live dangerously, and play a mean game of Geschichte der Schweizer Eisenbahnen.
Megan hesitates. "I don't know...I really don't get that game." Last Sunday Megan lost big time, being completely naked before any other player had removed a stitch of clothing. Otto Klemperer had proposed upping the stakes to spanking, but Roderick saved Megan's bacon by feigning a need for bedtime.
"Just follow my lead and don't worry," says Roderick. "You can sleep over if you like."
That last point sold Megan. "Be right there," she says, breathlessly.
Megan arrives at the Smith house a few minutes later. The game is already set up. Berolina is blinged up, as is her custom when she plays strip Geschichte der Schweizer Eisenbahnen. Once again, Molly feels like living dangerously and wears a single garment, a sundress with no underwear. Her shoes are somewhere upstairs.
"Dealing!" says Otto, shuffling the cards and distributing five to each player. He places the remainder of the deck in the center and turns the top card face up. "Ach! Ze SBB CFF FFS Ae 4/7. Player to ze right of ze dealer remove one thing, pliss!" He leers at Megan, who sits to his immediate right.
"What? Already? We just started!" protests Megan, who didn't have time to bling up.
"It iss ze rules, you vill remove one item, pliss."
"Oh all right," says Megan, pouting as she removes one shoe. "I really don't get this game."
Play continues; Berolina, Roderick and Megan drop out of the hand, leading up to a showdown between Otto and Molly. Otto licks his lips. He's holding the BAM Ge 4/4, an almost unbeatable card; he imagines Molly naked, though he hardly has to imagine since she's sitting cross-legged and he can see her blonde bush.
"BAM!" he says, slapping down his card, leering expectantly.
Molly gazes at it for a moment and, hand trembling, reaches for the top button on her dress. With her other hand, she plays her card, the BLS Re 465. "Rated at 6400 kW, I believe the BLS Re beats the BAM Ge 4/4, which produces a mere 3200 kW."
Stunned, Otto stares at the card for a minute, then slowly removes a shoe.
"Wow!" says Roderick to Molly, admiringly. "How do you know so much about Swiss railway locomotives?"
Molly shrugs. "I studied."
After an hour of play, Megan and Otto are completely naked, while Roderick is down to his boxers and Berolina has removed all of her bling. Molly remains fully dressed, or at least as fully dressed as she started.
It's Molly's turn to deal. "So how does the spanking variation work?"
Otto and Berolina claim to be tired, and the game breaks up.
Shortly thereafter, Roderick lies in bed with nude Molly curled up on his left and nude Megan curled up on his right.
"Roderick?" whispers Megan.
"Yes?"
"When are you and Molly going to do it, so then we can do it?"
Roderick, mindful that Molly is still awake, tries to be tactful. "Oh, I don't know. We have another eighteen months before the deadline."
"Okay," says Megan, snuggling up against Roderick. "I'm waiting."
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Megan's Novel
Megan works on her novel:
"Hi Megan."
"Hi Roderick."
"Can you come over? The Richters are here, and we need a fifth for Geschichte der Schweizer Eisenbahnen. We're playing the strip variation."
"I don't really understand how to play that game, but of course I'll be right there," purrs Megan.
In the Smith's living room, Roderick sits on the floor with Molly and the Richter twins, Otto and Berolina. Berolina has prepared for the game by wearing many layers of clothing, plus bling. Molly wears a single garment, a blue dress that she ordinarily would never wear, but Molly likes the challenge of high-stakes strip Geschichte der Schweizer Eisenbahnen.
The doorbell rings; Roderick answers. It's Megan.
Mae Rose lives in a prewar bungalow on a tree-lined street with her five lovely but big-boned daughters (Alice, Babs, Celia, Dahlia and Emily) and a very intelligent Dandie Dinmont Terrier named Muffin. Alice, Babs, Celia and Dahlia are lazy and ignorant, while Emily works very hard at school to no avail because she is just plain stupid.Pausing, Megan reads that passage to herself and smiles. Good characterization, she thinks. Now to the setting.
Two grand old sycamore trees -- one in the front and one out back -- shelter Mae Rose's bungalow from the Florida sun. The sycamore out back, which the girls lovingly refer to as "the big tree", has a rope swing attached to one of the branches. If you look at the trunk you can read the names of Alice and Babs' many boyfriends, but none for Celia because she is too fat and ugly, and none for Dahlia because she doesn't give it out for free. Also none for Emily because she is too busy with fruitless study.Megan smiles. She likes that line. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to relax. Writing is hard work.
There are many other interesting things in Mae Rose's back yard, but be careful where you walk lest you step in one of Muffin's contributions to the landscape.
The property abuts on a little park with many poinciana plants and a row of Port-O-Potties funded by a Federal UDAG Grant.
One day, Mae Rose, dressed in a floral muu-muu, stands on her back deck smoking a cigarette waiting for Muffin to contribute to the landscape. Suddenly, the doorbell rings. "Emily!" shrieks Mae Rose. "Answer the gawdamn door!"Megan's phone rings. It's Roderick.
Setting aside the Susan B. Anthony doll she found in the neighbors' trash, Emily shuffles down the hall to the door; she has a club foot, and Mae Rose's ex-husband refuses to pay for corrective surgery. "I have to pay alimony, child support and fix her gimp?" he complains. "Forget it!"
Emily opens the door; a man wearing a white shirt and tie stands on the stoop. He holds a clipboard. "Hello, may I speak with your Mom or Dad", he asks pleasantly.
"My Dad ain't here."
"Okay, can I speak to your Mom?"
Emily screams in the general direction of the back yard. "Mom! Some guy wants you!"
Mae Rose screams back. "Who is it?"
"I dunno."
"What does he want?"
"How the fuck should I know?"
"Tell him to wait a minute!" Muffin needs a little more time.
Dahlia appears next to Emily. "Hi, I'm Dahlia," she says to the man.
"Hello, Dahlia."
"I'll blow you for twenty dollars."
"Um, not right now, I'm working."
"This evening, around eight, then? I'll be out back, near the Port-O-Potties."
Mae Rose appears. "Whattaya want?"
"Hello, Mrs. Owens, I work for the city, and I'm checking for sinkholes. Do you have any sinkholes to report?"
"You're checking for what?"
"For sinkholes."
"What's a sinkhole?"
"Ah," says the man, warming to his favorite subject. "A sinkhole, also known as a sink, swallow hole, shakehole, swallet or doline, is a depression or hole in the ground caused by some form of collapse of the surface layer. Some are caused by karst processes—for example, the chemical dissolution of carbonate rocks or suffosion processes in sandstone. Sinkholes may vary in size from 1 to 600 meters both in diameter and depth, and vary in form from soil-lined bowls to bedrock-edged chasms. Sinkholes may be formed gradually or suddenly, and are found worldwide. The different terms for sinkholes are often used interchangeably."
"Oh," says Mae Rose. "We ain't got none of those."
"Do you mind if I check out back? It will just take a few minutes."
Mae Rose shrugs. "Knock yourself out. Watch your step." She slams the door.
Retrieving his sinkhole detector -- a long stick -- from the truck, the man walks gingerly around the back of the house and towards the sycamore. Muffin greets him. "Hey, mister!" says Muffin. "Nice stick you got there. Want to play fetch?"
"Wow, a talking dog," says the man.
"And talking humans, too," says Muffin. "Isn't that precious."
"I'm checking for sinkholes, seen any around here lately?"
"No, but come back Friday morning, we're expecting a doozie."
"Hey, thanks for the tip."
"Don't mention it. Also you just stepped in one of my larger works from last March."
"Hi Megan."
"Hi Roderick."
"Can you come over? The Richters are here, and we need a fifth for Geschichte der Schweizer Eisenbahnen. We're playing the strip variation."
"I don't really understand how to play that game, but of course I'll be right there," purrs Megan.
In the Smith's living room, Roderick sits on the floor with Molly and the Richter twins, Otto and Berolina. Berolina has prepared for the game by wearing many layers of clothing, plus bling. Molly wears a single garment, a blue dress that she ordinarily would never wear, but Molly likes the challenge of high-stakes strip Geschichte der Schweizer Eisenbahnen.
The doorbell rings; Roderick answers. It's Megan.
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