In the mail-bag:
As I expected, my mention in the last condom-entry of my “Inner grand-child” whom I call ‘J’s Lizard’ prompted a letter from far-off Emmental, Schweitz, where Fritz Solberg, of the Solberg branch who missed the boat in 1732 nowadays runs a solid concrete firm. He confirmed, if my translation betrayeth me not, that in fact, his great-grandfather did share a few words with a young Patent Office worker from Bern, on lunch break at the Solberg Gasthaus in Kapellen, just down the road. And further, that Leo’s Lizard, mentioned in (my new bosom-buddy) Albert Einstein’s famous letter to FDR was in fact my very own lizard’s god-father(!). A Small World. This revelation, (plus 5 shekels) netted me a free one-litre ‘udder’ of garden fresh milk just minutes ago at the nearby gas-station convenience store. “From Full-featured contented Cows” it says right on the bag. I feel vaguely vindicated, historically, at least.
And as if this good news weren’t enough, Al Tezachen, my prime alter-ego called from Meridian, MS, where he is supplanting his meagre album sales income with a steady job at a nearby foundry he found. He’d taken a typically immature fancy to a few candid photos of the local (female of the species) fauna I’d e-mailed him:
“I feel strenuously that ‘Number 4’ quivereth my loins in an almost uncontrollable fashion.” he had the courage to admit. “And my steely dan stands poised to plunge itself…”
I gave him a quick ‘birds-of-prey and/or bees’ mini-lecture:
“This type of activity does carry with it a certain …responsibility, does it not, Al?”
“It’s the damn Metalurgy thing, you know.. takes over your cerebellum after a couple months on the job.” he explained. “The urge to melt inside..”
“Smelt, isn’t it?” I asked him.
“Smelt, schmelt, I see these creatures and I’m left with maybe 5% right brain funtion at best. The owner here introduced me to his daughter the other day and I blew it, big-time:”
Boss: “So, Pachysandra, have you met Al?”
Me: “Um ‘Hi’… I’m..AL..um..in..um..Metalurgy..”
P-sandy: “Ah yes, Aluminum, used to be a precious metal. The roof on the Washington Monument..”
Me: “Yes, it used to be. I stand at the base of that mighty phallus..I mean, ‘palace’, honoring the Foundry.. um.. founder of our great nation, bursting at the seams with fertile valleys begging to be fertilized, and grew dizzy at the thought of such an unarguably arch-typical act of Providence.. and… um..
Pachy-fox: “*clears throat* “Daddy, I gotta run. If I call this morning, I might be able to re-schedule my root canal appointment with Doctor Fleischer for 2:00. Nice to meet you, Al.”
I pretended to struggle trying to understand what his episode must have been like:
“Try my trick, Al. Always remember that she might very well have had vibratory, and in the final analysis, topologically identical thoughts about you, had you not presented yourself as a total goofus. We’re all just doughnuts, or bagels, whatever, with enough stretching.”
And that’s why I love Al to death. He seemed to have ‘gotten it’. I could hear the blood rushing back to his cranium even over the cheap trans-atlantic phone line.
“It’s working!” was all he said.
“Great. You want some more pix?” I asked.
“Sure, keep ’em coming. Especially the malleable, ductile ones..”
“Oof, you never learn…”