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mallorys_cameraRobin is doing The Godfather immersion thing.
I've explained to him that since he's only one quarter Sicilian, he could never be a made guy; at best he could only be consiglieri and not even a real consiglieri but some kind of low level consiglieri associate huddled in a cubicle, writing endless, repetitive boring legal motions on behalf of low-level babbos.
"You're only half Sicilian," says Robin. "You couldn't be a made guy either."
"Right," I say. "But 'Join the Family and take out Bernard Kerik' was never under my picture in the high school year book."
So far Robin's Cosa Nostra solidarity has been expressed by advising various of the family pets in a hammy Dean Martin comedic accent that soon they will be sleeping with the fishes.
Since my Spinster English Teacher DNA is at least as strong as my Nino Rota Soundtrack-steeped DNA, the sentiment grates on my ears. "Goddam it, Robin. Fish is the singular and the plural! Milo the Dog sleeps with the fish!"
"That's not how they say it in the book!" says Robin.
"That's because the characters weren't native speakers of English," I said. "You're supposed to pick up the fact that (1) they're nasty and vindictive and (2) they're foreign. You aren't. At least not the second."
"Xena the Dog sleeps with the fishes! Xena the Dog sleeps with the fishes!" crows Robin, dancing around the kitchen. "Ooooh, it's such a cute widdle Russkel. It will like being in the cold, dark water."
Xena wags her tail.
###
The Little Store had an okay weekend. Not as good as the two weekends prior but you know, all the basic bills will get paid. I am gearing up for a major birthday. So far I'm not too freaked though basically I'm with Roxie from Chicago: I'm older than I ever intended to be.
Went on another 25-mile bike ride yesterday, dragging Robin along for the first third. Robin confided in me that he's been watching porn since he was eight years old.
I was horrified, of course. Until I figured out that what he calls "porn" is actually relatively sanitized infomercials for Girls Gone Wild.
"That stuff is awful," I said. "It's not porn, it's worst than porn."
"It is too porn!" said Robin, hurt.
"It isn't. It's the most exploitive stuff imaginable. At least in porn, the performers get paid. It's a commercial transaction with some profit for both parties. They don't even pay those poor Girls Gone Wild girls – they just get them drunk."
"But that's good business!" says Robin. "More money for them!"
"Robin, Robin, Robin," I say. "Anyway, I wish you wouldn't watch those Girls Gone Wild infomercials."
"They're the only thing on at four in the morning," says Robin. "How old were you when you started watching porn?"
"Me? Oh, probably not till my twenties."
"What did you do instead? They didn't even have video games when you were a kid, did they? What did you do for fun?"
I knew I'd already told him a hundred times about me and my best friend Roberta, how every Saturday we would do the complete circuit of Central Park and every Sunday we would hang out in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I didn't want to make his eyes glaze over.
And I didn't quite know what words to choose for what I really wanted to tell him.
Which would have been something along the lines of… Sex is great fun, of course, but you know it's not that much fun. You think it is because the reproductive urge is hardwired into your DNA and you're almost at the age where you want to pollinate every little fresh-blooming daisy and rose in the great Botanical Garden of Life. You also think it is because clever marketers have done their job and tied sex in to every other type of worldly triumph. Sex has colonized your imagination. And that's a shame…
Because there are things that are just as much fun as sex.
But you'll never be able to imagine them.
A kid rode his bike past us in the opposite direction.
"Is that Michael?" I asked.
"That's not Michael," Robin scoffed.
"Looks just like him to me –"
"Mom, it looks nothing like Michael. That kid has dark olive skin and big eyes, a strong jaw. Also his nose is kind of fleshy. Michael has pasty white skin and beady little pig eyes. But he's got a pretty cool nose."
I was impressed! Robin really looked at things.
"What do I look like?" I asked.
"You have this dimple thing when you smile. And this kind of long, pointed nose and eyes that aren't big or little and practically no eyebrows. And a very strong chin – you can really see the bones. Strong cheekbones too –"
"Amazing!" I said. "When did you start doing this?"
"I've always done this, Mom. I write stories. I describe my characters."
"Do your father!"
"I'd rather not. I don't like judging people I know."
I've explained to him that since he's only one quarter Sicilian, he could never be a made guy; at best he could only be consiglieri and not even a real consiglieri but some kind of low level consiglieri associate huddled in a cubicle, writing endless, repetitive boring legal motions on behalf of low-level babbos.
"You're only half Sicilian," says Robin. "You couldn't be a made guy either."
"Right," I say. "But 'Join the Family and take out Bernard Kerik' was never under my picture in the high school year book."
So far Robin's Cosa Nostra solidarity has been expressed by advising various of the family pets in a hammy Dean Martin comedic accent that soon they will be sleeping with the fishes.
Since my Spinster English Teacher DNA is at least as strong as my Nino Rota Soundtrack-steeped DNA, the sentiment grates on my ears. "Goddam it, Robin. Fish is the singular and the plural! Milo the Dog sleeps with the fish!"
"That's not how they say it in the book!" says Robin.
"That's because the characters weren't native speakers of English," I said. "You're supposed to pick up the fact that (1) they're nasty and vindictive and (2) they're foreign. You aren't. At least not the second."
"Xena the Dog sleeps with the fishes! Xena the Dog sleeps with the fishes!" crows Robin, dancing around the kitchen. "Ooooh, it's such a cute widdle Russkel. It will like being in the cold, dark water."
Xena wags her tail.
The Little Store had an okay weekend. Not as good as the two weekends prior but you know, all the basic bills will get paid. I am gearing up for a major birthday. So far I'm not too freaked though basically I'm with Roxie from Chicago: I'm older than I ever intended to be.
Went on another 25-mile bike ride yesterday, dragging Robin along for the first third. Robin confided in me that he's been watching porn since he was eight years old.
I was horrified, of course. Until I figured out that what he calls "porn" is actually relatively sanitized infomercials for Girls Gone Wild.
"That stuff is awful," I said. "It's not porn, it's worst than porn."
"It is too porn!" said Robin, hurt.
"It isn't. It's the most exploitive stuff imaginable. At least in porn, the performers get paid. It's a commercial transaction with some profit for both parties. They don't even pay those poor Girls Gone Wild girls – they just get them drunk."
"But that's good business!" says Robin. "More money for them!"
"Robin, Robin, Robin," I say. "Anyway, I wish you wouldn't watch those Girls Gone Wild infomercials."
"They're the only thing on at four in the morning," says Robin. "How old were you when you started watching porn?"
"Me? Oh, probably not till my twenties."
"What did you do instead? They didn't even have video games when you were a kid, did they? What did you do for fun?"
I knew I'd already told him a hundred times about me and my best friend Roberta, how every Saturday we would do the complete circuit of Central Park and every Sunday we would hang out in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I didn't want to make his eyes glaze over.
And I didn't quite know what words to choose for what I really wanted to tell him.
Which would have been something along the lines of… Sex is great fun, of course, but you know it's not that much fun. You think it is because the reproductive urge is hardwired into your DNA and you're almost at the age where you want to pollinate every little fresh-blooming daisy and rose in the great Botanical Garden of Life. You also think it is because clever marketers have done their job and tied sex in to every other type of worldly triumph. Sex has colonized your imagination. And that's a shame…
Because there are things that are just as much fun as sex.
But you'll never be able to imagine them.
A kid rode his bike past us in the opposite direction.
"Is that Michael?" I asked.
"That's not Michael," Robin scoffed.
"Looks just like him to me –"
"Mom, it looks nothing like Michael. That kid has dark olive skin and big eyes, a strong jaw. Also his nose is kind of fleshy. Michael has pasty white skin and beady little pig eyes. But he's got a pretty cool nose."
I was impressed! Robin really looked at things.
"What do I look like?" I asked.
"You have this dimple thing when you smile. And this kind of long, pointed nose and eyes that aren't big or little and practically no eyebrows. And a very strong chin – you can really see the bones. Strong cheekbones too –"
"Amazing!" I said. "When did you start doing this?"
"I've always done this, Mom. I write stories. I describe my characters."
"Do your father!"
"I'd rather not. I don't like judging people I know."
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Date: 2007-04-09 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2007-04-09 06:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 05:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-09 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 05:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-09 08:16 pm (UTC)Aloha,
Jeff
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Date: 2007-04-10 05:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-09 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 05:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 06:34 pm (UTC)http://www.latimes.com/features/magazine/west/la-tm-gonewild32aug06,0,2664370.story
Ew ew ew ew EW.