CULTURE
I'm not usually much of a play-goer, but I strongly recommend everyone see The Real Thing this summer in Toronto. One of the best plays ever, it's supposed to be a great rendering of it. I hope to catch it in the next few weeks.
THE REAL THING Featuring Megan Follows, Albert Schultz. Written by Tom Stoppard. Directed by Diana Leblanc. Presented by Soulpepper Theatre Company and the National Arts Centre. To July 29. Mon-Sat 8pm; Sat 2pm. $29-$54; $25 students; $18 rush; $5 youth rush (21 and under). Young Centre, 55 Mill, bldg 49. 416-866-8666. www.soulpepper.ca.
Soulpepper's current production of Tom Stoppard's The Real Thing is superb in every way. The acting, direction and design all combine to present this highly intellectual comedy from 1982 with precision and feeling. The title initially refers to love since a man and woman break up their respective marriages because they think they have found the "real thing" with each other. Yet, this is only the starting point for Stoppard's investigation using various plays-within-plays of our perception of reality in general, whether in the theatre, politics or personal emotion. What interests Stoppard is how thoroughly fiction influences our perception of reality.
Albert Schultz plays Henry, a successful West End playwright who uses his Noel Cowardlike wit as a defence against expressing emotion. He breaks up with his equally witty actress wife Charlotte (the excellent Kristina Nicoll) to take up with another actress, Annie (Megan Follows). The great virtue of Diana Leblanc's direction is how clearly she emphasizes Henry's moral education as the throughline in a play that can seem like a series of clever set pieces. Schultz delineates Henry's change with great subtlety as he gradually comes to accept that life is messier than his absolutist views have allowed. Follows is outstanding in expressing what is said and unsaid in "real" love that accommodates both fallibility and forgiveness.
BABIES & PUPPIES: CAN THEY CO-EXIST?
Reading the Humane Society of the United States' suggestions for how to prepare your pet for the arrival of your baby made me realize how negligent my husband and I had been before our daughter's arrival 10 years ago. In the months before her birth, I was supposed to be anointing myself with eau de baby wipe to get our two cats accustomed to new scents. I should have held, bathed, and diapered a swaddled doll in their presence. Thank goodness I didn't have a dog then, or I'd have to take it for walks accompanied by the doll in the stroller. (The HSUS does not offer counsel for what to do if the neighbors start worrying you're suffering from prepartum psychosis.) Finally, I should have familiarized my pets with baby sounds by playing a recording of an infant crying. I found one here: www.preparingfido.com. The sample is so enjoyable it made me yearn for "Teen Party Next Door" and "Broken Car Alarm."
Thankfully, our lack of preparation didn't prove too detrimental. Our cats initially boycotted the new arrival, but as the months went by they became remarkably patient playmates, letting our daughter conclude their tails were hairy, interactive baby toys. (I hovered to make sure things didn't get too interactive.) Indeed, children and pets have been happily mixing it up for millenniums, and now there's evidence that such interactions are good for children's health. A study in the Journal of the American Medical Association found that children in multiple-pet households had about half the risk of developing allergies as children without pets—all those dog and cat licks might provide healthy stimulation to the child's immune system. But given that today's parents put locking devices on their toilets to protect their offspring, what are the sensible precautions one should take before baby and pet cohabitate?
The unbreakable rule of young children and pets is: Never leave them unsupervised. If things go wrong, particularly with a dog, tragedy can ensue. Cats don't typically present a biting hazard, but they often like to jump into a baby's crib or playpen to cuddle. It's unlikely, but a cat could suffocate an infant who's unable to push it away.
Rarely, a dog will mistake an infant for prey. Dr. Laurie Bergman, of the University of California Veterinary Medical Center in San Diego, helped clients turn around this potential disaster when their Jack Russell terrier was stalking their week-old baby. The couple was so terrified, they left the dog alone in the house and moved in with other family members. Dr. Bergman instructed the family to move back, keeping their dog outside for most of the day, so that it could get used to seeing the baby through the window. The dog was also allowed to go for walks on a leash with the baby in a stroller. By the time the son was a year old, the dog had accepted him as human, and they became happy playmates.
Owners must also convince the pet that the baby's arrival is not the worst thing to happen since the invention of spaying and neutering. Frequently owners make the mistake of only paying attention to the pet once the baby is down for a nap. The obvious conclusion in the pet's mind is, "Baby gone, life good." Dr. Marsha Reich, a Maryland veterinary behaviorist, says, "Try to find something that motivates the dog to couple with the baby. Throw the dog treats when you're nursing."
If pets are shunted aside, some may seek other ways to solicit attention. Shortly after one friend's first child was born, the cat, which had been ignored since the baby arrived, started limping dramatically on her hind leg. Many visits to the veterinarian later, the doctor remained unable to find a cause. Then one day the couple noticed that the cat only limped when it came upon the baby. Call it Munchausen's syndrome by feline.
Animal behaviorists warn that the most difficult moments in pet-child relations occur when the child becomes mobile. The animal is now confronted with toddling terror, and a once docile dog may growl and snap. But what looks like aggression is often fear: The dog finds itself cornered by a squealing, poking, pulling human. And the child, too young to realize a raised lip and growl means, "Please step away from the dog," continues to lunge.
Death by dog attack is extremely rare—about a dozen fatalities annually in the United States. But dog bites are common—around 4.7 million a year, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Of the 800,000 who need medical assistance, half are children, and the most frequent victims are between ages 5 and 9. Almost all the bites were inflicted by a known assailant—the family dog or that of a neighbor. (Those numbers become less alarming when you consider there are almost 70 million pet dogs in this country.) Animal behaviorists—who often are brought in to deal with the aftermath of a dog bite—say that attack statistics don't convey the dog's side of the story.
This is what happened to Sparky, a Dalmatian that bit a visiting 4-year-old boy. The boy had spent the day chasing the dog, climbing on him, and grabbing food from his bowl. Later, when Sparky was asleep, the boy approached him. The boy's mother heard Sparky growl just before her son was bitten on the face. The distraught owner called Dr. Bergman, wondering if she should euthanize her pet. Dr. Bergman instructed the owner to approach her dog, who was cowering behind the toilet. On Sparky's face were several small, crescent-shaped red marks. The boy had dug his fingernails in Sparky's face hard enough to draw blood. "It was a provoked bite," Dr. Bergman explained.
Then there's the other extreme in pet-child relations. Occasionally a pet will bond so completely with children that witnessing the daily upsets of child-rearing can become unbearable. Take the dog that Dr. Lynne Seibert, a veterinary behaviorist in Washington, was asked to help: The dog had become phobic about counting. Some detective work revealed that when the owner was about to discipline her toddler, she would give the child a warning of, "One, two, three." When the dog heard that, she knew her "sibling" was about to be punished. Seibert helped the owner desensitize her dog by sitting quietly with her, calmly counting.
Of course, the ultimate in pet-child devotion was portrayed in Peter Pan. Just think of the savings parents would reap if everyone could find a child-care provider like the Darlings': a "prim Newfoundland dog, called Nana. … She proved to be quite a treasure of a nurse." - Slate.
McSWEENEY'S OPEN LETTERS
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE BIRDS NESTING IN MY AIR CONDITIONER.
- - - -
Dear Birds,
While I am pleased that you have decided the air conditioner in my bedroom is the perfect place for you to reside, I feel obligated to voice a few concerns on behalf of the other inhabitants of our apartment. Please do not take this letter as a sign of ill will; I'm sure that if we can resolve these matters, peaceful cohabitation will be possible for many years to come.
Your habit of heralding each new day in song, while pleasant enough on weekdays, unfortunately becomes problematic on Saturdays and Sundays. We enjoy making the most of our weekends, but we don't necessarily feel we need to be roused at 5:30 a.m. to do so. In addition, your melodic chirping arouses the curiosity of our cats. You may have noticed the sustained scratching noises coming, from time to time, from our side of the air conditioner. In the future, we would greatly appreciate your taking your songs elsewhere during these periods. The insulation around the air conditioner is beginning to deteriorate, and we are running out of duct tape.
Our cats have also noted your extended family's frequent visits. Could you please restrict their flights directly outside our windows? Our cats have expressed a strong desire to join them in their cavorting, and I imagine that the cats, should they succeed in breaking through the window screen, would be surprised to learn that we live on the seventh floor. Also, your family's habit of garnishing our windows with excrement, while gracious, is beginning to lose its charm.
Speaking of family, let me be the first to congratulate you on your new arrivals! One small qualm: Though I have no doubt you are attentive and loving parents, I must ask that you feed your young with more frequency, as their cries for nourishment lack the variety and rich timbre of your own vocalizations.
My final concern has to do with the onset of summer. Since your fierce (though commendable) territoriality has precluded a thorough appraisal of your home, we are hesitant to turn on the air conditioner, fearing possible property damage and/or loss of life. The weather so far has been mild, but it is only a matter of time before high temperatures place us in a rather awkward position. I understand that birds generally head south during winter; however, in light of our circumstances, it would be optimal for you to take your vacation this summer instead. I'm afraid there is very little room for negotiation on this point. Our apartment gets unspeakably hot, and our concern for your well-being will evaporate as the mercury rises. Rest assured, you will be welcomed with open arms when you return (ideally in October).
Sincerely,
Vladimir Maicovski
Dear Neighbor,
Ever since last spring, when my girlfriend and I moved into the house next to yours, we've often wondered why you sit alone inside your pickup. I've witnessed you sitting inside your truck on several occasions, most recently when I pulled into my driveway tonight at 9:30 p.m. You always sit in a similar fashion to how I imagine undercover police officers sit: patient, content, yet searching for something. Sometimes you rest a hand on the steering wheel, lean an arm on the open window frame, and look as though you are about to drive away. Except you never do. You don't even start the truck. You just sit there. Alone.
You've made cordial small talk with me on occasion from the cab of your truck. There were a few times when I was out for a walk and saw you sitting in the truck. This is going to be awkward, I thought. And, sure enough, it was. As I pretended to fumble with my keys and hoped we'd avoid eye contact, you asked, "How are you doing?" On a cloudy day, you said, "Might rain." My two favorites were "Funny seeing you here" and "This truck, it sure is good." You see, it's not funny that you see me here—I live next door. And I certainly don't doubt that it's a good truck. Though I've never driven a late-'80s-model Chevy truck, especially one painted fire-engine red, I can say that I've certainly heard good things about them.
There have been days when you've spent more time in your truck than in your home. Sometimes your wife is home when you do this, sometimes not. When she is, I often wonder if she looks out the window and wonders why her husband is sitting alone in the cab of his truck. Most perplexing is when you sit in the truck during the hot summer months. You're a large man who has apparently had some medical problems—remember last summer when paramedics came to your house twice in one week? It gets very hot here, and I wouldn't leave a dog in the car, let alone a 50-something man who open-mouth-breathes loud enough for me to hear it from my balcony, 20 feet away.
Perhaps the radio reception in the truck is better than the reception in your house. I know that I can only listen to ESPN radio in my car, and I've sometimes left the engine running a few minutes after pulling into my driveway in order to hear a conversation finish up before a commercial break. But I've never listened to an entire show in the car. That would be silly. Or perhaps you simply enjoy the faux-leather upholstery of the bench seat in your cab. I would think that your legs would get stiff, but, hey, maybe that's just me. Maybe your favorite old recliner in the living room finally broke, and you simply enjoy the comfort of that seat. But I suspect you're avoiding something at home, some melancholy or despair that only sets in after you pass through that doorway. I have reached this conclusion for three reasons: (1) you sit inside your truck alone; (2) empty Budweiser cans are scattered in the bed of said truck; and (3) a handful of times, after you've sat in your truck for hours, you go into the house with a bouquet of tulips, presumably for your wife.
If you're doing this as part of a neighborhood-watch program, then let me thank you for attempting to keep our street safe. If you are doing this for any reason other than a neighborhood-watch program, it's kind of creepy. The other neighbors all wonder what the hell you're doing in there, and sometimes dogs, as they pass by your truck with their owners, bark at you. Still, it's your truck, and you are certainly free to sit inside of it alone whenever and wherever you see fit.
However, can you please not be shirtless? It just makes it all the more awkward when I have to walk past you when you're sitting alone inside your truck.
Sincerely,
Jay Varner
[ed. note -- i have quasi-similar experiences, sometimes, with our neighbour "Tony", an odd Aussie/American chain smoker and self-proclaimed sherriff of Alcorn. In order to get away from his conversational grip you need to always keep your legs moving. The second they stop, you're occupied forever...]
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE MAN WEARING A T-SHIRT THAT SAYS "IT ISN'T GOING TO SUCK ITSELF."
Dear Sir,
My guess is that the message on your T-shirt functions in several ways. First, as a bold and plain statement that you are confident about your desires, confident enough to have them spelled right out across your chest (nice chest, by the way). Second, it implies that you are a man of action, perhaps a little impatient, but a man able to state exactly what he wants. I think that's a great quality. Very admirable. No dilly-dallying with you. Third, it is possible that the T-shirt is a protest against the design of the human body, a comment about the limitations of our physical being. Did you know, for example, that if we had one set of ribs less we would all be able to bend over and do the job for ourselves? I like to be reminded of that, and I love the idea that if it were somehow useful for survival, and presupposing that Darwin got most of his shit right, we might someday evolve to where we all have penises that could actually suck themselves. Wow.
On its own, your T-shirt hints at a fairly crappy sense of humor, unless, of course, you are wearing the message for a reason. You could be promoting health and safety in some way. Perhaps you are an aid worker from Borneo or Australia, where it would be important to know that a bite from a poisonous snake or insect isn't going to suck itself but is going to require immediate medical attention. In which case I'd have the information in at least one other language. It's also incomplete, and might inspire the wrong response. I think you will find that most doctors do not recommend that venom be sucked out of a bite but, rather, advise that a tourniquet be tightly tied above the bite or wound—in which case the text should read "It Isn't Going to Suck Itself and Neither Should You!" I would also suggest a diagram of a little snake or something, just to make it perfectly clear.
Alternatively, it is possible that you are a sex therapist who works with people who are so anatomically naive and sexually inexperienced that they don't actually know that a penis can't suck itself. Hell, for the longest time I believed that women shat out babies, that babies came out of their asses! I really did! However, as an adult, I take it for granted that my sexual partners will have a better understanding of these kinds of things, but it's good to be reminded that we shouldn't always make such assumptions. In which case printing it on a T-shirt is a very, very good idea, and saves on unnecessary explanations and conversation—provided our prospective sexual partners can read.
To close, a small complaint. After you got off the Metro, the other passengers had to sit between stations listening to a small child ask his father, "What can't suck itself, Dad? Dad? What can't suck?"
Sincerely,
Richard House
On Nelly Furtado
I'm not usually much of a play-goer, but I strongly recommend everyone see The Real Thing this summer in Toronto. One of the best plays ever, it's supposed to be a great rendering of it. I hope to catch it in the next few weeks.
THE REAL THING Featuring Megan Follows, Albert Schultz. Written by Tom Stoppard. Directed by Diana Leblanc. Presented by Soulpepper Theatre Company and the National Arts Centre. To July 29. Mon-Sat 8pm; Sat 2pm. $29-$54; $25 students; $18 rush; $5 youth rush (21 and under). Young Centre, 55 Mill, bldg 49. 416-866-8666. www.soulpepper.ca.
Soulpepper's current production of Tom Stoppard's The Real Thing is superb in every way. The acting, direction and design all combine to present this highly intellectual comedy from 1982 with precision and feeling. The title initially refers to love since a man and woman break up their respective marriages because they think they have found the "real thing" with each other. Yet, this is only the starting point for Stoppard's investigation using various plays-within-plays of our perception of reality in general, whether in the theatre, politics or personal emotion. What interests Stoppard is how thoroughly fiction influences our perception of reality.
Albert Schultz plays Henry, a successful West End playwright who uses his Noel Cowardlike wit as a defence against expressing emotion. He breaks up with his equally witty actress wife Charlotte (the excellent Kristina Nicoll) to take up with another actress, Annie (Megan Follows). The great virtue of Diana Leblanc's direction is how clearly she emphasizes Henry's moral education as the throughline in a play that can seem like a series of clever set pieces. Schultz delineates Henry's change with great subtlety as he gradually comes to accept that life is messier than his absolutist views have allowed. Follows is outstanding in expressing what is said and unsaid in "real" love that accommodates both fallibility and forgiveness.
BABIES & PUPPIES: CAN THEY CO-EXIST?
Reading the Humane Society of the United States' suggestions for how to prepare your pet for the arrival of your baby made me realize how negligent my husband and I had been before our daughter's arrival 10 years ago. In the months before her birth, I was supposed to be anointing myself with eau de baby wipe to get our two cats accustomed to new scents. I should have held, bathed, and diapered a swaddled doll in their presence. Thank goodness I didn't have a dog then, or I'd have to take it for walks accompanied by the doll in the stroller. (The HSUS does not offer counsel for what to do if the neighbors start worrying you're suffering from prepartum psychosis.) Finally, I should have familiarized my pets with baby sounds by playing a recording of an infant crying. I found one here: www.preparingfido.com. The sample is so enjoyable it made me yearn for "Teen Party Next Door" and "Broken Car Alarm."
Thankfully, our lack of preparation didn't prove too detrimental. Our cats initially boycotted the new arrival, but as the months went by they became remarkably patient playmates, letting our daughter conclude their tails were hairy, interactive baby toys. (I hovered to make sure things didn't get too interactive.) Indeed, children and pets have been happily mixing it up for millenniums, and now there's evidence that such interactions are good for children's health. A study in the Journal of the American Medical Association found that children in multiple-pet households had about half the risk of developing allergies as children without pets—all those dog and cat licks might provide healthy stimulation to the child's immune system. But given that today's parents put locking devices on their toilets to protect their offspring, what are the sensible precautions one should take before baby and pet cohabitate?
The unbreakable rule of young children and pets is: Never leave them unsupervised. If things go wrong, particularly with a dog, tragedy can ensue. Cats don't typically present a biting hazard, but they often like to jump into a baby's crib or playpen to cuddle. It's unlikely, but a cat could suffocate an infant who's unable to push it away.
Rarely, a dog will mistake an infant for prey. Dr. Laurie Bergman, of the University of California Veterinary Medical Center in San Diego, helped clients turn around this potential disaster when their Jack Russell terrier was stalking their week-old baby. The couple was so terrified, they left the dog alone in the house and moved in with other family members. Dr. Bergman instructed the family to move back, keeping their dog outside for most of the day, so that it could get used to seeing the baby through the window. The dog was also allowed to go for walks on a leash with the baby in a stroller. By the time the son was a year old, the dog had accepted him as human, and they became happy playmates.
Owners must also convince the pet that the baby's arrival is not the worst thing to happen since the invention of spaying and neutering. Frequently owners make the mistake of only paying attention to the pet once the baby is down for a nap. The obvious conclusion in the pet's mind is, "Baby gone, life good." Dr. Marsha Reich, a Maryland veterinary behaviorist, says, "Try to find something that motivates the dog to couple with the baby. Throw the dog treats when you're nursing."
If pets are shunted aside, some may seek other ways to solicit attention. Shortly after one friend's first child was born, the cat, which had been ignored since the baby arrived, started limping dramatically on her hind leg. Many visits to the veterinarian later, the doctor remained unable to find a cause. Then one day the couple noticed that the cat only limped when it came upon the baby. Call it Munchausen's syndrome by feline.
Animal behaviorists warn that the most difficult moments in pet-child relations occur when the child becomes mobile. The animal is now confronted with toddling terror, and a once docile dog may growl and snap. But what looks like aggression is often fear: The dog finds itself cornered by a squealing, poking, pulling human. And the child, too young to realize a raised lip and growl means, "Please step away from the dog," continues to lunge.
Death by dog attack is extremely rare—about a dozen fatalities annually in the United States. But dog bites are common—around 4.7 million a year, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Of the 800,000 who need medical assistance, half are children, and the most frequent victims are between ages 5 and 9. Almost all the bites were inflicted by a known assailant—the family dog or that of a neighbor. (Those numbers become less alarming when you consider there are almost 70 million pet dogs in this country.) Animal behaviorists—who often are brought in to deal with the aftermath of a dog bite—say that attack statistics don't convey the dog's side of the story.
This is what happened to Sparky, a Dalmatian that bit a visiting 4-year-old boy. The boy had spent the day chasing the dog, climbing on him, and grabbing food from his bowl. Later, when Sparky was asleep, the boy approached him. The boy's mother heard Sparky growl just before her son was bitten on the face. The distraught owner called Dr. Bergman, wondering if she should euthanize her pet. Dr. Bergman instructed the owner to approach her dog, who was cowering behind the toilet. On Sparky's face were several small, crescent-shaped red marks. The boy had dug his fingernails in Sparky's face hard enough to draw blood. "It was a provoked bite," Dr. Bergman explained.
Then there's the other extreme in pet-child relations. Occasionally a pet will bond so completely with children that witnessing the daily upsets of child-rearing can become unbearable. Take the dog that Dr. Lynne Seibert, a veterinary behaviorist in Washington, was asked to help: The dog had become phobic about counting. Some detective work revealed that when the owner was about to discipline her toddler, she would give the child a warning of, "One, two, three." When the dog heard that, she knew her "sibling" was about to be punished. Seibert helped the owner desensitize her dog by sitting quietly with her, calmly counting.
Of course, the ultimate in pet-child devotion was portrayed in Peter Pan. Just think of the savings parents would reap if everyone could find a child-care provider like the Darlings': a "prim Newfoundland dog, called Nana. … She proved to be quite a treasure of a nurse." - Slate.
McSWEENEY'S OPEN LETTERS
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE BIRDS NESTING IN MY AIR CONDITIONER.
- - - -
Dear Birds,
While I am pleased that you have decided the air conditioner in my bedroom is the perfect place for you to reside, I feel obligated to voice a few concerns on behalf of the other inhabitants of our apartment. Please do not take this letter as a sign of ill will; I'm sure that if we can resolve these matters, peaceful cohabitation will be possible for many years to come.
Your habit of heralding each new day in song, while pleasant enough on weekdays, unfortunately becomes problematic on Saturdays and Sundays. We enjoy making the most of our weekends, but we don't necessarily feel we need to be roused at 5:30 a.m. to do so. In addition, your melodic chirping arouses the curiosity of our cats. You may have noticed the sustained scratching noises coming, from time to time, from our side of the air conditioner. In the future, we would greatly appreciate your taking your songs elsewhere during these periods. The insulation around the air conditioner is beginning to deteriorate, and we are running out of duct tape.
Our cats have also noted your extended family's frequent visits. Could you please restrict their flights directly outside our windows? Our cats have expressed a strong desire to join them in their cavorting, and I imagine that the cats, should they succeed in breaking through the window screen, would be surprised to learn that we live on the seventh floor. Also, your family's habit of garnishing our windows with excrement, while gracious, is beginning to lose its charm.
Speaking of family, let me be the first to congratulate you on your new arrivals! One small qualm: Though I have no doubt you are attentive and loving parents, I must ask that you feed your young with more frequency, as their cries for nourishment lack the variety and rich timbre of your own vocalizations.
My final concern has to do with the onset of summer. Since your fierce (though commendable) territoriality has precluded a thorough appraisal of your home, we are hesitant to turn on the air conditioner, fearing possible property damage and/or loss of life. The weather so far has been mild, but it is only a matter of time before high temperatures place us in a rather awkward position. I understand that birds generally head south during winter; however, in light of our circumstances, it would be optimal for you to take your vacation this summer instead. I'm afraid there is very little room for negotiation on this point. Our apartment gets unspeakably hot, and our concern for your well-being will evaporate as the mercury rises. Rest assured, you will be welcomed with open arms when you return (ideally in October).
Sincerely,
Vladimir Maicovski
Dear Neighbor,
Ever since last spring, when my girlfriend and I moved into the house next to yours, we've often wondered why you sit alone inside your pickup. I've witnessed you sitting inside your truck on several occasions, most recently when I pulled into my driveway tonight at 9:30 p.m. You always sit in a similar fashion to how I imagine undercover police officers sit: patient, content, yet searching for something. Sometimes you rest a hand on the steering wheel, lean an arm on the open window frame, and look as though you are about to drive away. Except you never do. You don't even start the truck. You just sit there. Alone.
You've made cordial small talk with me on occasion from the cab of your truck. There were a few times when I was out for a walk and saw you sitting in the truck. This is going to be awkward, I thought. And, sure enough, it was. As I pretended to fumble with my keys and hoped we'd avoid eye contact, you asked, "How are you doing?" On a cloudy day, you said, "Might rain." My two favorites were "Funny seeing you here" and "This truck, it sure is good." You see, it's not funny that you see me here—I live next door. And I certainly don't doubt that it's a good truck. Though I've never driven a late-'80s-model Chevy truck, especially one painted fire-engine red, I can say that I've certainly heard good things about them.
There have been days when you've spent more time in your truck than in your home. Sometimes your wife is home when you do this, sometimes not. When she is, I often wonder if she looks out the window and wonders why her husband is sitting alone in the cab of his truck. Most perplexing is when you sit in the truck during the hot summer months. You're a large man who has apparently had some medical problems—remember last summer when paramedics came to your house twice in one week? It gets very hot here, and I wouldn't leave a dog in the car, let alone a 50-something man who open-mouth-breathes loud enough for me to hear it from my balcony, 20 feet away.
Perhaps the radio reception in the truck is better than the reception in your house. I know that I can only listen to ESPN radio in my car, and I've sometimes left the engine running a few minutes after pulling into my driveway in order to hear a conversation finish up before a commercial break. But I've never listened to an entire show in the car. That would be silly. Or perhaps you simply enjoy the faux-leather upholstery of the bench seat in your cab. I would think that your legs would get stiff, but, hey, maybe that's just me. Maybe your favorite old recliner in the living room finally broke, and you simply enjoy the comfort of that seat. But I suspect you're avoiding something at home, some melancholy or despair that only sets in after you pass through that doorway. I have reached this conclusion for three reasons: (1) you sit inside your truck alone; (2) empty Budweiser cans are scattered in the bed of said truck; and (3) a handful of times, after you've sat in your truck for hours, you go into the house with a bouquet of tulips, presumably for your wife.
If you're doing this as part of a neighborhood-watch program, then let me thank you for attempting to keep our street safe. If you are doing this for any reason other than a neighborhood-watch program, it's kind of creepy. The other neighbors all wonder what the hell you're doing in there, and sometimes dogs, as they pass by your truck with their owners, bark at you. Still, it's your truck, and you are certainly free to sit inside of it alone whenever and wherever you see fit.
However, can you please not be shirtless? It just makes it all the more awkward when I have to walk past you when you're sitting alone inside your truck.
Sincerely,
Jay Varner
[ed. note -- i have quasi-similar experiences, sometimes, with our neighbour "Tony", an odd Aussie/American chain smoker and self-proclaimed sherriff of Alcorn. In order to get away from his conversational grip you need to always keep your legs moving. The second they stop, you're occupied forever...]
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE MAN WEARING A T-SHIRT THAT SAYS "IT ISN'T GOING TO SUCK ITSELF."
Dear Sir,
My guess is that the message on your T-shirt functions in several ways. First, as a bold and plain statement that you are confident about your desires, confident enough to have them spelled right out across your chest (nice chest, by the way). Second, it implies that you are a man of action, perhaps a little impatient, but a man able to state exactly what he wants. I think that's a great quality. Very admirable. No dilly-dallying with you. Third, it is possible that the T-shirt is a protest against the design of the human body, a comment about the limitations of our physical being. Did you know, for example, that if we had one set of ribs less we would all be able to bend over and do the job for ourselves? I like to be reminded of that, and I love the idea that if it were somehow useful for survival, and presupposing that Darwin got most of his shit right, we might someday evolve to where we all have penises that could actually suck themselves. Wow.
On its own, your T-shirt hints at a fairly crappy sense of humor, unless, of course, you are wearing the message for a reason. You could be promoting health and safety in some way. Perhaps you are an aid worker from Borneo or Australia, where it would be important to know that a bite from a poisonous snake or insect isn't going to suck itself but is going to require immediate medical attention. In which case I'd have the information in at least one other language. It's also incomplete, and might inspire the wrong response. I think you will find that most doctors do not recommend that venom be sucked out of a bite but, rather, advise that a tourniquet be tightly tied above the bite or wound—in which case the text should read "It Isn't Going to Suck Itself and Neither Should You!" I would also suggest a diagram of a little snake or something, just to make it perfectly clear.
Alternatively, it is possible that you are a sex therapist who works with people who are so anatomically naive and sexually inexperienced that they don't actually know that a penis can't suck itself. Hell, for the longest time I believed that women shat out babies, that babies came out of their asses! I really did! However, as an adult, I take it for granted that my sexual partners will have a better understanding of these kinds of things, but it's good to be reminded that we shouldn't always make such assumptions. In which case printing it on a T-shirt is a very, very good idea, and saves on unnecessary explanations and conversation—provided our prospective sexual partners can read.
To close, a small complaint. After you got off the Metro, the other passengers had to sit between stations listening to a small child ask his father, "What can't suck itself, Dad? Dad? What can't suck?"
Sincerely,
Richard House
On Nelly Furtado
posted by D @ 7:27 AM
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