The 5:11 Post
7 January 2009
As he rubbed his face and sighed, he thought again. No. Not now. Not ever. The latest batch of that crap is gonna be the end of it all. The lightbulbs are all going out. The cows are coming home to roost, and the goose is right around the corner–she didn’t see her shadow after all. Sorry Bill, three more years of frozen pizza.
He just couldn’t get back to the basics. The sheep were there, the leather straps, the large Asian woman with the tiny feet and the Vegas showgirl smile. How in the heck was he supposed to finish the little woodcarvings of 1950′s tennis stars at such a tiny desk? She didn’t know, Mr. Farfel didn’t know, and the large Asian showgirl was way too busy practicing her Leno impersonation to care. Goddamnit. Nitpickers. Everyone always getting in the way of his little inventions.
The first set was such a playful bunch. Bunny rabbits and crickets being chased by rhinos and Masai hunters. Later, we watched them sit quietly next to a Honda generator, next to a Magnavox on the savannah watching Melrose Place in French. Jane had just freaked out on Sydney… Why? Well, Michael of course. The fulcrum character. The evil charming doctor whose antics pitted all the attractive borderline personality disorders against one another. No one cared about a thing in the world except what would happen to Joe’s baby.
In the end, the birds would take flight in the peace of dusk, their soaring reflected in the pools where the hippos waded in the rising moonlight. The hunters turned the generator off, laid their spears and heads on the cracked earth, and settled in for gentle dreams of American breasts and swinging Pantene Pro V hairstyles.
