West Side Story

Balls with Toddlers

 

Okay, kids, today we're going to learn about the colours of the rainbow, and we're going to use balls to do it. Hold up the brightest one in front of you. Jim, that's the wrong one. Yes, that's better! What you are holding is the colour yellow.

[fifteen minutes]

Well, that wasn't easy, now was it kids? Wanda, show me the green ball. No, that's blue. It's blue. Blue. Which is the green one. No, that's orange. Okay, put those two to one side. Phew. Now you've got five. Try another. Think green. Still off. Put it to one side.

[ten minutes]

Okay, now Nichol, help me out here. Just....Just pick up the green ball. No, no, no. That's yellow. That's where we started all this. You should know that by now. How many times do we have to go over it? Yellow. It's yellow. It's been yellow for like an hour now.

[five minutes]

Oh Christ okay Nancy pick up the f, pick up the gree, no, that's blue! Holy cow! What is wrong with you kids? Green. Pick up the, I can't believe you're not getting this! I can't believe it! It's just green! Green!

 

*

 

Summary of Chapter 1682 of the Mahabharata

 

Asked by Yudhishthira about his responsibility in causing Bhishma's death, Bhishma replied,

This is about a snake, a son, a mother, a hunter, Death (Mrityu), and Time/Destiny (Kala).

A snake killed a son. The snake was caught by a hunter, who took it to the son's mother.

The hunter said, "This snake killed your son. Allow me to kill the snake to provide dharma."

The mother said, "Do not kill it. What purpose would that serve? Nothing can bring back my son."

The hunter said, "The act would provide balance."

The snake said, "Do not. I was acting under the orders of Death. I was a mere instrument. Seek revenge upon Death."

Death appeared. To the snake he said, "I in turn was an instrument of Time/Destiny. I too am innocent."

The hunter said, "I hold you both guilty."

"We are instruments of Time/Destiny."

Time/Destiny appeared. "Though it appears I am the cause, I am not. I myself am merely an instrument of Dharma. It is people's deeds that determine my acts. It was because of the son's deeds that he died."

All departed.

In this way, Yudhishthira, Time/Destiny killed me, not you.

 

*

 

It was Thursday, which meant it was Bob's day to go outside and mow down some facts.

By the back door he pulled on his fireproofer, pocketed the keys to the factmower, and pulled the assignment clipboard off its hook and shoved it under his arm.

The sun was nice on his face. He had to toss an empty Bacardi's bottle onto the back seat before getting into the factmower. "Karyn should clean up after herself."

First on the list was the new neighbour's narrative about the position of the fence. Bob put the rig in second gear, passed over the argument, backed up and ran it over again, and voilà, it was like the idea had never even existed.

Next he had to to eradicate some weedy perennials from town, country, and world. Endless thankless task!

Finally he had to run over this guy who threatened to blow the whistle on the whole corrupt shebang.

Task done, he returned to his workstation to make up some clever sentences. He was determined to make sentences resistant to the neighbour's factmower. "All it takes is convolution. Use litotes wherever possible. If no-one can understand it rationally, we can go straight to emotions."

 

*

 

In September 1957, Louis 'Pops' Armstrong went to his agent's office in New York City for a check-in after the release of Satchmo the Great. The agent was sitting with a pointy-head white guy with a thingie the size of a matchbox.

"Pops, c'mon in," said the agent.

Pops sat down.

"This," said the agent, "is Professor Dingle D. Dwighthauser of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Show Pops the device, Prof."

The Prof showed Pops the thing. The Prof pressed a little button on the side and out of a tiny speaker came the familiar strains of 'West End Blues.'

Pops laughed out loud, "Well shit, how'd you get that fuckin' song on that little thing?"

The Prof pressed the button twice and the music became 'Potato Head Blues.'

Pops whistled. "Two tunes!"

"More than that," said the Prof. "I got eight hundred your tracks on this here unit."

"In hi-fi?"

The Prof squirmed. "Pretty low-fi, I'm afraid."

"No mind, no mind." He shook his head. "Sad, though. All my shit done up in a thing I could swalla. All that blood in there. So how much at retail?"

The Prof squirmed. "Seventeen billion dollars, I'm afraid."

Pops whistled ambiguously.

 

*

 

Having penned precisely his column destined to be published on election morn, Mr Friedman departed to his gentleman's club accompanied by his manservant James.

"My column is very influential," spoke Mr Friedman as he ascended into his cabriolet.

"Yes, sir," said James.

"I know more about the ethos of the demos than any other belletrist alive. Have I ever told you, James, about the day I spent engaged in manual labour?"

"Often, sir."

"Well!" Mr Friedman blew vociferously, causing his walrus moustache to parallel the horizon. "Touché," he muttered.

Mr Friedman and James entered the Old Boy's Club and were seated and sat (respectively) at and near (respectively) the Poet's Table. Mr Friedman nodded to Mr Krugman and Mr Brooks and proceeded to rhapsode, "'The people united shall never be divided.'"

"Hear hear!" cried his confrères.

Mr Friedman eyed Mr Krugman's stemware appreciatively. "A 1995 Aîné La Chapelle Hermitage, I believe."

Mr Krugman raised an eyebrow. "1996, my good man."

Tasteful guffaws rounded the table.

Mr Brooks queried, "How went the column, Mr Friedman?"

Mr Friedman replied, "Very nicely. I overcame decorum‑such are the stakes‑and declared the enemy's candidate both a BOUNDER and a BLIGHTER!"

"Hear hear!" cried his confrères.

 

*

 

"No, I didn't hear that, what did you say?... I'm on the streetcar, I can't look anything up.... It says what?... Where?... No kidding.... I can't.... What's Lolita Island again?... And the FBI reported this to be a fact?... With his daughters?... This can't be.... So wow, while he was masturbating his daughters would.... What's that called, copro.... Copro...philia?... Right on his face?... I said I don't have access to any Internet here, I'm on the streetcar, I couldn't look up something so NSFW here.... That's such a mix of perversions I have trouble seeing it through.... Well, yes, the FBI.... This was all gathered by Russians?... They got movies and everything?... Have you seen one of these movies?... Ah, the Dark Net.... How can I doubt you? You've never really lied to me before.... But wait, wasn't the secret service there too?... I'm not poking holes in it, I'm just asking.... And they look so normal too.... Right on his face, and he likes it? He eats it? That's pretty ... unusual, I'd say. What times!... Well, I suppose he might be impeachable, maybe.... But what's the point? He's only in office for, what, six more days or something?"

 

*

 

boy its a complicatd world and your life

wont be any less complicatd

because see i was in high school once

((this is an example

see))

but before that when my brother Paul

((four years older than

me))

well when i was in the seventh grade

he got into high school theatre as a "stage manager"

because this guy namd Ted Lonsdale showd up

at the h.s. and offerd to teach theatre by putting on shows

so i got into ten shows in total and got into

performance

((& continue it now))

(dont got space

to name them all)

and i became the thing i am today

what.ev.er.

and Ted Lonsdale made it happen

 

i went to ryerson for RTA

(not into theatre because Paul did that)

got a degree

worked a bit

((etcetra another story boy))

 

round about 2000 Paul talked bad

about Ted Lonsdale

sd he was a bum now

robbd his wife for drugs

'probably living on the street'

 

two weeks ago ran into h.s. friend Sue

who told me Ted Lonsdale yes out in the east end

evictd on the skids

count your blessings while you can son

he sd and drank a glass of bourbon