ONE
“I’ve always wanted a cat called Salvador Dali.”
Pause
“But the problem is I don’t really like cats. I could get a dog of course. But a dog called Salvador Dali wouldn’t be quite the same as a cat called Salvador Dali, would it?”
“No, of course not”
“You like Persistence of Memory I suppose?”
“No. Gala actually”
“Oh…..Adams makes a lot of sense”
“I know.”
“We’re all self-replicating algorithms.”
“He said that?”
“No. I said that…makes you feel quite let down, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“The fact that we’re all just self-replicating algos”
“Well, I certainly like to think that we’re a little more than that. In fact, we are.”
“No we aren’t. Cells make more cells like themselves and sometimes some code fragments join together, bugs, and we have evolution.”
“Oh come on, we think, we eat, we grow.”
“We always eat with our mouths- the same monotonous mastication. We grow, yeah, didn’t I say self replicating?”
“But that’s how we eat. That’s…”
“Exactly. We’re algorithms”
“We think!”
“No we don’t.”
“Like duh…we do”
“No we don’t. We’d still be cavemen if we’d thought just a little before inventing the wheel or whatever.”
“You’re crazy.”
“We didn’t think. If we had, we’d have stuck to caves and not made computers that hang and bridges that fall down and planes that crash and economies that are volatile. Look at fish. They haven’t problems. They stuck to being fish. They thought. We’re dumb.”
“You couldn’t live without electricity and flights and stuff. Now you’re being quite hypocritical.”
“Of course I can’t. My ancestors didn’t think. Aren’t you listening?”
You know you’re screwed when she starts making sense.
Damn.
TWO
“I would like to leave off one and pick up another you know.”
“What?”
“Life, of course. What else would it be?”
“Several things. But never mind.”
“Like Langwidere, though it wasn’t a life, of course. But I wonder where she keeps her brain though”
“Like what thing?”
“Langwidere. You weren’t brought up on Oz? You’ve had a terribly deprived childhood.”
“You had worse. You never had cotton candy.”
“That’s different. It was supposed to be unhealthy. It is, in fact. One oughtn’t to have it. Oz is quite another thing.”
“You drink.”
“Yeah”
“It wasn’t a question.”
“Eh?”
“I just proved my point, but never mind.”
“Where was I?”
“Lang something and her brain”
“Yeah…”
“Well?”
“Well nothing. I just wonder that’s all.”
“The point of this conversation being?”
“Langwidere’s brain, of course.”
“Ah…and picking up one and leaving another?”
“Yeah, there is nothing to say about that. I am.
“You are what?”
“Going to be your friendly neighbourhood supermarket cashier henceforth. I’m fully qualified for it.”
And she did. My wife is a chartered financial analyst, among other things, and hence ‘fully qualified’.
THREE
“No. Not fancy food. I want regular food, you know. I want junk. Fries! And burgers! And coffee in awful dull white cheap porcelain.”
“There’s a McDonald’s down the street to the right. What say?”
“No! I don’t want that. I don’t want conveyor belt food.”
“I thought you liked it. You eat it all the time, liar!”
“I do... Did…. Don’t know….”
“Come on, let’s get you something to eat. I could cook, you know.”
“You’re nice… Why?”
“Aren’t I always?”
“Okay, what do you want?”
“Nothing. I’m simply endowed with a charming personality.”
“Yeah, right, we’re married you know.”
“Doesn’t cut it any more, huh? So, anyway, McDonald’s?”
“Noooo… I want diner food. From diners. No chains.”
“Erm.. It could turn out terrible you know.”
“So much more individual don’t you think? No patty is the same.. the coffee is different each time.. the rolls are whiter some days, softer other days..”
“Yeah, terrible food.”
“Much more character.”
“That’s simply another word for terrible, idiot.”
“You’re obsessed with sameness. Stick in the mud!”
“No.. I just like good reliable food. Idiot.”
“You know I rather think they’ll make us all on conveyor belts soon.”
“Brave New World , eh?”
“Yeah, and they’ll look at us like that you know.”
“Who? Like what?”
“Everyone! Stuff…!”
“Ala
“Naivete!”
“Ha!”
“Don’t ha me, you! 1984 is happening!”
“Whatever.. so cook, eat out, what?”
“I don’t want to be conveyor belt-ed.”
“And I bloody well want good food. McD it is.”
“You don’t know it, but they’re controlling you.”
“Um.. time for the couch hon?”
“Ha! Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they aren’t after you!”
“Kurt Cobain?!! You’re basing your philosophy on him?!”
“Why not? He’s a genius.”
“With a guitar, an idiot otherwise.”
“You don’t own a xylys. It owns you.”
“I think you’re delirious. Could be the hunger, or general insanity. The latter is likelier I imagine.”
“The ad. Of a crappy watch. Didn’t see it?”
“Huh? It OWNS you?”
“Scary though, huh? Who’d want to actually voluntarily buy that watch?!”
“Bondage freaks!”
“Ah! Now it all makes sense. It owns you it seems!”
“Can we continue this pointless conversation in the car? I’m dying!”
“Diner”
“McD”
“Diner”
“McD”
“See! It owns you!”
“Whatever. McD! I’m driving!”
FOUR
“Hey.”
“Um?”
“I said hey!”
“Um-hmm”
“Listen.”
“I am”
“No you’re not. You’re staring at the paper”
“I’m multi-tasking. What is it?”
“I’ve an idea.”
“Uh-oh. That does not bode well for me.”
“It’s nothing crazy.”
“Last time it was fla Iceland
“This is not like that. This is not. Listen. Please. It is really important to me.”
Pregnant pause. Awkward.
“Er… You think we’re ready for that honey?”
“For what?”
“For… you know..”
“I don’t know. What?”
“Nothing… whatever.”
“Tell me or I’ll pour my coffee in your shorts. You know I will.”
“It was nothing okay? I just thought you wanted to talk about…”
“You’re getting there… come on…”
“Kids… and stuff…”
And she’s laughing! How on earth did I marry this annoying aggravating crazy woman? How? How did she trick me into it? Why did I not listen to my better sense?
“KIDS!” More laughing.
“KIDS?!!” And there she goes again.
“No no don’t leave honey, I think its sweet that you’re thinking about that and all… you know…” Another explosion of laughter.
“Oh yeah? And that’s your sheer joy at my sweetness?”
“No no no. I just nev
“I can hear giggling, snorting. Hey you aren’t even trying to stop. I’m leaving. Let go of my paper. Damn you woman, don’t tear my shirt. Yao
“Sit sit sit please.”
“Why is it so hilarious for me to ask about this stuff? I mean, I’m just being responsible, thinking ahead and stuff…”
More explosive laughter.
“I mean just a second ago you were berating my ideas and calling me crazy. Just one of those look-who’s-talking moments for me!”
“You’re equating getting a flame-thrower and moving to a volcano in Iceland
“Imagine having a daughter like me.”
“Oh.”
“My point exactly.”
I hate her. I really do.
“So…er…what were you going to tell me?”
“Now you’re all ears eh?”
“I’m leaving okay? Just tell me if you want to.”
“Alright alright. I had this idea.”
“Waiting for it Einstein.”
“Let’s do a genealogical test on us!” Long pause. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Why don’t you say something?”
“What am I supposed to say? Isn’t it expensive? Is it even possible?”
“Of course it is. I read up on it and everything. You know you could be a bit more supportive of me. You always… you nev nev
“My ideas relate to equity-linked pension plans and retirement schemes and about how to invest our money. Yours are about fla
“Ah poor del
“Whatever.”
“So what about my idea?”
“What about it? Does it matter what I think? You’ll just do what you think anyway.”
“That’s not true. We’re not living in a volcano in Iceland
“Thankfully not.”
“What if we found out that we’re really descendants of …oh.. the Egypt
“Highly unlikely given we’re from the deep south of India
“How do you know?”
“Because I was born there and I believe, so were you.”
“I’m getting it done. I don’t care how much it costs or anything.”
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
“Huh? Really?”
“Really. I mean you could find that you’re one of the illegitimate children of Timur the Lame or Genghis Khan or maybe you’re the secret daughter of Casanova or… oh… how about this – Mussolini? Better still, Hitler? Oh and Stalin?”
“Shut up. I am not!”
“You could be. The chances of you being related to Hitler or Queen of Sheba are about the same I’d say.”
“No they aren’t. I am nothing like Hitler!”
“Ha!”
“You think I could be related to Hitler?”
“Stalin, more likely.”
“Oh.”
“Honey, how does it matter?”
“No… What if I am? What if I am related to Stalin or a mass-murderer or… or… a rapist or some sort of a…”
“So what? Why does it matter where you come from?”
“I could seriously be deranged. You’re always saying I am! Maybe I am. Maybe its genetic.”
“Bullshit. I love you, you silly idiot. Even if you are the direct female descendant of Erzsebet Bathory and you murdered my great-great-great-whatnots. It doesn’t matter.”
“Who’s Er-whoever?”
“Sort of a female equivalent of Vlad Tepes I think. Doesn’t matter… point is. Well, it doesn’t matter because you’re you and you’re great and well, I love you. God! Why do I even have to explain this?”
“Nah… just wanted to hear you sing my praises. Ha-ha!”
“Oh you manipulative, you cunning…”
“So you really thought about kids eh? How about it?”
“No”
“Imagine tiny little kids screaming all day, tearing your newspaper, crapping over the floor, drooling on your shoulder, peeing on you”
“Shut up.”
“Spilling your coffee. Ha! Kids with my genes definitely would.”
“That’s enough!”
“And, oh maybe we’ll have quadruplets or a dozen-uplets. How do you say that? Twelve-uplets? Dodecahexaplets?”
“Enough!”
“Imagine. Twelve. Or just twins. That’ll be bad enough.”
“No”
“Maybe we can get a puppy.”
“Maybe we can”
“Nah.. but nothing beats having a kid.”
“Puppy”
“Kid”
“Puppy”
“Kid, lets make one. Right now!”
“Your wily charms don’t work me. We’re getting a puppy! And I’m leaving. Right now. Let go of me. Yaouch..!”
Next one's a new post, I swear. :)
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