"Makers of fine coats."
If you’re interested, I would happily come over to your house and read the book to you for half that. “I imagine you’ve seen quite a few bananafish in your day,” the young man said. Sybil shook her head. “You haven’t? Where do you live, anyway?” “I don’t know,” said Sybil. “Sure you know. You must know. Sharon Lipschutz knows where she lives and she’s only three and a half.” Sybil stopped walking and yanked her hand away from him. She picked up an ordinary beach shell and looked at it with elaborate interest. She threw it down. “Whirly Wood, Connecticut,” she said, and resumed walking, stomach foremost. “Whirly Wood, Connecticut,” said the young man. “Is that anywhere near Whirly Wood, Connecticut, by any chance?” Sybil looked at him. “That’s where I live,” she said impatiently. “I live in Whirly Wood, Connecticut.” She ran a few steps ahead of him, caught up her left foot in her left hand, and hopped two or three times. “You have no idea how clear that makes everything,” the young man said. Sybil released her foot. “Did you read `Little Black Sambo’?” she said. “It’s very funny you ask me that,” he said. “It so happens I just finished reading it last night.” He reached down and took back Sybil’s hand. “What did you think of it?” he asked her. “Did the tigers run all around that tree?” “I thought they’d never stop. I never saw so many tigers.” “There were only six,” Sybil said. “Only six!” said the young man. “Do you call that only?” “Do you like wax?” Sybil asked. “Do I like what?” asked the young man. “Wax.” “Very much. Don’t you?” Sybil nodded. “Do you like olives?” she asked. “Olives—yes. Olives and wax. I never go anyplace without ‘em.” “Do you like Sharon Lipschutz?” Sybil asked. “Yes. Yes, I do,” said the young man. “What I like particularly about her is that she never does anything mean to little dogs in the lobby of the hotel. That little toy bull that belongs to that lady from Canada, for instance. You probably won’t believe this, but some little girls like to poke that little dog with balloon sticks. Sharon doesn’t. She’s never mean or unkind. That’s why I like her so much.” Sybil was silent. “I like to chew candles,” she said finally. “Who doesn’t?” said the young man, getting his feet wet. “Wow! It’s cold.” He dropped the rubber float on its back. “No, wait just a second, Sybil. Wait’ll we get out a little bit.” They waded out till the water was up to Sybil’s waist. Then the young man picked her up and laid her down on her stomach on the float. “Don’t you ever wear a bathing cap or anything?” he asked. “Don’t let go,” Sybil ordered. “You hold me, now.” “Miss Carpenter. Please. I know my business,” the young man said. “You just keep your eyes open for any bananafish. This is a perfect day for bananafish.” “I don’t see any,” Sybil said. “That’s understandable. Their habits are very peculiar.” He kept pushing the float. The water was not quite up to his chest. “They lead a very tragic life,” he said. “You know what they do, Sybil?” She shook her head. “Well, they swim into a hole where there’s a lot of bananas. They’re very ordinary-looking fish when they swim in. But once they get in, they behave like pigs. Why, I’ve known some bananafish to swim into a banana hole and eat as many as seventy-eight bananas.” He edged the float and its passenger a foot closer to the horizon. “Naturally, after that they’re so fat they can’t get out of the hole again. Can’t fit through the door.” “Not too far out,” Sybil said. “What happens to them?” “What happens to who?” “The bananafish.” “Oh, you mean after they eat so many bananas they can’t get out of the banana hole?” “Yes,” said Sybil. “Well, I hate to tell you, Sybil. They die.” “Why?” asked Sybil. “Well, they get banana fever. It’s a terrible disease.” “Here comes a wave,” Sybil said nervously. “We’ll ignore it. We’ll snub it,” said the young man. “Two snobs.” He took Sybil’s ankles in his hands and pressed down and forward. The float nosed over the top of the wave. The water soaked Sybil’s blond hair, but her scream was full of pleasure. With her hand, when the float was level again, she wiped away a flat, wet band of hair from her eyes, and reported, “I just saw one.” “Saw what, my love?” “A bananafish.” “My God, no!” said the young man. “Did he have any bananas in his mouth?” “Yes,” said Sybil. “Six.” The young man suddenly picked up one of Sybil’s wet feet, which were drooping over the end of the float, and kissed the arch. “Hey!” said the owner of the foot, turning around. “Hey, yourself We’re going in now. You had enough?” “No!” “Sorry,” he said, and pushed the float toward shore until Sybil got off it. He carried it the rest of the way. “Goodbye,” said Sybil, and ran without regret in the direction of the hotel. Oddly the grammar was the most thought out part of this rhetorical question. The Tonight Show with Lisa Bonet. Sure, whatever, she should gets shows. Hey, do you want to see a film of my circumcision? No? From the Department of Why Would Anybody Choose to Film This, here is a home movie of my bris. While there’s nothing graphic in this video, you will see the most judicious use of a jump cut in the history of cinema. Am I right, people? Fun fact, the man doing the cutting is the brother of comedian Jackie Mason. Jackie Mason uses the comedic devise of hyperbole to demonstrate how much his brother took off. No Jackie, that’s ridiculous. I was just a baby. “He did it!” For those who watched and chuckled knowingly at the “Is this a real thing?” absurdity when the “Tommy and the Cool Mule” trailer was making the rounds last year but haven’t actually sat down and watched the movie, well, you’re missing out on these great things: While I was home recently, my parents proceeded to (try to) tell me a story. Both started in the middle, gave very few details, assumed I knew enough about the story already to the point that they probably didn’t even have to tell it in the first place and kept telling each other that they were telling it wrong. Allis wondered aloud what it would be like if my parents did the news. I would inevitably have to also be sitting at the anchor desk in order to move them along a bit. Here they are covering the recent airline terror attack: MOM For reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, this is weird. Also, as a Chevy Chase/music side note, because at the time when the song “You Can Call Me Al” came out I had no idea what Art Garfunkel looked like apart from being aware that he was much taller than Paul Simon, I wasn’t sure if it was Chevy Chase in the video or Garfunkel just looked like Chevy Chase. As it turns out, they’re both tall.


Tommy and the Cool Mule Redux
My Parents Do the News (Part 1)
Did you hear about the guy?
DAD
Which one?
MOM
You know, the one. That guy.
DAD
David, did you hear about the guy?
MOM
He had it in his lap.
DAD
You’re not telling it right.
MOM
You tell it.
DAD
He had it in his lap.
ME
What are you talking about?
MOM
It was in his lap.
ME
What was in whose lap?
DAD
It was on the plane.
MOM
Where were they going?
DAD
Well they were going to Detroit.
ME
What are you talking about?
MOM
The guy in Detroit.
DAD
On his lap.

