A story about my brother.
This happened a few weeks ago, apologies to those who've heard me tell this before.
My youngest brother Ichigo and I (Yes, I changed the name. Not that most of you don't know his name, but I like the illusion of anonymity) were chatting on the phone not too long ago, and I forget what exactly led to this statement, but Ichigo said that something or the other tasted nasty, like the wood used in model airplanes.
Me: You mean balsa wood?
Ichigo: Yes! That stuff's nasty.
Me: Oh. ...So, why do you know what model airplanes taste like?
Ichigo: Because I bit into one.
Me: Ah. ...Why did you bite into a model airplane?
Ichigo: Well, what if it was secretly delicious?
He led me to believe that this is a standing policy for him, biting into seemingly unedible things to test for secret deliciousness. I keep meaning to ask him what else he's sampled but I always forget when we're on the phone together. Luka says she has seen him bite a vacuum cleaner because he "was being a vampire" (please correct me if I'm misquoting, Luka).
Last night I was remembering this conversation and it occured to me to recommend to Ichigo that he open a restaurant in New York City which serves garbage. After all, by the time he's old enough to open a restaurant he may have discovered some hidden delicacies which would reside in your average dumpster, and what better place to charge $50 for a plate of, say, minced bicycle tires tossed with mildewed clothes marinated in used motor oil and STD-laced bodily fluids? I'm guessing, of course, Ichigo alone knows the palatable worth of these items.
Also, yay, I have contributed to Neil Gaiman's blog again, linking him to a video of a human slingshot. Studio Whipping Boy, the studio I am a member of, was also linked when we were donating proceeds from some prints and other products to the Red Cross after Katrina. Actually I wasn't a studio member then, but had some wings in on it as well. I know a gothic beauty whose lovely Snow, Glass, and Apples doll was linked also. So when I show up on his doorstep slowly cradling the limp body of one of his cats which I have suffocated to death by pressing against my chest while muttering "I love you, that which has been touched by him" and cheerily let him know that I think we should be bestest best friends, I'm sure it will resolve happily.
My youngest brother Ichigo and I (Yes, I changed the name. Not that most of you don't know his name, but I like the illusion of anonymity) were chatting on the phone not too long ago, and I forget what exactly led to this statement, but Ichigo said that something or the other tasted nasty, like the wood used in model airplanes.
Me: You mean balsa wood?
Ichigo: Yes! That stuff's nasty.
Me: Oh. ...So, why do you know what model airplanes taste like?
Ichigo: Because I bit into one.
Me: Ah. ...Why did you bite into a model airplane?
Ichigo: Well, what if it was secretly delicious?
He led me to believe that this is a standing policy for him, biting into seemingly unedible things to test for secret deliciousness. I keep meaning to ask him what else he's sampled but I always forget when we're on the phone together. Luka says she has seen him bite a vacuum cleaner because he "was being a vampire" (please correct me if I'm misquoting, Luka).
Last night I was remembering this conversation and it occured to me to recommend to Ichigo that he open a restaurant in New York City which serves garbage. After all, by the time he's old enough to open a restaurant he may have discovered some hidden delicacies which would reside in your average dumpster, and what better place to charge $50 for a plate of, say, minced bicycle tires tossed with mildewed clothes marinated in used motor oil and STD-laced bodily fluids? I'm guessing, of course, Ichigo alone knows the palatable worth of these items.
Also, yay, I have contributed to Neil Gaiman's blog again, linking him to a video of a human slingshot. Studio Whipping Boy, the studio I am a member of, was also linked when we were donating proceeds from some prints and other products to the Red Cross after Katrina. Actually I wasn't a studio member then, but had some wings in on it as well. I know a gothic beauty whose lovely Snow, Glass, and Apples doll was linked also. So when I show up on his doorstep slowly cradling the limp body of one of his cats which I have suffocated to death by pressing against my chest while muttering "I love you, that which has been touched by him" and cheerily let him know that I think we should be bestest best friends, I'm sure it will resolve happily.