GISHWHES: Thursday
Item 119:
“I have kind of a weird request for you,” I said into the phone. I had been saying that a lot over the past few days. Luckily, this time the request really wasn’t that weird in the grand scheme of things.
“I’m doing an online scavenger hunt, and one of the items is a video of me reciting The Raven to a crow. I’ve volunteered at your rehabilitation center before - I know you sometimes get injured carrion birds. I was wondering if you have any crows or ravens or… large black birds of any kind at the moment. And if so, can I come by tomorrow to read them some poetry?”
The girl on the other end of the phone managed to hide her laughing quite well. “If we had any teaching birds like that, I’d say it was fine,” she said, “But all we have right now are some injured crows that someone brought in, and we can’t allow people to visit them in case it stresses them out.”
I probably could have argued it a little harder, but I know what it’s like to be protective of your patients. “I totally get it,” I said, “Thanks for your time.”
I hung up.
“No luck?” said Elise, glancing away from the road to notice my disappointed face.
“No luck,” I replied, slouching in the passenger seat, “Oh, a crow!”
We froze. Sure enough, a crow had just flown right in front of our windshield and landed on a lawn just to the side of the road. Our momentum quickly took us past it and down the block until it was out of sight.
I looked at Elise plaintively.
“Do you want me to stop?” she asked.
“Yes…” I squeaked.
“It’s raining pretty hard,” she pointed out.
“Yeah…” I said.
“And you want to get out of the car and chase a bird to recite poetry at it.”
“Yes.”
I’m not sure the crow appreciated it, but everyone who witnessed me yelling Poe up at a power line in the pouring rain sure seemed to find it amusing.
Item 102:
“No, no,” I told Elise, “I have a vision for this one.”
Elise had put up with a lot from me that day. She had driven me around to various stores collecting kale, cucumbers, spray cheese, an apple, several yards of cloth, and an ungodly amount of Jello. She’d climbed into an industrial-sized recycle bin for me. Most recently, she’d hollowed out a spaghetti squash and helped me duct tape it to my foot.
I would have to buy her dinner later.
“You have to get my iPod playing Carry On Wayward Son before I plug my headphones in,” I told her. The spaghetti squash didn’t feel so bad on my foot now that Elise had sawed off the back to make room for my heel, but it was starting to crack. The butternut squash on my right foot - the one I had hollowed out myself - was in no danger of cracking but was exceedingly, painfully uncomfortable.
“Okay,” said Elise.
“And then when I edit it,” I said, “I’ll put the ‘Don’t you cry no-o more dun-dun dun dun DUN!’ at the end as I’m running away.” I waited for her to look impressed.
“Okay,” said Elise.
On the first take, one of my shoes flew off. A little more duct tape, and on the second take I made it ten yards or so down the sidewalk before I gave up and limped back to Elise.
“Let me see!” I demanded.
The video was perfect. Except that Elise had filmed it in portrait and the video from my camera always, no matter what, uploads in landscape. I would have to run in the gourd-shoes again.
“I hate you,” I told Elise as I added more duct tape to the places where the spaghetti squash was in danger of losing pieces.
“No you don’t,” she said.
“WHAT THE HELL?” said a passerby. He was the first person to comment on what we were doing at all since we arrived.
I took off running for a third time. A chunk of spaghetti squash almost immediately fell off, but I didn’t stop. I wouldn’t get another chance at this shot and I would be damned if I was going to hollow out another squash that day.
Item 70:
We were walking down the street when I asked, “What time is it?”
“5:55PM”
“What time does the bus come?”
“On the hour.”
That gave me pause. “If the bus comes,” I said, “Please tell me so I can put my clothes back on.”
“Okay,” said Dylan. Dylan was some kind of guardian angel. He was the kind of friend of a friend who, when you send him an incomprehensible text message about a scavenger hunt and reenacting the seduction of Eve, responds, “Sure, I have a pet snake you can use! There’s a bus stop not too far from my place too.” And then offers you one of his coats to wear over your fig leaves.
I’d never met him before that day but I was already developing a GISH-crush on him.
While Dylan advised me about how best to find a car predating 1980 (for item 35), Elise gave me a knowing look. I was doing that awkward shuffling maneuver one does to try to get one’s underwear back into place. Except in this case, my underwear consisted of a felt fig leaf that was in danger of coming unstuck from my groin.
We got to the bus stop. Dylan handed over his snake (a gorgeous little ball python) and Elise handed me my apple. I looked in every direction. There were any number of places where a person could suddenly appear to witness the scene.
“Is the bus coming?” I asked.
“No,” Elise assured me.
I shrugged out of the coat, leaving only a fig leaf loincloth and two fig leaf pasties to cover me.
“You’re still wearing your shoes,” said Dylan helpfully.
Elise busted up laughing. “YOU’RE NOT NAKED ENOUGH, BITCH!” she choked.
I kicked off my shoes, held up the snake, and set my teeth against the apple. “Take the goddamn picture!” I hissed.
“I’m pretty sure Eve didn’t wear a watch, either,” said Dylan.
Item 70 prologue
“I have kind of a weird request for you,” I said into the phone. I had been saying that a lot over the past few days. Luckily, this time the request really wasn’t that weird in the grand scheme of things.
“I’m doing an online scavenger hunt, and one of the items is a video of me reciting The Raven to a crow. I’ve volunteered at your rehabilitation center before - I know you sometimes get injured carrion birds. I was wondering if you have any crows or ravens or… large black birds of any kind at the moment. And if so, can I come by tomorrow to read them some poetry?”
The girl on the other end of the phone managed to hide her laughing quite well. “If we had any teaching birds like that, I’d say it was fine,” she said, “But all we have right now are some injured crows that someone brought in, and we can’t allow people to visit them in case it stresses them out.”
I probably could have argued it a little harder, but I know what it’s like to be protective of your patients. “I totally get it,” I said, “Thanks for your time.”
I hung up.
“No luck?” said Elise, glancing away from the road to notice my disappointed face.
“No luck,” I replied, slouching in the passenger seat, “Oh, a crow!”
We froze. Sure enough, a crow had just flown right in front of our windshield and landed on a lawn just to the side of the road. Our momentum quickly took us past it and down the block until it was out of sight.
I looked at Elise plaintively.
“Do you want me to stop?” she asked.
“Yes…” I squeaked.
“It’s raining pretty hard,” she pointed out.
“Yeah…” I said.
“And you want to get out of the car and chase a bird to recite poetry at it.”
“Yes.”
I’m not sure the crow appreciated it, but everyone who witnessed me yelling Poe up at a power line in the pouring rain sure seemed to find it amusing.
Item 102:
“No, no,” I told Elise, “I have a vision for this one.”
Elise had put up with a lot from me that day. She had driven me around to various stores collecting kale, cucumbers, spray cheese, an apple, several yards of cloth, and an ungodly amount of Jello. She’d climbed into an industrial-sized recycle bin for me. Most recently, she’d hollowed out a spaghetti squash and helped me duct tape it to my foot.
I would have to buy her dinner later.
“You have to get my iPod playing Carry On Wayward Son before I plug my headphones in,” I told her. The spaghetti squash didn’t feel so bad on my foot now that Elise had sawed off the back to make room for my heel, but it was starting to crack. The butternut squash on my right foot - the one I had hollowed out myself - was in no danger of cracking but was exceedingly, painfully uncomfortable.
“Okay,” said Elise.
“And then when I edit it,” I said, “I’ll put the ‘Don’t you cry no-o more dun-dun dun dun DUN!’ at the end as I’m running away.” I waited for her to look impressed.
“Okay,” said Elise.
On the first take, one of my shoes flew off. A little more duct tape, and on the second take I made it ten yards or so down the sidewalk before I gave up and limped back to Elise.
“Let me see!” I demanded.
The video was perfect. Except that Elise had filmed it in portrait and the video from my camera always, no matter what, uploads in landscape. I would have to run in the gourd-shoes again.
“I hate you,” I told Elise as I added more duct tape to the places where the spaghetti squash was in danger of losing pieces.
“No you don’t,” she said.
“WHAT THE HELL?” said a passerby. He was the first person to comment on what we were doing at all since we arrived.
I took off running for a third time. A chunk of spaghetti squash almost immediately fell off, but I didn’t stop. I wouldn’t get another chance at this shot and I would be damned if I was going to hollow out another squash that day.
Item 70:
We were walking down the street when I asked, “What time is it?”
“5:55PM”
“What time does the bus come?”
“On the hour.”
That gave me pause. “If the bus comes,” I said, “Please tell me so I can put my clothes back on.”
“Okay,” said Dylan. Dylan was some kind of guardian angel. He was the kind of friend of a friend who, when you send him an incomprehensible text message about a scavenger hunt and reenacting the seduction of Eve, responds, “Sure, I have a pet snake you can use! There’s a bus stop not too far from my place too.” And then offers you one of his coats to wear over your fig leaves.
I’d never met him before that day but I was already developing a GISH-crush on him.
While Dylan advised me about how best to find a car predating 1980 (for item 35), Elise gave me a knowing look. I was doing that awkward shuffling maneuver one does to try to get one’s underwear back into place. Except in this case, my underwear consisted of a felt fig leaf that was in danger of coming unstuck from my groin.
We got to the bus stop. Dylan handed over his snake (a gorgeous little ball python) and Elise handed me my apple. I looked in every direction. There were any number of places where a person could suddenly appear to witness the scene.
“Is the bus coming?” I asked.
“No,” Elise assured me.
I shrugged out of the coat, leaving only a fig leaf loincloth and two fig leaf pasties to cover me.
“You’re still wearing your shoes,” said Dylan helpfully.
Elise busted up laughing. “YOU’RE NOT NAKED ENOUGH, BITCH!” she choked.
I kicked off my shoes, held up the snake, and set my teeth against the apple. “Take the goddamn picture!” I hissed.
“I’m pretty sure Eve didn’t wear a watch, either,” said Dylan.
Item 70 prologue