Wednesday, June 10, 2009
This is the seventh day of a visit from my parents. They actually visit my sister, who schedules so much that I have to ask for dates with Mom and Dad. Last night we went to Ocean Sky for Chinese food. The plate of sweet and sour chicken was so big that Dad asked “did we all order the same thing?” He thought they’d piled it on a plate family-style. Ocean Sky was my favorite Chinese restaurant for a long time and we went there a lot. It has been plagued off and on by rumors of health department interventions—but I’ve always had good food there. (That was where my 3-year old nephew Sam held up a mushroom and blurted “that looks like a uterus.” In two months he’ll be going to The University of Chicago.) For a few years I went to Fortune Inn, but I haven’t seen The Meanest Waitress in the World there for a while, and things may have slipped.
Later I brought them back to our house, where Tracy had a cheesecake and some decaf coffee brewed. Dad saw our copy of Bust magazine and cocked an eyebrow. Did he think we were the kind of couple who keeps men’s magazines by the fruit bowl? How do you explain post-puritanical fem edge culture to your 84 year-old pop? This reminds me of the time Mom saw the Chili Peppers “Abbey Road” e.p. at my apartment in Iowa City—the one where they have socks on their packages. That's not something the Greastest Generation is used to seeing. Which reminds me of the time Steve Tulipana found his Mom in his room, reading the lyric sheet to The Meatmen's War of the Superbikes album, looking dazed, like she'd been hit upside the head by Leon Spinks.
Yesterday was supposedly the thickest pollen day since three volcanos exploded at once in The Great Yucca Forest of The Pleistecine and made all the triceratops sneeze to death. The fossil record shows dinosaurs sneezing while mating, sneezing while going to the restroom, sneezing while chomping VW-sized coconuts, sneezing while playing the bass line to "Radar Love." I was in a kind of low-cognition haze in the afternoon. Scratchy throat, slightly out of touch with reality more than usual. I came home and trickled water on the spinach and nasturteum starts. I could have done it a faster way but the trickle of water was kind of like the trickle of consciousness making its way through my stuffed-up head.