soft clay and hibernates during the winter months. Thus when he is awake and fighting sharks, his temperament is strong and well rested.”
Mrs. Norman says, “
Their
temperament.” It is difficult to sit well in the booth’s squishy seat. Difficult, not impossible.
The guy from the other booth, the jerky one with the urgent secret napkin note, says, “I’m starting to see how it all comes together.”
Curtis smiles and does a little dance in the booth.
Matthew says, “Hold everything. Thomas Edison didn’t need any sleep.”
The guy from the other booth says, “Well, how about that? I guess I knew about the ponytail and the spectacles — well, and the kite, of course — but the insomnia is a new one for me.”
A cute little red-haired girl is ogling pies in the dessert case. Her shirt says, “You ever seen a
shark
in a circus?”
Mrs. Norman says, “Is it technically insomnia if you don’t need the sleep?”
The guy says, “What do you mean by technically?”
Mr. Norman gazes out the smog-stained Television windows at the interstate, where a team of migrant workers is now installing a billboard featuring a picture of Jesus on the cross. Looks like maybe Jesus has a personal trainer. The hues are sexy, the composition is avant-garde. Jesus has nice pecs, a strong chin, a swarthy complexion. The billboard says, “Jesus loves the Truth and hates litter.”
The crackling intercom describes the baby as bald and dirty. Tiny overalls. It’s just a matter of coming to the register to claim the baby.
The waitress says, “Insomnia sort of implies you’re trying to sleep but can’t.”
The guy says, “But you can be hungry and not eat, can’t you?”
The waitress says, “Yes, you can.”
Mr. Norman says, “Thomas Edison said, ‘Hey, Watson, come here I need you.’”
Mrs. Norman says, “No, honey, I think you’re thinking of Alexander Lloyd Webber.”
Matthew says, “Edison never slept and he invented electricity. Lack of sleep shows a certain resolve and strength of constitution, whereas hibernation indicates a slothful and indolent nature.”
The guy from the other booth says, “Well, now, I knew the little man’s argument was not airtight, though I could not quite find the flaw in it myself.”
The secret note says,
You are not alone. There are others like you. If you keep your eyes open you will find us
.
The waitress says, “How about a Bear Claw or a CubCake?”
Curtis says, “A bear would rip Thomas Edison to shreds.”
The baby just sits between the mints and the toothpicks, worried.
35
Oliver Wendell
v.
Sherlock
Watson was Frank Lloyd Wright’s assistant?
If I was Watson, I’d just tell Sherlock if he needs me so bad, he can come in here. Fricky-frack, I’m busy with my own projects.
Who would win in a fight between Oliver Wendell Holmes and Sherlock Holmes?
Would both of them have normal-size heads?
Yes.
No outside help from assistants?
No.
No hidden weapons? They both wore those kind of long, flowy outfits.
No.
Sherlock, then.
I disagree. I think Ollie would unleash some wicked justice on that fictional sleuth.
Hey, who did Igor assist?
Wittgenstein.
Most people think that Wittgenstein is the name of the monster, but if you read the original translation, Wittgenstein is actually the name of the doctor.
What was the monster’s name?
Tonto means stupid.
They say Lindbergh had an assistant.
36
The Shark’s Erogenous Zone
Mr. Norman is not fully attuned to the conversation or the booth Television or the red-haired little girl’s shirt (the back of which says, “Shut your big fat bear trap”) or even the sexy clever billboards outside his Television-screen-shaped window.
Mr. Norman is thinking about having sex with a shark. Listen, not in an indecent or bestial way. Not at all. In Mr. Norman’s mind it is tender lovemaking — respectful, consensual, aquatic. He imagines the tough rubbery feel of the scaleless skin. He imagines a wordless embrace.
Mrs. Norman says, “
Their
temperament.” It is difficult to sit well in the booth’s squishy seat. Difficult, not impossible.
The guy from the other booth, the jerky one with the urgent secret napkin note, says, “I’m starting to see how it all comes together.”
Curtis smiles and does a little dance in the booth.
Matthew says, “Hold everything. Thomas Edison didn’t need any sleep.”
The guy from the other booth says, “Well, how about that? I guess I knew about the ponytail and the spectacles — well, and the kite, of course — but the insomnia is a new one for me.”
A cute little red-haired girl is ogling pies in the dessert case. Her shirt says, “You ever seen a
shark
in a circus?”
Mrs. Norman says, “Is it technically insomnia if you don’t need the sleep?”
The guy says, “What do you mean by technically?”
Mr. Norman gazes out the smog-stained Television windows at the interstate, where a team of migrant workers is now installing a billboard featuring a picture of Jesus on the cross. Looks like maybe Jesus has a personal trainer. The hues are sexy, the composition is avant-garde. Jesus has nice pecs, a strong chin, a swarthy complexion. The billboard says, “Jesus loves the Truth and hates litter.”
The crackling intercom describes the baby as bald and dirty. Tiny overalls. It’s just a matter of coming to the register to claim the baby.
The waitress says, “Insomnia sort of implies you’re trying to sleep but can’t.”
The guy says, “But you can be hungry and not eat, can’t you?”
The waitress says, “Yes, you can.”
Mr. Norman says, “Thomas Edison said, ‘Hey, Watson, come here I need you.’”
Mrs. Norman says, “No, honey, I think you’re thinking of Alexander Lloyd Webber.”
Matthew says, “Edison never slept and he invented electricity. Lack of sleep shows a certain resolve and strength of constitution, whereas hibernation indicates a slothful and indolent nature.”
The guy from the other booth says, “Well, now, I knew the little man’s argument was not airtight, though I could not quite find the flaw in it myself.”
The secret note says,
You are not alone. There are others like you. If you keep your eyes open you will find us
.
The waitress says, “How about a Bear Claw or a CubCake?”
Curtis says, “A bear would rip Thomas Edison to shreds.”
The baby just sits between the mints and the toothpicks, worried.
35
Oliver Wendell
v.
Sherlock
Watson was Frank Lloyd Wright’s assistant?
If I was Watson, I’d just tell Sherlock if he needs me so bad, he can come in here. Fricky-frack, I’m busy with my own projects.
Who would win in a fight between Oliver Wendell Holmes and Sherlock Holmes?
Would both of them have normal-size heads?
Yes.
No outside help from assistants?
No.
No hidden weapons? They both wore those kind of long, flowy outfits.
No.
Sherlock, then.
I disagree. I think Ollie would unleash some wicked justice on that fictional sleuth.
Hey, who did Igor assist?
Wittgenstein.
Most people think that Wittgenstein is the name of the monster, but if you read the original translation, Wittgenstein is actually the name of the doctor.
What was the monster’s name?
Tonto means stupid.
They say Lindbergh had an assistant.
36
The Shark’s Erogenous Zone
Mr. Norman is not fully attuned to the conversation or the booth Television or the red-haired little girl’s shirt (the back of which says, “Shut your big fat bear trap”) or even the sexy clever billboards outside his Television-screen-shaped window.
Mr. Norman is thinking about having sex with a shark. Listen, not in an indecent or bestial way. Not at all. In Mr. Norman’s mind it is tender lovemaking — respectful, consensual, aquatic. He imagines the tough rubbery feel of the scaleless skin. He imagines a wordless embrace.
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