Vandalism of Banana: December 3, 2005
In which I peruse Wikipedia.
Categorized
I never used to get sick. Aside from one flu-filled week in first grade, I was the healthiest kid in town. Idiot that I am, I didn’t see what was coming. As it turned out, the wonderful world of minor illnesses was just biding its time, waiting for the right opportunity to show me just what I’d been missing. When I started college and got a job, it all came crashing down on me — colds, flu, bugs, viruses; you name it, I got it, every single damn winter (and sometimes in the summer, too). I’d half-heartedly hoped that the curse would end with graduation and leaving my job, but nooo — here I am, sprawled on the couch, feverish and fluey and all-around blah. If I’ve sent you e-mail recently, better not open it; I don’t want anyone catching this virus. With my luck, it’s probably avian flu; my family has a history of being the first to catch animal diseases. (My mother was the first human being in Florida to come down with brucellosis, which is mainly a cow thing.)
I always think that being sick will put a cramp in my to-do list, but I inevitably end up finding a billion things to do from a sitting/lying position. Today, the schedule consists of writing, reading, replying to e-mails (I never do, unless I’m sick :-P), and finishing up some online shopping. There may even be a long, hot bath at some point, if the feverish feeling subsides a bit.
I’m not sure if it’s me or the material, but the stuff I’m reading today seems a bit… odd. First off, I misread the famous Latin phrase vade retro me, satana as vade retro me, santana — which, admittedly, works out fairly well for me, since I’ve never been a fan of the guy with the guitar. (This took place on the Wikipedia exorcism page, by the way.)
And then there are the alleged political allegories in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz:
The Wicked Witch of the East represents Eastern industrial power, the bankers and factories of the East; her oppression of the Munchkins stands for the oppression of the little people, the average Americans, at the hands of these financial forces. The little people celebrate their liberation as a political event. Her silver slippers reflect the way the bankers of the East had suppressed the secret of prosperity, namely, the free coinage of silver.
and:
The good witches represent the northern and southern electoral votes, which a political coalition needs to win. The kiss represents the mandate of the voters.
Makes that whole Pink Floyd thing look downright reasonable.
While we’re at Wikipedia, take a gander at the list of blocked IPs/users. Some of the crimes are amusingly worded — vandalism of banana; penis vandal; repeat Pumpkin pie vandal. Aren’t the mental pictures wonderful?
Moving from cyberspace to meatspace — or, perhaps more accurately, to paperspace, where the books exist — we now look at a passage from the ever-enlightening Earthly Remains: The History and Science of Preserved Human Bodies:
Not only was St. Cuthbert’s body intact [after burial] but it had retained the flexibility of its joints, and the body was believed to breathe — a unique and remarkable attribute. A guardian of the saint’s body was reported to have trimmed Cuthbert’s hair and nails, and on occasion to have engaged in conversation with him, and the miraculous condition of preservation also extended to the clothing that dressed the body of the saint.
Now, I’m no mortician, but it seems to me that if a body is moving, talking, and growing hair, then it’s not a miracle — it’s still alive. I can just hear those conversations between St. Cuthbert and his “guardian”:
“Excuse me… um, hi there.”
“What the — Oh, it’s just a miraculously-preserved corpse that’s capable of speech. You had me freaked out for a minute there.”
“Heh-heh, yeah… um, I’ve been in here for going on twenty years now… Would you mind letting me out of here? It’s kind of cold, and cramped, and… maggoty.”
“Ooh, sorry… no can do, buddy. Can’t disturb the dead, y’know.”
“But… but I’m not dead.”
“Isn’t that what they all say. Come on; it’s time for your manicure.”
On top of all this madness, I made the mistake of reading Robert Frost (snowy weather makes me feel Frost-y). I’m a fan, don’t get me wrong, but there’s this one poem called The Subverted Flower, and… it makes no sense. Well, it makes a very vague kind of sense, in an all-men-are-animals, innocence-lost kind of way, but still — I’ve been reading and re-reading that poem for years, and I still can’t make head or tail of it. There’s a guy, and a girl, and a flower, and then he turns into a dog and she starts foaming at the mouth, and what the hell does it all mean, people? If anyone out there can explain it to me, please get in touch via the comments form; I hate feeling like I’m missing the main idea.
Finally, I’d like to recommend an excellent book that I just finished reading: Salamander, by Thomas Wharton. As general fiction, it’s one of the best books I’ve ever read; as fantasy, it knocks all my other favorites (yes, even The Last Unicorn) right out of the park. It has the whimsy of the Harry Potter books coupled with the dreamy vividness of The Last Unicorn; I can’t make any more comparisons, because it’s like nothing else I’ve ever read. I’m definitely adding it to my All-Time Favorites list.
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