Illustration by Thomas McDonough
ARest Stop Encounter
I visited a rest stop near Newburgh on the thruway. As I entered
the front door, facing a McDonald’s—the only food source
in the building—I heard, from above, a Phil Collins song descend:
One more night
One more night
I can’t wait forever.
After a moment, the lulling repetitions of this song began to bore
me, as they had in 1987, when last I heard them.
How do rest stop managers choose these particular songs to unite all
Americans? Why this pathetic lament, of a bald man begging a woman
who no longer loves him to sleep with him anyway? Is this the emotion
we Americans share?
I went to the bathroom, entered a toilet stall, and removed my coat.
Then I peed. When I stood up, the toilet flushed automatically. Then
I put my coat back on, and the toilet flushed again. (When you pass
a coat over this toilet, it flushes.)
Outside the bathrooms, I examined the coin machines that sold trinkets
for kids—Pokémon stickers, keychains, glow-in-the-dark
silly putty. In one of the machines I saw a string of mala beads,
the beads one uses in India to recite one’s mantra. (Interestingly,
the large “guru bead” was missing.) These mala beads cost
50 cents.
“Thank You For Choosing McDonald’s” was the sign on
the door as I left.
Art News
Maurizio Cattelan, the “Italian maverick” (this is his description
in the New York Times) hired an Indian yogi to lie buried in sand
for three hours at a time in the 1999 Venice Biennale (with only his
hands protruding).
Why is it funny to pay a yogi to lie buried in sand, while it is unfunny
to hire a truck driver to drive back and forth, and revolting to hire
a priest to perform mass? Is it because “yogi” is a funny
word, as if it were the Latin plural of “yogurt”? Or because
yogis are self-sculptures, in a sense?
Toothpaste Questions
Do you know anyone who, when preparing for a trip, squeezes toothpaste
into a little jar and carries it? Neither do I.
Why does no one ever remove toothpaste from its tube? Does toothpaste
become toxic in the air? Or is this some national taboo?
Heard in a Dream
“French is true.”
Microcups
Using new nano-maxitechnology, scientists have created microcups—tiny
cups, the smallest of which hold a drop of water, or less. Due to
surface tension, these cups may be inverted without spilling any fluid.
These cups are useless to humans.
Cliff,
I met the new female bus driver for Trailways, last month. She was
standing by the door of her bus, collecting tickets, in New Paltz.
Her hair was brown, and almost touched her shoulders. She was older
than 41. Her nose, and other features, were attractive and shy.
I handed her my ticket to Phoenicia. “Are you going to Phoenicia?”
I asked her. (Sometimes one must change at Kingston.)
“Yes, I’m going all the way,” she said.
We both realized she had spoken a double entendre. “Good,”
I said, stepping into the bus.
Now when she sees me she smiles, grateful I did not exploit her blunder.
Odd Fortune Cookies
The enemy of your enemy is your mother.
Deep in the night, a thief makes a decision.
You have seen many animals grow to maturity.
Hair has a taste.
Not all tension must be released.
A man and a pumpkin can sometimes be friends.
Mozart’s first “mature” opera, Idomeneo,
was written during the
American Revolution (1781), in Munich.
At Kirk’s Market, next door to me, a sign said
yesterday:
WORM
FOR
SALE
(I guess the ‘S’ fell off.) I found this exactly funny.
Love,
Sparrow
Mason Dixon
The Mason Dixon Line runs through 609 television sets.
Dog Frost
We call it
“dog frost”—
the grey
ice on a
porch in
winter.
“Beware the
dog frost,”
mother always
called, as we
left for
school.
Plant-a-Textbook Contest
Isn’t it time for a word-separation competition? Below are words
that have been broken apart:
Be a con.
Roman tic
Yo, Semite!
Please mail your own impulsive entries to: Plant-a-Textbook
Contest c/o Chronogram, PO Box 459, New Paltz, NY 12561, or e-mail
info@chronogram.com.
Maritime Zoo Report
Proponents of the Maritime Zoo Contest continue to engage in postal
daring. This contest demanded, as you will recall (if you have a cinematic
memory), that one “use a month as a verb”:
“When I die, february me in the winter because it may take longer
to dig the hole to put my body in the ground.”—Bradliff
J. Woodcarvings
March on, and june us, while you may.—Bud Rogers
October in my arms and
Slowly kissed her until she
Smiled and smiled and
September legs around me.—Xuni
Mike Topp, who has oftentimes appeared in Quarter to
Three (this column) has a new, complete book, I Used to Be Ashamed
of My Striped Face, available from elimae.com.
