As a youngin', I was never exposed to raising money for causes such as athletic teams or overnight field trips, and so I have never had great comfort with asking people for money except my close relatives. They will either say yes, obligingly, or no, and qualify it, at which point I usually throw a hissy fit and they hand my a fiver. Last summer, I decided it would be a fine idea to work for the Minnesota Public Interest Research Group (MPIRG) as a door-to-door canvasser. For any of you who are considering doing this, I would like you to first break up with any significant other you are with, get yourself disowned and then possibly ask a neighbor to shoot your dog. If you can tolerate the emotional stress related to those events, then you're fit to be a canvasser. Coming from my well-padded world, it was hell for me. I quit after two months and went to Southern California on vacation.
So I was terrified to be working for the annual fund, where Martha is nigh-on a living legend. Everyone asked me 'Oh, are you Martha's brother?' which granted, is something I've experienced since slightly past birth. After nervously being trained in, I went to the phones. In spite of sweating profusely, the evening went off without a hitch. I even raised $40! And yesterday, my second day, I secured no less than $150 in pledges from the parents of various alums.
I have lately been reading In a Sunburned Country, by Bill Bryson, which is about Australia. I like it a lot. Also, Dad took the cats outside for the first time ever today. We got them in mid-winter, so they obviously couldn't have gone out then, but now since it is so pleasant, he decided to let them explore for a bit down by the dock. They quickly had their senses overloaded and were crawling around carefully and slowly, as though a crocodile was lying just behind the next blade of grass to eat them. Dad had other things to do, so he took Molly inside first. Upon finding her sister missing, Nataly got really freaked out and started wanting in too. I think I got her inside just in time, as she was mere second away from calming her nerves by sinking her claws into my chest and testing how elastic my skin is.
Saturday is my Grandfather's 85th birthday, and also the day when my Grandmother comes into town from New Mexico, and is the day my friend Emilio's mom Patti moves to California. Wow! It will be busy.
Q&KaBAM! Time
Bura Kalakashvili of Tbilsi, Georgia writes:
Q: "Commodore, I am a 67-year old pensioner and live by myself with no family or friends. The only company I have is a small parakeet. Recently, it has stopped talking to me. I believe that evil spirits have taken its tongue. How can I save my poor bird?"
KaBAM!: "Once, while traveling through the Kangojango River Valley in Mbuntoland, I discovered a tribe of pygmy shamans who taught me their healing rituals. They later made me a god and tried to eat me so that I would remain with them forever, but that is beside the point. First, you must take the bird and knock your index knuckle against its breast thrice. Then, pluck a single feather from it tail and burn it with brimstone and pine sap. Then, you must make a poultice of herbs, gathered from the highest mountains of the Caucuses. At dawn on the 20th day of the last moon of the year, the bird will be healed. Or, take it to a vet. It probably has avian laryngitis."
Long live the King of Spain!
Bura Kalakashvili of Tbilsi, Georgia writes:
Q: "Commodore, I am a 67-year old pensioner and live by myself with no family or friends. The only company I have is a small parakeet. Recently, it has stopped talking to me. I believe that evil spirits have taken its tongue. How can I save my poor bird?"
KaBAM!: "Once, while traveling through the Kangojango River Valley in Mbuntoland, I discovered a tribe of pygmy shamans who taught me their healing rituals. They later made me a god and tried to eat me so that I would remain with them forever, but that is beside the point. First, you must take the bird and knock your index knuckle against its breast thrice. Then, pluck a single feather from it tail and burn it with brimstone and pine sap. Then, you must make a poultice of herbs, gathered from the highest mountains of the Caucuses. At dawn on the 20th day of the last moon of the year, the bird will be healed. Or, take it to a vet. It probably has avian laryngitis."
Long live the King of Spain!
2 comments:
you didn't quit; you got fired.
the bird was probably dead.
actually, the bird probably did not exist.
also, why are you called commodore?
also, thank you for the annual fund props. i am happy to see that my legend continues long after i have left there. hopefully it will grow in incredulity, as well, so that one day people will talk about "the legendary martha, who could solicit gifts from people with simply a glare from her fierce blue eyes, and who could memorize sixteen-digit credit card numbers like nobody's business."
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