Silence of the Pigs
Just last week i was bragging about the size of my dad's zucchini...but the size of his eggplants...not so brag-worthy. In the garden world, as in outerspace, size DOES matter. I saw 4 teeny, tiny purplish kidney-looking entities sitting on his picnic table... and I started wondering, "what the hell?? Who's missing a kidney??!!" (my hands franctically feeling for strange cuts in that particular area on my body). After all, he DOES eat (gulp) pigskin... Yes. My dad is the Hannibal Lector of the bovine world. I'm not talking pork rinds... he eats plain, ol' rubbery pigskin. Boils it right up... chops it into pieces...throws it in his spaghetti sauce... and gnaws away.When we were little, he used to put a slab of pigskin around his waste, like an apron, and chase my sister and me around the house. And people wonder why, for years, we had no fashion sense. We thought pigskin was something to be worn and then eaten - the wear-n-tear is great... it's quite resilient.
What's really disturbing is when, the other day, my dad says to me, ""quid-a pro quo, JoAHNNE...A pigga, he once tried to testa me. I mangia his skin widda some garbanzo beans and a nice dago red."
If my dad and I starred in "Silence of the Pigs":
Papa Lector: Firsta principles, JoAHNNE. ...Of eacha particular ting ask: whatta iss it in itself? Whatta iss its nature? Whatta does he do, dis man you seek? Whatta da fock am I saying?
Joanne Starling: Dis man, he eats pigskin..
Papa Lector: No! Dat is incidental. Whatta iss da first and principal ting he does, whatta need does-a he serve by eating?
Joanne Starling: Anger, social resentment, sexual frustration...
Papa Lector: No, he covets. dat's his nature. And how do we begin to covet, JoAHNNE? Do we seek out tings to covet? Make-ah an effort to answer.
Joanne Starling: No. We just...
Papa Lector: No. Precisely. We begin by coveting whatta we see every day-ah. Don't-ah you feel eyes moving over your body, JoAHNNE? And don't your eyes move over da tings you-ah want?
Joanne Starling: Woooahh...Papa Lector.... weirdness goin' on here... stop, please...can we go back to talking about your tiny eggplant?
Buffalo Papa Bill: Itta rubs da lotion on its skin. Itta does dis whenever itta iss told.
Joanne: Dad... stop it...that's just...creepy. It's crazy!
Buffalo Papa Bill: Itta rubs da lotion onna its skin or else itta gets da hose again.
[to his tomato plants, his Precious]
Buffalo Papa Bill: Si, itta will, Precious, won't it? Itta will getta da hose!
Joanne: Okay... okay... okay. Buffalo Papa Bill... can we stop this now? Can we .... like... move away from this topic? I'm getting kinda weirded out.
Buffalo Papa Bill: Now itta places da lotion inna da basket.
Joanne: Please! Please I wanna go home! I wanna go home please!
Buffalo Papa Bill: Itta places da lotion in da basket.
Joanne: I wanna see mommy! Please I wanna see mo...
Buffalo Papa Bill: Putta da focking lotion inna da basket!
Joanne: um... sure...ok... but which lotion do you prefer? The "Fuschia Fantasy" or the "Wild Berry"?
Buffalo Papa Bill: whicha ever one willa give me softa skin anda makea me feela pretty....bello.
Joanne: hello
Buffalo Papa Bill: Dat's bello...bello
Joanne: hello...hello...
Buffalo Papa Bill: Six-a years of college and dis is whatta I get... my daughter... she cannot speaka one word of italian. I go back to Italy.
posted by Joanne @ 6:22 AM
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