Tag Archives: vegetarianism

Not Manuel Puig

5 Jan

Things are not going well with the Spider Woman. In fact, the latest development was nothing short of disastrous.
As an amusing gesture in honour of the circumstance that brought us together, I booked a table at The Entomologist, a trendy little insectophile bistro. The food was good, if bland and a little woody, but we both have excellent teeth. She was carrying on with her usual affected cynical schtick, which is always amusing. After few glasses of wine though, she got a little loud. I normally don’t mind, in fact I like it, she is, or was, a fine counter balance to my introversion. However, this was not the venue for it, with subdued lighting for that nocturnal I’m eating inside a rotting log effect, and she started to draw a little too much attention. That is fine as well, I enjoy her being noticed and I like being seen in her company. However, that night it was a bit too much of “‘Trevor this” and “Trevor that”. I grew uneasy. You never know who is listening. I like to think that I am not superstitious (and not just because it is illegal), but I do not believe in tempting fate.

“Trevor” she said, loudly, but I heard no more as the klaxons started.  I jumped in my seat and spat out something squishy.  She stared at me stricken with guilt, which is just dumb, there is no “Trevor alarm”, that I am aware of.  I looked about.  One couple fled the restaurant, which was also stupid.  What if the alarm was to warn that all people exiting restaurants in a hurry will be shot by very particular terrorists?  You can never tell.  I just know that doing something is seldom a good idea in these situations.  “Just wait” I said, pulling out my smart phone.  I started flicking between screens.  Despite her panic, the Spiderwoman raced ahead of me.  “Here it is” she said, showing me her screen.  “Blue gamma S-26.  What does that mean?”  People all over the restaurant were doing the same thing.  There would be an announcement in plenty of time, but we all needed to know first what was going on.  “Its not on the news screen” she said, getting a little excited.  “Don’t worry, I have the app.”

There.  I knew blue would be something to do with water.  “Blue gamma S-26.  Sounds like a baby formula, doesn’t it?”  She did not respond.  “OK.  All atmospheric air is about to be spontaneously converted into water.”

“How can that be right?”

“I don’t know.  Fortean phenomena, like fish falling from the sky, or finding a living toad encased in a piece of coal.  Things happen.”

“That’s ridiculous.  Things just don’t happen.”

“Of course they do.  Its quantum physics.  Everything just happens.  Causality is so 21st century.”

“That makes no sense.”

I shrugged.  It was no biggy.  I was prepared.

I realised before I popped my single piece of oxy-gum into my mouth that she was not prepared.  She saw it in my eyes, and knew that I knew.  “What’s wrong?” I asked, still chewing, “don’t you have any?”  Even then I could have pulled it out and shared it with her, it would have had some efficacy.  I knew she would not have baulked at that, it was nothing after having wrapped and sealed me in her web.

Minutes later, following her in the street as the last few drops of rain fell, I tried to justify my actions, drawing an analogy with those old science fiction films of oxygen masks dropping in aircraft, with the message to put on your own before looking after your children.  “You’re pathetic” she yelled.  “I’m not a child.  You’re just making it worse, you know flying is impossible.”

I stopped and watched her go.  I though something good was starting the day she tried to eat me, and now it was over.

Damn you boy scouts!  You taught me to be prepared, but not to share.  Damn you evolution, you took away from human beings the ability to breathe under water!  Damn you Steve Jobs and your apocalyptic apps!  Damn you Trevor!

Why do I always get everything wrong?


(The Joe Chip portal has been updated here.)


Not Aldous Huxley

12 Sep

On returning from some minor surgery in Gaza, I was pleased to find a new bunch of catalogues awaiting me.  I find it pleasant to wile away a few moments over a cup of tea, examining fresh fashion atrocities and descriptions of new motion pictures that I cannot be bothered to see, and of course I wanted to test my new eyes.

I should not have been surprised to find the latest catalogue from Trevgene.  We are a clever bunch in Glossolalia, with much of our economy based around the latest developments in research and technology, as well as armaments and vegetarianism.  We don’t have the labour force to compete with our Chinese neighbours, and have to concentrate on working smarter, not just harder.  Or so I read in some book (or perhaps wrote in some job application, I forget, I have a very short look something shiny).

The new catalogue praised the wonders of a genetically enhanced workforce.  Once upon a time, I confess, I would have been appalled at such an idea, but recently (coincidentally, since I started drinking bottled Trevwater), I can see that I was simply being a fogey, an old fashioned reactionary.  Why leave it to nature to slowly and haphazardly alter your workforce, when Trevgene can breed your workers for you.  I flipped through the pages, amazed by the many colours they came in, and all of their enhancements.

It occurred to me that long ago, in the dim past, Huxley’s Brave New World would have been presented to impressionable youth as a dystopia.  Today I am sure it is taught in schools as a desirable goal, as a model to test ourselves against, and find ourselves lacking.  It is also a tragedy of course, a tragedy that Mr Savage was unable to adapt to the wonders of this brave new world.  I ain’t no Mr Savage, and I’m not an Epsilon minus sub moron.  No, they are being bottled and decanted as we speak across the river at the Trevgene facility.  I like my comfortable bed, I don’t desire to recline on any scrap heap.

For a moment my head hurt.  Then I saw that the catalogue came with a tiny sample sachet as a bonus, and I cheered.  After all, a gramme is better than a damn.