Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Bobbibollis with Beckett

This might have been the greatest moment in Beckett's life.

I talk for Beckett. I think I’ve mentioned this before? Some people would describe it as “anthropomorphic” (that’s a mouthful) (HA! Pun intended!) behavior, but I just call it “crazy.” Beckett and I have full on conversations. We even argue with each other. He tattles on me sometimes to Tania. It’s just plain weird, but I can’t help it. It’s due in part to the fact that Beckett is just such a peculiar little fellow that I can’t imagine him not thinking the strange things I make him say. And that comes mostly from his brows, which reveal a pair of eyes that are unmistakably human in their expression. Except that they are mistakably human because he’s a dog. Still I persist in imagining that he thinks with a human voice that speaks English. The other reason Beckett is the victim of my anthropomorphic jibber jabber is purely out of loneliness and boredom. I dislike telephones, but I enjoy conversing with people. And if there’s no one around, I tend to converse with myself. Since Tania started her new job last year and is working 10-hour days, and I work from home, I frequently find myself talking out loud. For some reason it seems less pathetic to have a conversation with an imaginary talking wiener, than it does to have a conversation with myself. I’m not sure what kind of logic or math I used to arrive at that conclusion, but I can assure you that there was some sort of work performed to arrive at, "Talking wiener crazy ≤ talking to myself crazy."

His voice is kind of a mixture of upper crust English (because he’s a very polite, Christian “gentleman”), and baby talk (because he’s a stupid little wiener dog.) For the most part he’s a very positive and upbeat little fellow. Imagine Ned Flanders as a wiener dog. Beckett doesn’t cuss, he prays to the little baby Jesus, and he hates rock and roll (“devil music”). In short, he’s the complete opposite of Tania and I.

On Beckett's fictional list of favorite foods, pancakes are very near the top. I've included some photos of his first and only pancake. Here he gingerly transfers it from humanity to the animal kingdom.

His favorite thing to talk about is, of course, food. This is also the only subject I am practically 100% certain his little brain is actually thinking about the majority of the time. I might be projecting the kinds of foods he wants to eat onto him, but there is little doubt that the strange little creature that lives with us is almost always thinking “FOOD.”

In this photo the pancake is officially owned by Beckett and he is not pleased with how close my camera and I are am coming to his pancake property.

As Tania reaches in to "clear the table," Beckett let's us know that he's straight up PISSED that we're even looking at his pancake, let alone coming near it. My you should have heard the growling.

“Uhhhh, excuse me? Plaze?” he often says as we sit down to eat dinner. “Uhhh, I’ve noticed that there are only two plates of dinner? I believe there might be some sort of mixup in the kitchen? Tanny, [he refers to Tania as Tanny, and/or Mammy, and I’m Davy~! q111111111111111111—excuse me, Gary just stomped across the keyboard—I’m either Davy, David (with an English accent), or, Pappy], yes, uh, I think you might have intercepted my order. In fact I’m quite certain that is my plate of food you are eating right now. Perhaps you could alert the chef to the predicament we find ourselves in, yes, plaze? If it’s not too much of a trouble, would you be a good Mammy and surrender my dinner to me and order yourself your own meal if you don’t mind? Seriously.”

One of Beckett’s favorite foods is raviolis. He calls them “bobbibollis.” This is kind of where the baby talk comes in. He speaks better English than I do (?), and enunciates everything perfectly, except for the occasional big word which he makes a complete mess of. Like ravioli. And one day we got raviolis in the mail. “BOBBIBOLLIS! SERIOUSLY?” Beckett was very excited. “My goodness, plaze!” That FoodBuzz thing over there on the right sent them to us. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I haven’t given a Tinker’s fart about it since. Although there is the occasional free food giveaway. And, in one case, they gave away a bunch of raviolis. I don’t even remember what brand they were. I’m obviously not the blogger they were looking to get their raviolis to. In my defense, however, there was nothing memorable about them. They weren't bad, but they weren't good either. They were off-the-rack raviolis. Beckett, on the other hand, absolutely adored them.

“I beg to differ, David,” he said. “These are some of the most delightful bobbibollis I have ever had the pleasure of eating. Plaze.”

The free, mail order raviolis with Tania's red sauce. (The photo at the top of the post is Beckett's bobbibolli experience.)

And that’s probably because those were the first, and the last, bobbibollis that Beckett has ever eaten.

As an extra bonus track on this post, I’ve included here one of the scripts that is a part of a series of performances, starring Beckett and I, titled, David, Plaze. I don’t think the Pantages Theater in Hollywood has ever put on a performance of any of Samuel Beckett’s plays, but maybe our Beckett play, David, Plaze, will someday grace its stage? This particular chapter is titled “Poop.”


POOP
[David gets up to leave.]
BECKETT: David, where are you going? David, do you need to go to the bathroom? Plaze, allow me David. I know of a wonderful patch of dirt in the backyard where you can relieve yourself.
DAVID: Thank you Beckett, but I just went.
BECKETT: I haven’t seen you go outside yet today, David.
DAVID: That’s probably because I haven’t gone outside.
BECKETT: DAVID! YOU POOPED IN THE HOUSE!?
DAVID: Yup, in the house.
BECKETT: David. Surely you jest? Do you not know what happens to he who pees, poops, and/or poops and pees in the house?
DAVID: No. I do it all the time, Beckett.
BECKETT: ALL THE TIME! DAVID! THIS IS PREPOSTOROUS! YOU WILL BE PUNISHED, DAVID! SEVERELY!
DAVID: Oh really? How am I going to be punished?
BECKETT: By Tania, David. She is a most cruel and evil torturess.
DAVID: Tania isn’t—“torturess” isn’t even a word Beckett.
BECKETT: Dungeness! She is a Dungeness Crab David!
DAVID: Why, what does she do to you Beckett?
BECKETT: Oh the most horrible tortures you can imagine, David.
DAVID: Wait a minute. Why have you been tortured? Have you been pooping in the house?
BECKETT: David. Plaze.
DAVID: Well have you?
BECKETT (ashamed): …Yes, David.
DAVID: Beckett!
BECKETT: David. Plaze. It was in my youth. I didn’t know any better. I didn’t even know it [his anus] was back there.
DAVID: How could you not know it was back there?
BECKETT: It’s so very far away, David.
DAVID: Okay, so you used to poop in the house?
BECKETT: Yes David. On the floor. And Tania would torture me after I pooped in the house on the floor.
DAVID: Well you’re not supposed to poop in the house on the floor. How did Tania torture you?
BECKETT: She…she would say, “NO!” David.
DAVID: “No?” That’s it?
BECKETT: Yes David. It was horrible.
DAVID: Beckett. Come on.
BECKETT: She would say it very loud, David. And sometimes with lots of Os.
DAVID: Beckett, Jesus Christ.
BECKETT: Go ahead David. You’ll see. You just pooped in the house? Well you will suffer the wrath of Tania the Dungeness!
DAVID: No, I won’t. I’m fine Beckett.
BECKETT: David. Plaze. You should go back and eat it.
DAVID: I’m not going to go eat my poop, Beckett.
BECKETT: Where is it David? What room is it in? I’ll go eat it for you. Tania the Dungeness will surely still know someone pooped because the room might still smell a little like poop, but at least the poop itself will be gone—
DAVID: It’s already gone Beckett.
BECKETT: Gone? So you did eat it? Good boy David!
DAVID: No Beckett.
BECKETT: You didn’t eat it, David? Did Gebby eat it? David is that why you keep that dirty old curmudgeon around ? He’s your personal poop eater isn’t he, David?
DAVID: No, Gary didn’t eat it, Beckett.
BECKETT: Because I would be happy to eat your poop and anything else you happen to drop on the floor.
DAVID: I didn’t poop on the floor Beckett.
BECKETT: David I’m hungry.
DAVID: The poop is gone, Beckett.
BECKETT: David. Plaze. Are you trying to tell me that you squatted down on your haunches, pinched out a hot one and it just disappeared?
DAVID: Basically, yes.
BECKETT: Where David?
DAVID: In the bathroom Beckett. In the toilet.
BECKETT: David. Plaze.

5 comments:

gbrl said...

wow! i really hope that part at the end finds its way to a stage! you are a fucking loon, dave! ahahahaahahahaahahahaahah!

RyGar said...

With all due respect, I think that this is one of the funniest pieces that you've published in years. Oh, my god, man.

I have many, many conversations with my cat, Fooly Cooly. I think I've inherited a 'rambling' gene from my mother, who talks during all of her waking hours. It doesn't even matter if anyone is listening. Things she talks to: the TV, the dogs, the cat, kitchen appliances, etc. It's exhausting to be around her for more than a few hours. Driving in foreign territory, like Bakersfield where she lives, is like some cruel taxi-driver-recruit hazing ritual. She's rambling about how "shitty the asians drive," and how "this grocery store is cheaper than the one" by her house, but "it's too crowded," when am I "going to get married..."
So, yeah, I'm starting to do it, too. I talk to my skateboard. A lot. I talk to the cat. I talk for the cat. She sounds like a valley girl, but she's a total crust punker. She was born in a crawlspace in Westlake. She loves, and I mean LOVES, Metal. Anytime I've got Brujeria, Autopsy, or Decrepit Birth on, she jumps on the back of my chair and falls asleep. Purring.

CHSkateboarding said...

This really is funny as fuck. Well-crafted.

Sal said...

The true genius of this post didn't hit me until today, when I realized I was unconsciously mouthing the word "bobbibollis" to myself while I worked.

dannyfrom504 said...

i just found your blog. i've read about 72.4% of it in it's entirety (night shift is a bitch).

i have these same conversations with my english staffordshire terrier and he too has an english accent. when he knows i'm cross with him he referrers to me as "mi lord". e.i.
me: "brody, did you go into the kitchen?" (he's not allowed in there)
brody: "yes, mi lord."
me: "you know you can't go in there, right?"
brody: 'yes, mi lord. please forgive us, it shan't happen.....OOOOH is this the new mahn vs. food? (he has a problem with digression).

now quit being persnickety and update this thing.