ARMAGEDDON

GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord.  Don’t tell me.  Jules is back and you’re in one of his plays?

ME:  How did you know, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Why else would you be dressed like that?  So what’s the play about?  A day in Hell?

ME:  Close, Grammy.  It’s about Armageddon.  Jules thinks it’ll be a hit, what with all this interest in 2012.

GRAMMY:  2012?

ME:  You know.  When the world’s supposed to end.

GRAMMY:  Says who?

ME:  The Mayans.  Although they don’t really say it.  Their calendar stops in 2012, and people are saying it’s because it’s the end of the world.

GRAMMY:  People are idiots.  Everyone knows the world will end when God says so.  And He isn’t saying.

ME:  Gee.  I wonder why?  Could it be because he doesn’t exist?  Now, I’ve got to get going or I’ll be late.  See you.

GRAMMY:  Wait for me.

ME:  You’re going to attend one of Jules’ plays?

GRAMMY:  I wouldn’t miss it for the end of the world.  You’ve just insulted God.  This is gonna be one hell of a disaster.

Photo:  Jeff Burton

PHILOSOPHY

JULIUS:  Like my poster, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  A black blur with words too tiny to read?  I’d hang it on my wall.

ME:  It’s not a blur, Grammy.  That’s Earth.  And isn’t that a great quote?

GRAMMY:  Quote?  It’s a dissertation saying we’re all a bunch of worthless nothings.

ME:  Well, it’s true Grammy.  In a way.  The problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.

GRAMMY:  You’re quoting movies now?

ME:  It does suit the message.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well in my topsy-turvy world, the problems of three people may not amount to a hill of beans, but this is our hill and these are our beans!

TYPHUS:  Hey!  That’s from The Naked Gun.  Wasn’t OJ great in that?

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  Too bad he turned out to be a murderer.  Would have made a hell of an actor.

ME:  Grammy, we’re talking about philosophy here.  And science.  And Carl Sagan.  Not to mention Casablanca, the best movie ever made.  You’re comparing all that to OJ and The Naked Gun?

GRAMMY:  Hey, you watch your movies and I’ll watch mine.  Now get the boy a thumb tack and let him hang up his poster.

Photo:  Source

MEN WITHOUT SHIRTS

ME:  Where have you been, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Over at Alfie’s.

ME:  Alfie's?

GRAMMY:  Hey, just because you’re mad at him doesn’t mean I have to be.

ME:  I thought you thought he was weird.

GRAMMY:  He is.

ME:  So why would you go over to see him?

GRAMMY:  I didn’t go over to see him.  I went over to see his friends.

ME:  His friends?

GRAMMY:  He’s got a dozen half-dressed men over there working on some monstrosity.

ME:  A dozen?

GRAMMY:  Give or take.

ME:  Half dressed?

GRAMMY:  And in their prime.

ME:  Well.

GRAMMY:  Well, what?

ME:  Well, why are we sitting here looking at each other?  Let’s go, Grammy.  I think it’s time Alfie and I made up.

Photo:  Jason Florio

UNEMPLOYMENT

ME:  You know, I could get used to being unemployed.

GRAMMY:  Could?  Seems you have.

ME:  Funny, Grammy.  But it’s really nice not being slave to a job you go to for no other reason than to make money.  This is real freedom, waking up and knowing you  can do whatever you want.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, if doing what you want is sitting around the house all day.

ME:  I don’t sit around the house all day.

GRAMMY:  You’re right.  You don’t. You sit around my house all day.

ME:  Well, what else am I supposed to do?  I am on unemployment.

GRAMMY:  Go volunteer somewhere.  Climb a mountain.  Do something exciting or interesting instead of sitting on your ass all day.

ME:  You know, Grammy, I think you’re right.  I’ll see you later.

GRAMMY:  Where are you going?

ME:  Shopping.  I think it’s time I splurged a bit on myself.

GRAMMY:  Of course.  What else is an unemployment check for?

ME:  I’ll buy a new outfit or two, and maybe even a new clothes dryer. The old one has been shrinking my clothes lately.  See ya.

GRAMMY:  Lord, a new dryer.  What she really needs is a mirror.

MUSIC LESSON

ME:  Grammy?  What’s snowflake doing outside?

GRAMMY:  Looks to me like she’s sucking up to Alfie’s dog.  You’d think the dumb dog would bite her head off.

ME:  How did she get out there?

GRAMMY:  I let her out.

ME:  Why?  She’s a house cat.  She could get lost.  Or hit by a car.  I’m going out and getting her.

GRAMMY:  Sorry.  You can’t.

ME:  Why not?

GRAMMY:  You might get mugged or hit by a car.  Maybe an airplane will fall out of the sky right on top of you.

ME:  You’re being ridiculous, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Gee, no kidding?

ME:  I’m not that bad.

GRAMMY:  No.  You’re worse.  Now leave the damn cat alone.

ME:  But what if she doesn’t come . . . ?  Oh!  I get it.  You’re teaching me a lesson in that warped way of yours.  It’s like that Sting song.  If you love someone, set them free!

GRAMMY:  No.  It’s like the Guns ‘N Roses song.  I used to love her, but I had to kill her.  The damn cat has scratched the hell out of all my furniture and she isn’t setting foot in here again.

BELLY BUTTONS

JULIUS:  Whatcha doing, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Just looking for something.

JULIUS:  Looking for what?

GRAMMY:  Oh, never mind.  What are you doing?

JULIUS:  Looking at my belly button.

GRAMMY:  Your belly button?

JULIUS:  Uh, huh.  Typhus has an outie.  I have an innie.  What do you have?

GRAMMY:  Ha!  I haven’t seen my belly button in years, boy.  I’m afraid to look.

JULIUS:  What’s it for?

GRAMMY:  What’s it for?  It’s for people to stick their fingers in.  You know, like you do with your ears and your nose.

JULIUS:  But what if you have an outie?

GRAMMY:  Well, then you get to push it in and out like a button.

JULIUS:  Why?

GRAMMY:  Why?  Well, why are you poking around at it now?

JULIUS:  I don’t know.  Something to do.

GRAMMY:  Well, there you go.  Sometimes, you just have nothing to do and your belly button is always handy.

JULIUS:  You’re so smart, Grammy.  You know everything.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, except for what the hell I came out here looking for.

EASTER RAT

JULIUS:  Mom!  Grammy!  Look what Typhus gave me.

ME:  A rat?

TYPHUS:  It’s not just any rat.  It’s the Easter Rat.

GRAMMY:  Don’t you mean Easter Bunny?

TYPHUS:  No.  The Easter Bunny’s dead.  The rat killed him.

GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord.

TYPHUS:  It’s true.  My Mom told me.  That’s why I stopped getting Easter baskets when I was six.  The Easter Rat ate the Easter Bunny.

GRAMMY:  Yeah?  So who’s delivering Easter baskets now?

JULIUS:  Nobody.  That’s why I never got one.

ME:  Julius, you never got a basket because . . .

GRAMMY:  Because Typhus is right.  The rat ate the bunny.  Now why the hell do you want to keep a killer rat?

JULIUS:  Someone has to.  Or else he might go out and kill other bunnies.

TYPHUS:  Yeah. It’s like rat jail, Grammy.

JULIUS:  Come on, Typhus.  Let’s go out and play with him.

GRAMMY:  Well, that was one hell of a story, huh?  It explained why the boy doesn’t get a basket, and makes him feel important, too.  He’s saving bunnies from a killer rat.

ME:  I don’t believe you.  Or Typhus.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well, Julius did.  That Typhus is going to make a great politician some day.

Photo:  Renat Martov

OMG!

ME:  Hello, Grammy!

(no answer)

ME:  Grammy!

(no answer)

ME:  Grammy?  Oh, my . . .  Julius, quick. Call 911.

JULIUS:  Is she dead?

ME:  I don’t know.  Call 911.

JULIUS:  The phone won’t work.  I think they’re both dead.

ME:  Oh, my God.  Grammy?  Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Ha!  April Fools!

ME:  Grammy!

GRAMMY:  Thought I was dead, didn’t you?

ME:  Yes!  Why would you do something like that?

GRAMMY:  What, are you deaf?  I said April Fools.

ME:  April Fool’s Day is tomorrow, Grammy.  Not today.

GRAMMY:  Well, what’s the point of playing a damn joke on April Fool’s Day?  Then you’d know it was a joke.  Besides, you don’t come over here on Thursdays.

ME:  I can’t believe you did that, Grammy.  I could kill you!

GRAMMY:  Ha!  A minute ago you were in tears because you thought I was dead.  Now you’re gonna kill me?  Make up your mind.  Do you want me dead or alive?

ME:  I want you alive, Grammy, so I can kill you myself.  Come on, Julius.  We’re leaving.

GRAMMY:  Hey!  Where are you going?  I thought you were gonna kill me?  Sheesh.  That woman will never amount to anything.  No follow through.

Photo:  Source

CRAZY BABY

BABY:  (runs through apartment)  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!

GRAMMY:  What the hell was that?

ME:  The baby from hell.

GRAMMY:  Oooh.  Not our usual Barney self today, are we?

ME:  Shut up, Grammy.  I’m not in the mood.

BABY:  (knocks kitchen chairs down)  WHEEEEE.

GRAMMY:  Okay.  Who is she and where did she come from?

ME:  It’s my neighbor’s daughter.  Her babysitter cancelled and she was in a bind, so I volunteered.

BABY:  (slams kitchen door over and over)  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!

ME:  She just doesn’t stop.  It’s been like this all day.

GRAMMY:  So you brought her here?  To my house?  What the hell is wrong with you?

(Baby pulls knickknack shelf over)  CRASH

ME:  I don’t know what to do, Grammy.  I can’t get her to stop.

BABY:  (runs past)  YAYAYAYAYAYAY!

GRAMMY:  Lord!  She’s like the Energizer Bunny on speed.  You try to catch her.  I’ll go get the whiskey.

ME:  This is no time to be drinking, Grammy.

(Baby rips off diaper and flings it)

GRAMMY:  It’s not for me.  It’s for her.

ME:  Oh!  Good idea.

(twenty minutes later. Baby’s asleep)

ME:  Well, that was an experience.

GRAMMY:  Yep.  I’m telling you, Barbara.  There’s nothing a bit of whiskey can’t fix.

Photo:  Philip Rogan

BEGGING

GRAMMY:  I saw your ex today.  He’s out in front of the supermarket begging.

ME:  Begging?

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  He was bent over on the ground, cup in front of him, scrounging for money.  Even got the cat and dog in on the act.

ME:  Oh, Grammy.  He wasn’t begging.  He trained the cat and dog to do that ages ago.  It’s the art of Street Performance.

GRAMMY:  Well, that’s exactly what he was doing - performing the art of begging in the street.  And how the hell is that gonna help Julius?

ME:  What do you mean?

GRAMMY:  Admit it, Barbara.  The boy has idiots for parents.

ME:  That’s nonsense, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well tell him that when he goes to school and everyone makes fun of him because his father is begging outside the supermarket.

ME:  I told you.  He’s not begging.  He’s performing.  And even if you don’t understand that, other people will.

GRAMMY:  Well, if you’re not gonna do something about it, I am.

ME:  Grammy?  Where are you going with that rifle?

GRAMMY:  The supermarket.  I’m gonna put on a little performance of my own.

ORANGE

JULIUS:  Grammy, I need help.  I need to write down ten things that are orange.  Besides an orange.

GRAMMY:  And what do you have so far?

JULIUS:  A pumpkin.

GRAMMY:  That’s it?

JULIUS:  Uh, huh.

GRAMMY:  Well, sweet potatoes are orange. And life jackets.

JULIUS:  Oh, and goldfish.  Remember when we ate one?

GRAMMY:  Yeah. It was kind of yummy. Wasn’t it?

JULIUS:  Kind of wiggly, too.

GRAMMY:  So, what else is orange?

JULIUS:  Clown hair and circus peanuts.

GRAMMY:  Circus peanuts?

JULIUS:  You know.  Those orange squishy candies.

GRAMMY:  Oh, yeah.  Taste like wet cardboard.  Let’s go buy some.

JULIUS:  Really?

GRAMMY:  Sure.  And we’ll get something to drink with our orange peanuts.  How about an Orange Julius?

JULIUS:  But I’m not orange.

GRAMMY:  It’s a drink, boy.  Named after you.  And it just happens to be orange.  But don’t tell your mother.

JULIUS:  Why not?

GRAMMY:  Well, you know how she is with all her health food crap.  She’s not really an orange person.  She’s more into yellows.

JULIUS:  Like cream corn and lemons?

GRAMMY:  You got it, boy.  Like cream corn and lemons.

Photo:  Source

NEW CAR

TYPHUS:  Hey, Grammy.  Come look.  I bought myself some wheels.

GRAMMY:  Hell, are you even old enough to drive?

TYPHUS:  Got my license two weeks ago.

GRAMMY:  Well, I’ll have to remember to be more careful when I cross the street now.  Where is it?

TYPHUS:  It’s the blue convertible in front of Alfie’s.

GRAMMY:  You’re kidding me?

TYPHUS:  I got a great deal.  Only three-hundred bucks and it’s practically brand-new.  Only has 200 miles on it.

GRAMMY:  And you didn’t ask why you were getting a brand-new car for $300.00?

TYPHUS:  I know it’s got problems.  The dealer said it was in a small accident and the owner didn’t want it anymore.

ME:  What’s everyone looking at?

GRAMMY:  Typhus got himself a car.  Got a great deal on it, too.  Brand-new and only $300.00.

ME:  That’s ridiculous.  You can’t buy a new car for $300.00.

GRAMMY:  Oh, I don’t know.  You’d be surprised.  Come see.  It’s the one in front of Alfie’s.

ME:  But that’s . . . that’s my car.

TYPHUS:  You don’t have a car.

GRAMMY:  Not any more.  It was in a small accident.  Got crushed by a garbage truck.  Happy driving, Typhus.
 

Photo: Musty Moments

FLAMINGOS

GRAMMY:  What’s with all the damn flamingos?

ME:  What flamingos?

GRAMMY:  Alfie’s got over a hundred of them out in his front yard.  Didn’t flamingos go out with the fifties?

ME:  Oh, it’s probably some art project he’s working on.

GRAMMY:  Well, that doesn’t sound enthusiastic.  Usually, you’re fawning all over everything he does.  What’s the matter, you two love birds have a fight?

ME:  We’re not ‘love birds,’ Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Yep.  You had your first fight.

ME:  Alfie doesn’t fight, Grammy.  Or argue.  Or get mad.  He shrugs and says, “Oh well.”

GRAMMY:  Or he plants flamingos.

ME:  What are you talking about?

GRAMMY:  Well, look at the damn things.  Bound legs, beaks tied up tighter than a noose, feet frozen in the ice, and every one of their beady little eyes trained on this window.

ME:  So?

GRAMMY: So, he’s telling you to shut up, go away and die. Hell, he’s screaming it.

ME:  That’s ridiculous, Grammy.  I don’t know where you get all your crazy ideas.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well, what you need to get is a restraining order.  Lord, I can almost hear the creepy music playing in the background.

Photo:  Stanislav Odyagailo

PARADE

ME:  Don’t you just love parades?  The balloons and the bands, the popcorn and cotton candy?

GRAMMY:  Standing around in the cold, freezing your ass off.

ME:  Oh, look!  There’s the high school’s marching band.  Don’t they sound great?

GRAMMY:  Yeah, if you like the sound of constipated pigs.

ME:  And there’s the mayor.  He’s doing a wonderful job, don’t you think?

GRAMMY:  Yep.  He’s taken more bribes this year than anyone in the entire history of the world.

ME:  Oh!  Miss New Hampshire!  I heard she’s going to be a brain surgeon.  Not only pretty, but smart, too.

GRAMMY:  Smart enough to date the head judge of the contest.

ME:  Oh, and look at the clowns!  They’re so funny.

GRAMMY:  You’re ignoring me, aren’t you?

ME:  Yes.

(pause)

ME:  Oh, look, Grammy!  The Fire Department!  God, they’re so hunky in uniform.  And they look so much better out of them.

GRAMMY:  Where?  Move the hell over and let an old woman see.  (sigh)  Don't you just love a parade?

Photo:  merlinprincesse

GODZILLA

ME:  Grammy, look what Julius did in school.

GRAMMY:  He wrote a poem about Godzilla?  So?

ME:  So look at the sentiment and the emotions involved.  And he’s attributing them to a monster.

GRAMMY:  So?  Monsters can’t have feelings?

ME:  Grammy!  Godzilla destroyed Tokyo.  He murdered millions.  And Julius is feeling sorry for him!

GRAMMY:  Uh, you do know Godzilla is fictitious?

ME:  I know.  But does Julius?  And why would he empathize with monsters?  His psychologist thinks he might have done something awful and now he’s sorry about it and thinking of himself as a monster.

GRAMMY:   Oh, Lord.  The man’s an idiot, and you are too.  We watched Godzilla vs. Mothra last week.  Julius probably felt bad for him.  Hell, he saves Tokyo and everyone still wants to kill him just because he’s a monster.

ME:  Well, can you blame them?  I mean, think of it - having your city destroyed over and over again.  Seeing your loved ones die.

GRAMMY:  The point is, Barbara, he saved them.

ME:  So he could come back and destroy them himself later.

JULIUS: (Whispering to Typhus)  They do know he’s make-believe, right?

TYPHUS:  Maybe we should call your shrink.

Photo:  Godzilla Haiku

BUBBLES

GRAMMY:  What are you doing, boy?

JULIUS:  Blowing bubbles.

GRAMMY:  Really?  Just blowing bubbles?

JULIUS:  Uh huh.

GRAMMY:  So if I look out that window, I’m not gonna see some damn freaky bubble sculpture?

JULIUS: Unh uh.

GRAMMY:  And you’re not conducting some God-awful experiment where you trap bugs in bubbles or some other weird stuff?

JULIUS:  No.

GRAMMY:  So all I’m gonna see are bubbles floating away until they burst?

JULIUS:  Uh huh.

GRAMMY:  (takes deep breath and looks out window)  Well, I’ll be . . . it’s just . . . bubbles.

JULIUS:  I told you.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, you did.  (sigh)

JULIUS:  What’s the matter, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  Well, it’s kind of a let-down.  I was expecting . . . hell, I don’t know what I was expecting.

JULIUS:  Wanna try?

GRAMMY:  What?  Me?  Blow bubbles?

JULIUS:  It’s fun.  It’ll make you happy.

GRAMMY:  Oh, right.  Like that’ll ever happen.

JULIUS:  Try, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Oh, hell, boy.  Move over and gimme the stick.

JULIUS:  Isn’t it fun?

GRAMMY:  Yeah, it is.  I tell you what.  I’ll blow the bubbles and you take my cigarette and see how many you can pop before your mother gets home.

Photo:  Source

CAUSES

ME:  I have to go, Grammy.  I have to get to the demonstration.

GRAMMY:  You won’t take time to find a job, but you have time for a demonstration?

ME:  Yes, Grammy.  It’s important.

GRAMMY:  Not as important as eating, obviously.

ME:  I have my Unemployment, Grammy.  And somebody has to do something.  The dolphins can’t save themselves.

GRAMMY:  And who’s gonna save the fishermen?  You may be happy living on Unemployment, but that doesn’t mean they will.

ME:  Well, they shouldn’t even be fishing in the first place.  People shouldn’t eat other living creatures.

GRAMMY:  But it’s okay for the animals you’re trying to save?  They can eat other living creatures?  And what about those plants you’re continuously shoving down your throat?  They’re alive too, you know.  Well, they are until you rip them from the ground and cut them into pieces.

ME:  Plants aren’t sentient beings, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  How do you know?  Hard to tell when you don’t speak plant.

ME:  I’m going to ignore you, Grammy, and go.  See you later.

GRAMMY:  (sigh)  Give a woman a brain and her possibilities are endless.  Give her a cause, and she’ll turn into a blithering idiot every time.

Photo:  Source

OUCH!

JULIUS:  Grammy!  Grammy!  Come quick!

GRAMMY:  Lord, what’s the matter now?

JULIUS:  It’s Typhus.  He’s stuck!

GRAMMY:  What do you mean he’s . . . ?  Oh my Lord!

TYPHUS:  Get me down.  Please!

GRAMMY:  Didn’t I tell you not to be jumping on my bed?

TYPHUS:  Yeah.  And I’m sorry.  Now get me down.

GRAMMY:  Sorry, boy.  We all have to learn from our mistakes.

TYPHUS:  Grammy?!

GRAMMY:  See what happens when you act like a dumb twit.

TYPHUS:  I see.  Now get me down!

GRAMMY:  Sure.  No problem.  But first, I’m gonna have me a smoke and a whiskey while I watch my soaps.  See you in a few hours.

TYPHUS:  Grammy!!!

GRAMMY:  Hey, you wanted to hang out in my bedroom.  So hang.

Photo:  Gregor Collienne

BIRDS AND BOOZE

GRAMMY:  Ha!  You didn’t believe me, did you?

ME:  Believe what, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  That animals are conspiring to do away with us.  Read this.

ME:  Mountain climber and photographer plunge to their deaths after being attacked by birds.

GRAMMY:  And all they found was the camera with that picture in it.  It’s just like in that Hitchcock movie. Do you think they saw it?

ME:  What?

GRAMMY:  The birds!  Do you think they saw the movie?  Maybe that’s where they got the idea.  I’m telling you, Barbara, this isn’t a war we’re going to win.  Not if the bugs get in on it.

ME:  Uhm, Grammy, have you been drinking today?

GRAMMY:  I drink everyday.  What the hell are you implying?

ME:  Well, you’re not talking rationally.  Did you take any medication?

GRAMMY:  Just that garbage the morticians at the deathhouse gave me for my arthritis.

ME:  Grammy, you shouldn’t take medication with your whiskey.

GRAMMY:  What the hell is wrong with you, Barbara?  We’re under attack by a horde of evil, maniacal animals, and you’re worried about my medication?  Go get me my shotgun.  The next bird that lands on that windowsill is mincemeat!

REVENGE

GRAMMY:  Whoa!  What the hell happened to you?

ME:  Oh, the power went out during the storm and I was wandering around in the dark, trying to find a flashlight or a candle.

GRAMMY:  So what did you do?  Trip over a piece of furniture?

ME:  No.  I stepped on Snowflake’s tail.

GRAMMY:  Ha!  There’s nothing more dangerous than a black cat in the dark.  Did she bite you or claw you?

ME:  Both.

GRAMMY:  Serves you right, keeping the damn thing locked up in the house its entire life.

ME:  I don’t keep her locked up.  She gets out when we come here.

GRAMMY:  She comes in a cat crate!  That’s getting out?  You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been planning this for a long time.  Just used the power outage as an excuse.

ME:  Really, Grammy.  She’s a cat.  Animals don’t know how to plot and scheme.

GRAMMY:  Yeah?  Remember that chimp that tore off a woman’s face?  And the killer whale at Sea World that drowned his trainer for no reason at all?  Believe what you want, Barbara, but me - I’m gonna keep that cat knee-deep in catnip when she's here.

Photo:  Laini & Samin

NOR'EASTER

.

GRAMMY:  That was one hell of a storm, yesterday, huh?  You alive over there?

ME:  Oh, Grammy!  Everything’s a mess!  There are trees down in the driveway, my basement is flooded, I have no power, and I found my mailbox half-way down the street.  What about you?

GRAMMY:  I’m sitting in a nice warm house with lights, and I’m as dry as a bone.  Oh, and the mailman is dropping my mail through the slot as we speak.

ME:  I don’t get it, Grammy.  How do you always escape disaster?

GRAMMY:  Ha!  Disaster wouldn’t come within two feet of me.  I’d kick its sorry ass all the way to Kookamunga.

ME:  To where?

GRAMMY:  Kookamunga. You know.  One of those weird places.  Like Timbuktu and Kalamazoo.

ME:  You’re making those names up.

GRAMMY:  Right.  I have nothing better to do than make up fake city names.

ME:  Well, actually, Grammy, you don’t have anything better to do.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, poor me.  Sitting here all comfy cozy when I could be hauling tree trunks and bailing water out of my cellar.  Well, I guess we can’t all be as lucky as you, huh?

SPRING

ME:  Grammy, you changed your curtains!

GRAMMY:  Yep.  Took down the heavy winter drapes and put up the spring curtains.

ME:  But it’s February, Grammy.  We won’t see Spring until at least mid-April.

GRAMMY:  Yeah?  Tell that to the birds.  The damn things have been waking me up every morning for the past ten days.  Twitter, twittery, tweep.  The damn things never shut up.

ME:  And that made you change the curtains?

GRAMMY:  If the birds are back, Barbara, Spring isn’t far behind.

ME:  Not according to the groundhog.  He saw his shadow.  That means six more weeks of winter.

GRAMMY:  News flash, Barbara.  If it’s sunny, he sees his shadow.  If it’s cloudy, he doesn’t.  And you know what?  He’s never really told anyone what he sees.  In case you haven’t noticed, groundhogs don’t talk.

ME:  No, but people interpret what he sees.

GRAMMY:  Yeah. Stupid politicians looking for a photo-op.  You don’t see Stephen Hawking hanging around the gopher hole, do you?

ME:  It’s not a gopher, Grammy. It’s a groundhog.

GRAMMY:  And that makes a difference?  (sigh)  She can’t believe in God, but a weather-predicting groundhog is perfectly acceptable.  Lord, take me now.

Photo:  Source

OLYMPICS

ME:  What are you watching, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  The Olympics.

ME:  I thought you hated sports?

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well when have the Olympics ever been about sports?

ME:  Uhm, forever?

GRAMMY:  Uhm, no.  They’re about entertainment and advertising and political statements and ‘my country is better than yours.’  Right now, the Dutch are winning.

ME:  The Dutch?

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  We were ahead for a while. Had some snowboarder and his coach dropping four-letter words quicker than a B1 bomber.  But the Dutch caught up and left us in the dirt when one of their speed skaters asked an American sportscaster if she was stupid.  Now that was a moment.  Made me wish I was Dutch.

ME:  But Grammy, he was rude to her.

GRAMMY:  He said what he thought.  Lord, I can remember when people used to do that here.  Now we’re a nation of nice, polite ninnies as boring as cottage cheese.

ME:  Well, personally, I’d rather be boring than mean.

GRAMMY:  And let me tell you, Barbara, you are.

ME:  Grammy!

GRAMMY:  Oh, shut up and get out of the way.  Someone in the stands is throwing eggs at the Swiss Curling team and you’re blocking my view.

Photo:  Source

EXTINCTION

ME:  Here’s your newspaper Grammy.  Although I don’t see why you can’t get your news on the internet and save a tree or two.

GRAMMY:  Ha!  Look who’s talking, Miss Buried-in-Books.  If you want to save a damn tree, get yourself one of those book-reader thingies.

ME:  No.  I thought about it, but it would just be too weird not having books in the house.  It’s even kind of scary.

GRAMMY:  Scary?

ME:  It’s like we’re facing the extinction of the written word.  When it all goes digital, nothing will be permanent.  Read it today, change or delete it tomorrow.  And if anything ever happens - POOF! - all that information is gone.

GRAMMY:  You know, that would make one hell of a good story.

ME:  Ooh, you’re right, Grammy!  A dystopian novel.  And I could write it!

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  On the computer causing the problem.  And when it’s finished, you can kill a tree to make a book.  It can be one of those self-fulfilling prophecy things.

ME:  Oh, wow, Grammy.  You're so right!  I could be like Jules Verne and H. G. Wells!

GRAMMY:  No.  They would have gotten the sarcasm when they heard it.

Artwork:  Red Tree Factory

NEWS FLASH!

GRAMMY:  Hey, Barbara.  Come look at this.

ME:  Oh my!  What is it?

GRAMMY:  It’s a rarely seen bearsharktopus.  It lurks in the warm water off Puget Sound.  Yesterday, it was photographed after devouring two fishermen and their small fishing boat.

ME:  Oh, Grammy.  That’s a fake.  There’s no such thing.

GRAMMY:  Oh, yeah?  Tell that to the National Inquisitor.  They’re printing the story and the picture tomorrow.

ME:  How do you know what they’re printing tomorrow?

GRAMMY:  Because they told me so - in this letter they sent with this check.  And next week, in the Amazon, the bones of Piranhasaurus Rex are going to be found.  This Photoshop thing is great!

Photo:  Source

VALENTINE'S DAY GIFT

ME:  Grammy, look what Alfie gave me for Valentine’s Day.

GRAMMY:  A picture of feet?

ME:  They’re not just any feet, Grammy.  They’re Julius’.  And those are my hands.  Alfie Photo-shopped some pictures he took of us, and this is what he came up with.  Isn't it a great gift?

GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord.  Someone’s in love.

ME:  I’m not in love, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  No, but he is.

ME:  What makes you think that?

GRAMMY:  Because that’s either the gift of a scheming gigolo or someone who cares.  Since you’re already sleeping with him, he’s not plotting to get you in bed, and he’s not after your money because you don’t have a pot to piss in.  So he’s obviously someone who gives a damn.  Lucky you.

ME:  You say that as though it’s a bad thing, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  It is.  If you marry him, you’ll move in with him.

ME:  Oh, Grammy.  Even if I did get married, I’d never abandon you.  I’d still visit you.

GRAMMY:  That’s the problem.  If you marry him, you’ll be right next door.  I’ll have your sorry ass over here every day.  (sigh)  Lucky me.

FLYING

GRAMMY:  What the hell are you two doing in here?

JULIUS:  Flying.

GRAMMY:  Flying?  That’s my bed you’re destroying.

JULIUS:  Sorry, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Sorry?  You’re both sorry.  And you, Typhus, you’re old enough to know better.

TYPHUS:  We were just having fun.

GRAMMY:  Well, I’m all for having fun.  But don’t have it in my bedroom or on my bed.  Got it?

TYPHUS:  Yeah.  We got it.

GRAMMY:  Good.  Now take these keys and head on over to Julius’ house.  You can’t fly over there, either, but you can do some diving.

TYPHUS:  Wow.  You got a pool, Julius?

GRAMMY:  Of course he doesn’t.  His mother's a single mom with no job and a leeching ex-husband.  But she does have a king-size waterbed.  Now get the hell out of here.  And have fun.

Photo:  Source

HOSPITAL VISIT

GRAMMY:  This is a hospital?  It looks like something out of an old Vincent Price movie.  And why the hell are all those vultures circling overhead?  How bad are the doctors here, anyway?

ME:  The doctors are fine, Grammy.  And those aren’t vultures.  They’re crows.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well if you know anything about birds, you know crows are nothing but smaller, smarter vultures.

ME:  Can we just go inside and get this over with?

GRAMMY:  We?  You’re not the one getting poked and prodded.

ME:  No, but I’ll be listening to you complain.

GRAMMY:  Well, pardon me for living.  I’ll try and drop dead soon so you won’t be inconvenienced.

ME:  No one’s asking you to drop dead, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Of course not.  That would be rude.  But don’t tell me you’re not hoping.

ME:  That’s nonsense, Grammy.  You and Julius are the only family I have left.

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  And why is that?  What exactly happened to everyone else?  And where is Julius right now?

ME:  He’s been eaten by crows.  Now get your ass in there, old woman, or I’ll cut you into pieces myself!

GRAMMY:  Ooh.  Touchy, aren’t we?  Some people just can’t take a joke.

MULBERRY STREET

JULIUS:  What’s that, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  A photo of Mulberry Street.

JULIUS:  Like in the book?

GRAMMY:  Better than the book.

JULIUS:  Wow!  Look at all the people.

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  People weren’t afraid to go out in those days.  See that guy?  He had a bathtub on his fire escape and made his own wine.  Used to let all us kids stomp the grapes.  Until the cops busted his tub because he wouldn’t pay them graft.

JULIUS:  What’s graft?

GRAMMY:  That’s what you pay the cops to make them go away.  And see that store?  You could go in with a nickel and come out with a bag full of candy.  Until the mob busted up the place when Mr. Fantalaro refused to pay protection.

JULIUS:  What’s protection?

GRAMMY:  That’s what you pay the mob to make them go away.  And there’s Viola Di’Odorio.  She had a singing chicken.  Until Angelo Prado shot it for dinner one night.  Yep.  Those sure were the days. (sigh) You know, I think it’s time you had an allowance.

JULIUS:  What’s an allowance?

GRAMMY:  That’s what you pay little boys to make them go away.  Now go buy something and leave me to my memories.

Photo: Souce: 
Click photo for a really great view!

CRUSHED

TYPHUS:  Look what I got at Goodwill.  Gotta look sharp if I’m gonna be an entrepreneur.

GRAMMY:  A new suit and a big word.  You’re off to a good start.  So what’s your new business?

TYPHUS:  Pot.

GRAMMY:  Pot?

TYPHUS:  Yeah.  I found this book.  Just fell outta the sky, like it was meant for me.

GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord. Y ou’re gonna be a dope dealer?

TYPHUS:  I’m gonna be a rope dealer.  I did some research.  You can make hemp from pot.  And you can make rope outta hemp.  And if you want hemp here in America, you gotta go to Canada.  I’m gonna corner the market.

GRAMMY:  You’re gonna go to jail.  You have to go to Canada because it’s illegal to make it here.

TYPHUS:  Making rope is illegal?

GRAMMY:  If it’s made of hemp.

TYPHUS:  Well, that’s dumb.

GRAMMY:  Yep.  That’s your government for you.  They think we’re all gonna start smoking rope.  Turn into a bunch of rope fiends.

TYPHUS:  But I already bought the plants.

GRAMMY:  Well, I can’t let you be a drug dealer, boy.  Bring me the plants and I’ll burn the evidence. And don’t forget to bring the rolling papers.

Photo: Source

HATS

ME:  So, do you like my new hat, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  No.

ME:  No?  What do you mean, ‘no?’

GRAMMY:  I mean I don’t like your new hat.  What the hell else could I mean?

ME:  Well, why don’t you like it?  What’s wrong with it?

GRAMMY:  What’s wrong with it?  You look like a little girl in her Sunday bonnet.  All you need now are a pair of patent leather shoes and white gloves.  Grab your Bible and it’s off to church you go.  Oh, wait.  You don’t go to church.

ME:  You’re not funny, Grammy.  And I happen to like it.

GRAMMY:  Yeah, well, you like your ex, too.  I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.

ME:  (glancing in mirror)  Does it really look like a little girl’s hat?

GRAMMY:  No.  It looks like a little girl’s hat from the sixties.  The early sixties.

ME: ( tossing hat on couch)  Oh, you’re right.  This doesn’t suit me at all.  And who even wears hats anymore, anyway?

GRAMMY:  (putting hat on)  Well, on the right person, at the right angle, it could look pretty damn good.

Photo:  Tom Robinson Photography

MARIJUANA

ME:  What happened Friday, Grammy?  I knocked, but there was no answer.

GRAMMY:  And you didn’t break in?  I’m a hundred years old.  I could have been dead!

ME:  Well, if you were, there wouldn’t have been anything I could do.

GRAMMY:  So you left me here to rot for the weekend?

ME:  I figured you had gone out for a while.  You do have that friend at the old folks’ home.  So what did happen?

GRAMMY:  Oh, I was up all night on that internet thingy, then slept all day.  So what did you do, since you couldn’t hang around here?

ME:  I bought Julius a book.  See?

GRAMMY:  It’s Just a Plant: A Child’s Guide to Marijuana?  You’re kidding me?

ME:  Marijuana is a fact of life, Grammy.  He has to learn about it sooner or later.

GRAMMY:  You won’t teach him about God or Santa Claus, but marijuana is a-ok?

ME:  Marijuana is real.  God and Santa Claus are . . . .  Hey!  Give that back!

GRAMMY:  (tossing book out window)  You want it?  Go get it.  And when you can’t get back in, it’s not because I’m dead.  It’s because I don’t open my door to idiots.

BOOKCARVING

GRAMMY:  Barbara!  What the hell did your son do?

ME:  What is it now, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  I don’t know what the hell it is now, but it was my Dickens collection.

ME:  He carved a book?

GRAMMY:  He carved a whole set of books.  My Dickens collection!

ME:  It looks like a bonsai tree.

GRAMMY:  Banzei is a yell, not a tree, Barbara.  It’s like Geronimo.

ME:  What?  Geronimo was a Native American.

GRAMMY:  I know that, dimbulb, and I’ll bet he never jumped out of an airplane, but it’s what people yell when they jump out of airplanes. And when they make a mad dash charge at you, they yell banzai!  Haven’t you ever seen a movie?

ME:  That’s a totally different word, Grammy.  It’s spelled . . . .

GRAMMY:  I don’t care how you spell the damn thing.  I want my Dickens back!

ME:  You know, Grammy, I’ll bet we could sell that.  It’s that good.

GRAMMY:  Chopped up books?

ME:  It’s a piece of art, Grammy.  I think Julius is an artistic genius.

GRAMMY:  Yeah.  Only a genius would cut up a collection of first edition Dickens.  (sigh)  It’s like talking to the damn wall.

Photo Source

EVOLUTION

GRAMMY:  Where are you off to?

ME:  PTA meeting.  It’s our yearly debate over Darwin.  Evolution or no evolution.

GRAMMY:  And let me guess.  You’re on the evolution side?

ME:  Of course.  All you have to do is look around you.  It’s pretty obvious.

GRAMMY:  And you don’t suppose that’s God twisting and tweaking, making things better?

ME:  Grammy, how can you believe that?

GRAMMY:  Because it makes more sense than your damn big bang theory.  Science says you can’t make something from nothing. So if we believe that, then where did that first bit of matter come from, huh? That bit that supposedly started it all?  I’ll tell you where it came from.  It came from God.

ME:  Sorry, Grammy. I’m not getting into this now.

GRAMMY:  Because you know you’re wrong.

ME:  No.  Because I have to deal with the people at school who think like you do.

GRAMMY:  Well, go ahead.  Just keep in mind what happened the last time you said there was no God.

ME:  What?

GRAMMY:  This time, you don’t have a car to crush, Barbara.  This time, it just might be you.

Photo Source

PERSPECTIVE

GRAMMY:  Ah, there’s nothing like New England in the winter.  Isn’t that a beautiful sight?  There’s nothing prettier than new-fallen snow.

ME:  What?

GRAMMY:  What do you mean ‘what?’  I said there’s nothing like New England in the winter.  You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to understand that.

ME:  But you’ve always hated winter.  I remember growing up, all you ever did was complain about the cold and snow and ice.

GRAMMY:  Well, who wouldn’t complain?  Do you know how many damn hours I spent shoveling the crap?  I’ll bet I’ve lifted at least twenty tons of snow in my lifetime.  And how many times did I nearly kill myself driving in the slush and ice just to make it to that lousy minimum wage job I had?  And let’s not forget all the hours I spent dragging you around on that sled of yours.

ME:  Well, that’s my point, Grammy.  You’ve always hated winter, now you’re sitting here admiring its beauty?

GRAMMY:  Yep.  Because now I don’t have to do any of that crap.  Now I get to look out and enjoy it.  It’s all about perspective, Barbara.  It’s all about perspective.

Photo Charlie H.

MERMAIDS

GRAMMY:  So, this is your room, huh?

JULIUS:  Uh, huh.

GRAMMY:  Manly.  I guess you like mermaids.

JULIUS:  Uh, huh.  Did you know mermaids can sing underwater?

GRAMMY:  Oh, yeah?  What do they sing?

JULIUS:  They sing songs for sailors.  But they don’t let the sailors see them.

GRAMMY:  And do they sell sea shells by the sea shore?

JULIUS:  What?

GRAMMY:  Nothing.  Why don’t they let the sailors see them?  You’d think they’d like a little company now and then.

JULIUS:  They don’t want anyone to know they’re there, Grammy.

GRAMMY:  Then why the hell do they sing at all?

JULIUS:  To lure the sailors near the rocks.  So they’ll crash and sink to the bottom of the sea.

GRAMMY:  Ha!  Sadistic little suckers, aren’t they.

JULIUS:  What’s sa . . . sadistic?

GRAMMY:  Oh, it just means they like to be mean for fun.

JULIUS:  Mermaids aren’t mean, Grammy.  They just make the sailors crash so they won’t catch dolphins in their tuna nets.  I’m going to be a mermaid when I grow up.

GRAMMY:  Lord.  Another bleeding-heart liberal is born.

Photo Maura Wolfson-Foster

ESTATE PLANNING

GRAMMY:  What the hell are they doing out there?

ME:  I don’t know.  Alfie said it was something Japanese.

GRAMMY:  Lord, I thought the boy would toughen up with Typhus around.  Instead, he’s making Typhus as weird as he is.  And why the hell is Alfie out there with them?

ME:  They’re creative types, Grammy.  You have to figure things like this will happen when they get together.

GRAMMY:  I don’t have to figure anything but who I’m leaving my money to.  And, let me tell you, none of you are too high on my list right now.

ME:  What?

GRAMMY:  You heard me.  I spent sixty-five years busting my butt, and if I live to be 120, I’ll still never spend everything I have.  You think I want to leave all that to Moe, Larry and Curly out there, so they can spend their lives playing dress-up?

ME:  Well, actually, I’d think you’d want to leave it to me.

GRAMMY:  Oh right.  So you can give it to that lazy ex of yours?  Think again.  (sigh)   Now I know why people leave their fortunes to their pets.

Photo: Kozaburo Tamamura

JOB COUNSELING

GRAMMY:  What’s wrong, Typhus?  That medal not shiny enough for you?

TYPHUS:  They only gave it to me because you made a fuss.

GRAMMY:  Hey, you deserved it.  You saved a hundred year-old woman from drowning in her own apartment.

TYPHUS:  You know, Grammy, I been thinkin’.

GRAMMY:  About what.

TYPHUS:  About me.  How I been wastin’ my life.  I’m tired of bein’ a low-life.  I want to be somebody.

GRAMMY:  So who do you want to be?

ME:  I don’t know.  A bigshot.

GRAMMY:  Well, what do you already know how to do?

TYPHUS:  I can draw.

GRAMMY:  Forget drawing.  Artists only become famous after they die.  You don’t want to wait that long.

TYPHUS:  But that’s all I know how to do.

GRAMMY:   Right.  Think, boy!  What do you do best?

TYPHUS:  Lie, cheat and steal, but those won’t get me anywhere.

GRAMMY:  Of course they will.  Haven’t you heard of politics? Y ou get to lie, cheat and steal you way to the top.  And you’ll get a huge salary for doing it.

TYPHUS:  (brightening)  Right!  I didn’t even think of that.

GRAMMY:  Not a problem.  Thinking isn’t one of the qualifications.

Photo Source

WATER PROBLEM

ME:  Oh my God!  What happened, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  That damn idiot upstairs left his water running again.  He leaves it on for the cat whenever he goes away.

ME:  Did you call the landlord?

GRAMMY:  What the hell for?  He hasn't shown his face around here in fifty-two years.

ME:  Well, someone has to get up there and shut the water off before the whole ceiling caves in.  I’ll call the Fire Department.

GRAMMY:  Don’t bother.  Typhus is handling it.

ME:  Typhus?  What can he do?

GRAMMY:  He’s a juvenile delinquent, Barbara.  He’s been breaking and entering since he was twelve.

ME:  So you sent him off to commit a crime?

GRAMMY:  He was here, and it’s what he does.

ME:  Grammy, he could go to jail!

GRAMMY:  Jail, schmail.  He’s doing what the damn Fire Department would do, except he's doing it for free and he isn't destroying any property.  If you ask me, he’s doing the city a service by saving our tax dollars.  Now shut up and take this umbrella.

ME:  Why?

GRAMMY:  Typhus is a second story man.  He said it’ll take him at least fifteen minutes to shimmy up the drain pipe.

Photo Source

VACATION PHOTOS

GRAMMY:  So, you never said how your vacation went.  Did you and art boy have a good time?

ME:  We did, Grammy.  We spent some time on the beach.

We did some rock climbing.  Alfie was horrible at it, but at least he tried.

We also got in some deep sea fishing.  Alfie caught a marlin, and Grammy, you wouldn’t believe the size of that thing.

Then we did some sight seeing and spent some time with the locals.












And the night life, Grammy?  You should have seen those clubs.  Me an Alfie actually learned to break dance.

GRAMMY:  What about the casinos?

ME:  What about them?

GRAMMY:  You were in the Bahamas, Barbara.  Are you telling me you didn’t hit one casino?

ME:  I was in the Bahamas, Grammy.  If I want to gamble, I’ll go down to Green’s.

GRAMMY:  Why the hell would you go there?

ME:  Come on, Grammy.  Everyone knows he has a mini casino in his back room.  The produce market is just a front.

GRAMMY:  Really?

ME:  Really.

GRAMMY:  Well, the pictures were nice.  Now I think I'll go buy me some apples.

Photo:  Tom Robinson Photography
Stormtroopers

OLD WOMAN RANTING

ME:  Grammy, why are you sitting here in the dark?

GRAMMY:  I’m depressed.

ME:  Why?  What happened?

GRAMMY:  Oh, it’s this whole damn save the planet thing.

ME:  (sigh)  It is kind of depressing, what with all the talk of global warming and carbon dioxide emissions and dirty fossil fuels.

GRAMMY:  Oh, shut up.  That’s exactly what I’m talking about.  I’m tired of all the moaning and groaning.

ME:  But Global warming is real, Grammy.  It’s something we have to think about.

GRAMMY:  Why?  How the hell are we gonna save the damn planet when we can’t even save ourselves?  We’re still killing each other for stupid reasons, we don’t take care of our sick and homeless, our damn representatives are too busy fighting each other to do anything good for the people they represent, and we’re gonna save the damn planet?  The Earth’s fine.  It’s been here over four billion years.  It survived asteroid blasts, glaciation, volcanic eruptions, you name it, and it’s still here.  It’s not going anywhere.

ME:  (sigh)  I never looked at it like that.  I guess if anyone’s in trouble, it’s us.  Not the planet.

GRAMMY:  Now you know why I’m so depressed.  We're screwed.

Photo Source