There are many gals out there right now, struggling with loss, cycle-angst, waiting. I always wish I could do something Martha Stewart-y like make them an origami wombat from handmade Peruvian paper that would spill goji berry truffles from its folded insides, but frankly, I'm just not that kind of gal. And it's near impossible to email an origami wombat.
So instead, I recommend directing your browser (as our annoying NPR affiliate so snootily puts it) to this estimable wikipedia article.
It is a very valuable review of the recent history of Russian humor. It is offensive. It is fantastic.
My personal favorite, which likely reveals a lot about me on some level:
Lieutenant Rzevsky (a stock character in one branch of the great Russian joke family) and Natasha Rostova (of War and Peace fame) are riding together through the glorious Russian countryside. "Lieutenant, what a beautiful meadow!" cries Natasha, clapping her lily white hands together with joy. "Guess what I see there?" — "Ass, mademoiselle?" — "Oh my dear lieutenant, no! I see chamomile daisies!" — "How romantic, mademoiselle! An ass amid chamomiles!.."
An ass amid chamomiles. I think that's the working title of my autobiography.
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5 comments:
Thank you for the wonderful (and hearty too) laugh. Today I feel like a chamomile among asses. Tomorrow, who knows?
I went to a bookstore today and on prominent display in the front of the store - "origami of mythical creatures".
TOTALLY thought of you!
Ha Ha!! I would totally buy your autobiography. Even I had never heard of you and didn't know your writing. The title would pull me in.
You have the weirdest sense of humor. I love it, needless to say. And I'll be ordering one of your orimagi wombats as soon as you get your sales site up and running. In fact, I also think that would be an excellent title for your biography. Origami Wombat.
Okay read the page and here's my fave:
Natasha Rostova has her first ball and dances with Pierre Bezukhov: "Pierre, isn't that grease on your collar?"/"Oh my, how could I miss such a terrible flaw in my costume, I'm totally destroyed" (walks away). Then she dances with Kniaz Bolkonsky: "Andrew, isn't there a dip of sauce on your tunic?"/ (Bolkonsky faints). Finally she's dancing with Rzhevsky: "Poruchik, your boots are all covered in mud!"/"It's not mud, it's shit. Don't worry, mademoiselle, it'll fall off once it dries up."
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