Sean’s New Bike


Sean got a new bicycle–it’s green and shiny and pretty sweet (compliments of mother dearest). He wanted to take it out the same evening it had arrived–but I suggested he wait ’till morn’. Disappointed, he accused me of being fearful he was ‘going to cycle away forever.’ I ignored the comment, since it made little to no sense and carried no appreciable weight (it would take me all of three seconds to start the corolla and catch up to him and his precious little two-wheeler–then…BAMMM….y’know… nick a good scare into Mr. Idea man).

Well, first thing in the morning, Sean was up and ready to take his new bike out for a spin around the block. I brought Bobo along  for the show–which pretty much reminded me of Christmas Day at the Marcous Household nineteen-ninety-any-year. He was giddy as he rode around–long  jesus-hair blowing in the wing. It was..something. I observed.

I commented that he looked like a praying mantis riding the green bike–the way he hunched over and let his wrists lay limply on the handlebars. Sean then started imitating a preying mantis riding a bike–which made him really look like a praying mantis riding a bike around. We all had a few laughs–well, except Bobo,  who hates the new bike and freaked out every time Sean strolled past us (Sean thinks Bobo has mistaken it for some kind of devilry).


Let this be the first entry in a series of installments capturing my disillusion and discontent with having to take the GRE’s in order to honor the taken-for-granted assumptions my intelligence is a finite, measurable, and entirely commensurable subset of the presupposed super set of dimensions of  intelligence deemed meaningful by our societies’ dominant class and demographic.

GRE Sample Question

Select the Antonym (opposite) of the word IMPRECISE:

(A)  direct

(B)   resolute

(C)   voluminous

(D)  nice

(E)   perceptible


If you choose (A) or (B), you are like me, and you are wrong.

If you choose (C) or (E), you are not like me, and you are still wrong.

If you choose (D), you are correct, and either: 1. have already given up on the GRE at this point and are now Christmas-treeing your way through the exam, OR 2. you are one of the 1% of people that have come across the secondary meaning of nice, which means to require or be marked by great accuracy and skill and will now be credited as being more intelligent than your peers for your awkward mastery of grammar trivia.

Walphins, Scene 1


Sean had recently read a science article on inter-species mating. I know what you’re thinking (that’s exactly the kind of weird shit he’s into). Anyways, he felt the (unsolicited) compulsion to educate the missus on the various hybrid breeds cited therein. Accordingly, the conversation went (a little) something like this:

Scene: evening at the Marebear residence–family lounging aimlessly in kitchen area. Bobo lays limp, eyes drooping to the sound of science and information being blubbered by the father he never wanted– mustering occasional barks of disapproval intermittently.

Sean: So, there’s the ‘zorse’ and it’s a hybrid between a horse and a zebra.

Me: Alright, fairly believable.

Sean: There’s also the ‘liger’. It’s a cross between a lion and a tiger.

Me: What creative genius scientist is coming up with these names?

Sean:  ::school girl giggles:: Who knows! Oh, and there’s the ‘walphin’…

Me: A cross between a walrus and a dolphin?

Sean:  ::school girl giggles:: Noooooo, silly! (Me: f*** you, I think to myself) It’s a hybrid between two different species of dolphin! Come on, Marebear, how could a walrus and a dolphin have sexual intercourse?

Me: I don’t know. Is it really that hard for you to picture a walrus and a dolphin f***ing hardcore?

-long pause of silence-

::single school girl giggle::

and curtain (applause).



If Michael asks, Cary just got her poems published and mom has a termite infestation in her house, but assure him there are no worries, as Cary's first royalty check happens to be the exact amount mom needs to pay for termite fumigation services (minus the cost of the tarp).
In all of this, a seamless account of anomaly. What is more, the creeping suspicion that none of it was ever real--coupled with a crazy eye, not quite willing to adjust--accordingly. That hasn't changed--the age is measured in passive charm offset by the willingness to betray every convention in turn. Lovely, a generation of warriors and revolutionaries--and they are all painted up in doves.