Dear Mole, Pancakes


Oy, indeed.  Drawing the curtain on unanswerable existential questions is just what the doctor ordered.  But I wouldn’t know where to fish for the monkey-faced eel and despite my former status as a hallucinogenic connoisseur, I’ve never been able to get my hands on peyote.

Tuition is paid and I’m enrolled in the Santa Fe Community College veterinary tech program.  However, the online curriculum is rather useless until I receive my textbooks in the mail, so I have another day or two of exquisite inactivity to enjoy.

Yesterday, I filled some of that time by watching a few episodes of The Sarah Silverman Program.  This is what I learned:

Aside from a deeper understanding of canine and feline anatomy, this might represent the sum total of acquired knowledge needed to see me through the rest of my life.

I’m also hoping that it may serve to compensate for my lack of substantive commentary about food in my last post.





10 thoughts on “Dear Mole, Pancakes

  1. Well if one is mulling on unanswerable existential questions, eating pancakes with loads of butter and maple syrup is always a good idea.

    It’s too bad that knight in Monty Python and The Holy Grail didn’t get a chance to enjoy one last meal of pancakes before that invisible force picked him up and threw him in the great chasm for not knowing the answer to that unanswerable existential question, What is the speed velocity of a swallow?

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  2. “I’ve never been able to get my hands on peyote.”

    Oh my. That is something you should rectify. I “know this guy who told me” that peyote was his first exposure to music as visual. He saw the music as it lifted off the harp of a Yamaha U1D upright piano with the front covers off. The music was described as medium-sized slow floating faintly neon-colored bubbles and translucent, pale neon geometry, tumbling at the same slow speed as the bubbles. The yellow pyramid-shaped ones were of particular beauty as were the deep green neon sided irregular cuboids and the highly irregular (x=N)-gons of widely voiced dissonances. I “was told” it is an experience that stays with you.
    Recommended. Good luck with the vet tech thing. I think repurposing oneself is the highest level of the Morris-esque Pre-Raph and craft movement a precursor to the trendy upcycling furniture hacks of junk wood pallets. You might not be a crumbling church or a stained glass window or a milk can longing to be a urinal or a planter, but vet tech is very admirable.

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  3. After Sarah’s song about sperm smelling pancake batter, the resulting “next” video was one about salted egg-yokes. Life’s genesis all within a single blog experience.

    I worked for years in a small electronic shop in Novato, California that sat right next to a veterinarian who cooked pets in a gassed fired furnace out back. The smells that would waft… Oddly enough, the sight that disturbed us most was the grease that leaked down the back of the rust-encrusted fire demon. Big dogs take a long time to render.

    I can still hear the roar of the burners turned up full blast.

    My wife as a collection of polished pine boxes full of pet ashes. I’m sure they hold the mixed-up remnants of a thousand beloved family members.

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    1. Thanks, George. I noticed that an entire module of the course is entitled “Euthanasia”, but I’ll probably become okay with that, too, since it’s usually the merciful thing to do. If not, I’ll just hum Sarah’s pancake song to take my mind off the fact that I’m assisting in the killing of someone’s pet.

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