Most mornings, I have a banana for breakfast. Among other things, of course. There’s a banana bowl at the Underground, usually full of bananas, but sometimes not, and that’s where my banana comes from. Today, my banana had googly eyes.
I don’t know why my banana had googly eyes — none of the others did — except that somebody named Charlotte “is going to be putting eyes on things.” That according to Josh, the barrista. Anywhere at any time until further notice … eyes.
Has Charlotte seen Don Hertzfeldt’s “Rejected“, I wonder? Was she hearing Hertzfeldt’s banana exclaim, “I’m a banana!” as she gave mine the gift of sight? And that surprised expression on his face … sudden self-awarness?
Speaking of loss of privacy, I committed my first butt-dial this morning. Butt-dials, if you don’t know, are calls that you make without meaning to when you sit down, causing the phone in your back pocket to dial somebody at random.
I don’t carry my phone in my back pocket, and frankly wonder why anybody would, but I got a call from Jay Spivey this morning asking what the message I’d just left for him had meant … the whirring sound and the bell. No idea, I said. Butt-dial, I said. But now I wonder … what were those sounds? … was the message actually from the phone itself? Peeping bananas, prankster phones.
“Hello, phone! I’m a banana!”
“No doubt you are. And I’m a phone.”
“I’m a banana!”
“You’ve said that already.”