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And of course . . . under the table.
TABLE TALK
But rather than under the table, let us begin on the table. That’s a phrase you hear a lot in the news, especially from Washington. In negotiations of any kind, certain things are said to be on the table. Implying that other things are off the table. And sometimes, regardless of what’s on the table, a settlement is reached under the table.
The table seems important. If a person is highly qualified, we say he brings a lot to the table. Unfortunately, those who bring a lot to the table often have too much on their plates. Still, they’re guaranteed a seat at the table, because they think outside the box, which puts them ahead of the curve.
Now, if the negotiators agree on what’s on the table, then they’re on the same page. Personally, I don’t like people on my page. If someone says to me, “We’re on the same page,” I say, “Do me a favor, please, turn the page; I’d rather not be on that page. In fact, I’d rather be in a completely different book.” But that’s beside the point, I’ve wandered off the track.
Returning to negotiations, if the sides are getting close, we’re told they re in the ballpark. This often comes from people in the know, speaking off the record. And in Washington, many in the know are also in the loop because, after all, they work inside the beltway.
Now, there are other government people, outside the beltway, who, nonetheless, remain in the know and in the loop. They function in foreign countries and we say they’re on the ground. If they’re CIA, they’re under the radar and paid off the books. Much of what they learn is picked up on the street. But they don’t always need to be on the street, because a lot of information comes in over the transom.
HOUSE PARTIES
Putting aside government for the moment, I wonder if you’re aware that a completely different group of people has recently emerged in America. They’re not on the ground and they’re not on the street. You know where they are? They’re in the house! Apparently, they never went out! And there must be a lot of them, because you hear it all the time: “He’s in the house!”
And, if I may broach a delicate subject here, some of these people who are in the house are also in the closet. Fortunately for them, if they somehow manage to get out of the closet, they’ll still be in the house. That is, they will be until they’ve . . . left the building! How often these days we hear that someone has left the building.
LEAVE ME TENDER
And I’m sure you’ve noticed it’s mostly show business people who leave buildingsthe accepted belief being that Elvis was the first to master this maneuver, although you can also find Beatles fans who will argue that the
Fab Four were known to have left several buildings, as well, thereby accomplishing what would have been the first multi-star building-departures. Unfortunately, at the time, no one realized the significance of what the Beatles were doing.
Now, there are no doubt those among you who are seething because has left the building is not a prepositional phrase. I grant that, but you’d have to agree that nonetheless, it fits here very nicely. Because, after all, only people who are in the house can leave the building. But, alas, it’s impossible to leave the building if you’re still in the closet. In fact, you can’t even get to the front door.
COMING OUT
However, let’s say everything breaks your way, and somehow you manage to leave the building; guess where you’ll be? Right! Back on the street. With the CIA. So you’d better be on your toes. Because the CIA will get on your case, and they’ll be in your face. Who knows? They might even go upside your head.
I’m sorry, folks, this is really getting off the wall, so let’s return to where this whole thing began: under the tablewhere those shady deals are made. And isn’t it interesting that under the table is similar to under the counter, where illegal products are sold? Under the counter, as opposed, of course, to over the counter, which describes a drug that does not require a prescription.
COUNTERPOINT
But when you think about it, even drugs that require a prescription are sold over the counter. I mean, the pharmacist doesn’t somehow give them to you underneath the counter; you don’t get them by going around behind the counter. What happens is, you stand at the counter, pay the man, and he hands
them to you across the counter. Or he sets them down on the counter, and you pick them up 0$fthe counter. Or, if you want, you can completely eliminate the counter by having the drugs delivered to your home. Provided, of course, that, at the time, you’re in the house.
Well, folks, it turns out that one of the phrases I used at the begi
So that’s it. I’m out the door.
PASS ME A DAMP TOWEL
Here are some interesting sex facts from Thailand, accurate as of fifteen years ago. And I apologize for the dated quality of this information, but I find it fascinating, and since it’s accurate, I wish to include it here. In 1990 alone, 5 million “sex tourists”mosdy affluent men from Japanspent $4.5 billion on sex in Thailand. The country at that time had 800,000 child prostitutes under the age of sixteen, prostitution being the major occupation for children between ten and sixteen. The girls earn twenty to eighty cents a week, and their recruitment begins at six years of age.
Additionally, at that time there were 200,000 Thai prostitutes working in Europe. In 1993, there were 600,000 Thais infected with AIDS, with 1,200 new cases occuring every day. I have only one question: Doesn’t anyone in Asia jerk off anymore?
P.S. I can’t get newer statistics because, apparently, everyone in Thailand is too busy getting undressed.
PUTTING THE CAT OUT
It was nearly eleven-thirty, and I had just put the cat out. But it hadn’t been easy. He had burned more fiercely than I anticipated.
The poor thing had caught fire earlier in the evening when, in an effort to test his reflexes, I had thrown his favorite toy mouse into the fireplace, and instinctively he raced in after it.
“WHOOOOOOOOM!!!” you might say.
At first, I let him burn awhile just to teach him a lesson, and to peel off a couple of layers of the mud, mange and matted hair which seemed lately, sadly, to have robbed him of a step or two. But I must admit I was also quite fascinated by the many spectacular colors he began to glow with. Colors, no doubt, owed in part to the countless hours he spent killing time in the toxic dump next door. It was quite a show. In fact, I saw several pyrotechnic effects I dare say have not been witnessed since the Grucci home exploded during the Bicente
Then, as the feline conflagration began to burn itself out and I could see the clear, stark outline of his hairless body, he began to emit a dense cloud of smoke, along with some other gaseous substance which I can only describe as “cat steam.” Acting quickly, I covered him with several cheap sweaters that no longer fit and pounded him gently, although not without anger, for just over an hour, or until the smoke died down and he stopped his by then bothersome screeching.
At that point, energized, apparently, by a sudden burst of pain and fear, he leapt several feet into the air, went stiff and spread-eagled and began to spin violently, giving off an ominous low-frequency hum and circling the ceiling fan in an elliptical orbit. He circled for the better part of an hour. Finally, exhausted, or, I thought, maybe dead, he went suddenly limp, his orbit decayed
and he smashed into an eighteenth-century breakfront, landing heavily on the floor. For three days he lay motionless. When finally he awoke, I opened a can of Bits O’ Kidney and fed him by hand.