The Deep-fried Turkey Gene.

A year ago, I asked my younger brother Jules (check out his band, The Harlan Twins) about music lessons for Rob. Which instrument should we choose? Jules said, ask him what he wants to play. So I did. And Robert said, “the harp.”

I totally blame our good friend, jazz harpist Park Stickney, who has often let Rob play with his collection of priceless instruments. Instruments for which he pays full fare on planes, rather than have them travel in the hold—where other people stow their beloved pets.

Park recently visited with his equally amazing Swiss Missis, Christine, who used to work for Unicef and now runs a website for troubled adolescents. (Since most of the posts are from French "ados," you don’t see the usual questions about personal hygiene. Zut alors! I’m just kidding!)

Now, since last November, Rob has mysteriously developed a keen interest in deep frying turkeys. Hence my surprise when Christine took out her lap-top to show me her latest photos. Among the images of her adorable, well-behaved black lab, Leo, and her converted barn near Geneva, what should pop up on the screen but pictures of Park and some pals deep frying a turkey. They were using an ingenius rope and pulley contraption which enabled them to dip the bird into the vat of boiling oil without frying any fingers (not good for a harpist—or anybody, really).

WTF?

While Christine and I caught up with each other’s personal histories and emotional states, Park and Robert played Colorku, and read Captain Underpants books. Park thinks the Underpants series is very witty. He quoted and explained some of the nuances of author Dav Pilkey’s humor. He cited the part in "The Wicked Wedgie Woman" where Harold and George tell their teacher that they are using their imaginations and she replies, "You're not allowed to do that at this school. Didn't you read chapter one!" Clearly this is an example of Brechtian frame-breaking. Christine noted that it’s really too bad that many American children will miss out on the C.U. experience because their parents are puritans who will not be able to get past titles such as, “Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants.”

Huh? And I say again, WTF?

I would like to conduct a survey. What percentage of the total population enjoys deep frying their turkeys, as compared to that part of the population who can solve the Rubik’s cube and/or plays a musical instrument and/or enjoys avant-guarde, post-modern potty jokes?

Gotta go. Jules is calling Robert with his recipe for turducken.