Genevieve; the Third of January by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 12

Her mind then began to clear from her sleep, and she thought that she was being unreasonable to the indies. At least she thought so ....... regarding her mind, sleep, and degree of clarity that is. She decided that if it was no more than two of the four, she could adjust her high standards; especially considering that it was free; more or less. With the ease of a click-click-click, she got something which at least didn’t seem perverse.

The Tater Tot Hour; property of the author.

The chuckling voiceover said: “To many, tater tots have recently become symbolic of America’s rich and their status.

This may be due to their carefree appearance, crispy exterior,

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tendency to be found in clusters, and their calloused coolness until cooked in mass. This belies their humble beginnings as an economic use for leftover slivers of cut-up potatoes. At least until the sociologists have come to some agreement about this seemingly dichotomous phenomenon this show will not be about that. For now, we will tell you that we merely think that tater tots are cute, easy to draw, and elicit smiles as well as puppies and kittens. What we will tell you later depends upon too many factors to list.

The standardized instructions with which a prime time production is virtually obligated to conform, in the case of tater tots includes;

1) Preheat oven to 425.

2) Empty bag of Tater-Tots into large bowl.

3) Drizzle with olive oil and seasonings.

4) Toss to coat evenly.

5) Spray baking sheet with nonstick cooking spray and spread tater tots in a single layer.

6) Bake for 15-20 minutes.

7) Eat.

And this has not yet even attempted to deal with the current reality of predominant microwave heat. The term ‘heat’

is somewhat open to question as what is happening is that what has been sequestered within the plastic doors is subjected to

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electromagnetic radiation which produces thermal energy in a process called dielectric heating; not very different in concept from your everyday bomb; hence the colloquialism of ‘nuking’ the food or small animal so placed. The efficiencies and safety are both unquestioned in the scientific arena.”

Someone’s old advertisement of “Better living through chemistry” flashed through Genevieve’s mind, producing a silent giggle which in turn produced a very brief feeling of personal guilt over that which was not her doing, rapidly dismissed as just too self-importantly silly. On a more serious level, she was uncomfortable with the possibility that the show was seeking to capitalize on clandestine class warfare. Indeed, it was not the fault of the cute little tater tots that they were wealthy.

She recalled the old joke of; “If you’re so good why aren’t you poor?”

This show was just was not going to do for Genevieve; certainly not for an entire hour. Once one gets over the initial

“hilarity” of the cute, dancing tater tot, there was an inevitability of at least fifty-nine minutes of tedium, and that optimistically assumes that there are no surprising mishaps.

On an aesthetic level, Genevieve was further not optimistic over the scant possibilities indicated by an incomplete tater tot extravaganza replete with childish visuals. She again click-click-clicked, and was greeted with a screen full of simplistic

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imports sanctioned by Disney or Dr. Seuss, the latter’s claimed credentials yet to be fact checked. Whatever. She saw a pig’s head with all the promise of condescending shlock.

The Tater Tot Hour; property of the author.

The voices were decidedly British highbrow, much like an Ivory-Merchant production, but with Neanderthal visuals and a telling distinct note of Welsh Estuary, inasmuch as the words were decipherable to a US based pooch. But, worse, that pig’s cartoonish head rarely moved and its mouth was constantly open as if one was supposed to find “entertainment” somewhere in the resultant garbled chat. She was not exactly “chuffed” and thought that the ten millionth vampire or zombie “entertainment”

capsule might have better sufficed, insofar as it might possibly have prompted Genevieve to leave it on for company while she did

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more interesting things, like trying to go back to sleep if she could determine whether or not she was sleeping already, cropping the rose hibiscus on the window ledge, or make a project of flushing Rid-X down her toilet. But, despite their allure relative to a motionless pig, her mental image of a companion vampire or zombie had ended hallway through Christopher Lee’s career. “Sorry, guys,” she thought;

“sarcastically or otherwise ‘funny’ monsters just are no longer all that appealing to me. It is sad, but things do have a nasty habit of wearing off.”

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