[BIG FLASH]

Me:  Hi Mr. Poe!  It is so great to meet you!  I’ve imagined this moment in my mind so many times, you would not believe!  I’m a huge admirer of your work! And I really don’t mean to bother you, but…uh…Mr. Poe? 

Poe:  [Remains sitting at desk, unmoving; Head lays on top of hands].

Me:  [Pats his shoulder lightly]  Mr. Poe?  [Again] Mr. Poe?  [Starts shaking him now; Yells]  Oh my God, Mr. Poe?!  Somedody - somebody get some—!!

Poe:  [Lifts head sharply]  Agch!  [Rubs face groggily]  What’s all the ruckus? 

Me:  [Yells] OH WOW!  YOU’RE OK! YOU’RE OK!

Poe:  [Winces; Groans].

Me:  [More quietly now]  You’re ok! 

Poe:  Yes, yes - [Hiccups] - and who - [Hiccups] - might you - [Hiccups] - be?  [Squints, looks around] And intruding in my - [Hiccups] - cottage, no less…

Me:  Oh never mind that.  [Leans down to him] Although, you might wanna drink something for that hiccup.

Poe:  Indeed - [Hiccups] - and I know just the thing [Rummages around papers on desk; Opens drawers; Finally pulls out a flask].

Me:  [Straightens]  Oh, well, I was thinking more like—

Poe:  [Takes long, deep gulps from flask].

Me:  —water. 

Poe:  [Lowers flask; Squints at me]  Oh yeah?

Me:  Well, I’ve heard it helps better.  [Points at flask] Well, better than that stuff, anyway.

Poe:  [Wipes mouth]  Oh it does, does it?  [Rises from desk] So you some sort of doctor?

Me:  [Backs away]  Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly…

Poe:  [Continues moving forward]  Oh?

Me:  [Backs into window; Stumbles into window sill; Sits; Looks up wide-eyed at Poe].

Poe:  [Stops just before me; Cocks head to the side; Smirks] You are quite the flighty one, aren’t you?

Me:  [Sputters].

Poe:  [Reaches hand toward my face].

Me:  [Flinches].

Poe:  [Hand continues past me to a rag hanging on nail by window; Laughs outright at my reaction; Then looks me up and down curiously]  How odd.  One would think that for a girl who walks in public wearing pants, that she’d at least pack some courage in her back pocket. 

Me:  [Stiffens]  Well maybe if your cottage weren’t so dark, I wouldn’t be so “flighty” as you call it.  [Stands up]  And how is a writer supposed to write with no light? [Gestures with arm; Knocks over pail of water onto stray papers on floor].

Poe:  NOOO!  [Drops to floor]  My new piece!!  [Lifts soggy papers; Tries unsuccessfully to shake water from them]  Look at what you’ve done!

Me:  [Crouches down beside him]  Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!  [Helps gather papers; Angles head; Reads words on topmost sheet]  Oh, Annabelle Lee!  That’s my favorite!  I know it front and back!  I could help you rewrite it!

Poe:  [Freezes; Lowers papers; Directs full gaze at me]  What do you mean you know it “front and back?”  I’ve barely even completed it.

[Both slowly rise to feet]

Me:  Oh no…  [Frantically pats jeans pockets]  I seem to have misplaced my —

Poe:  [Points finger, and wet papers, at me]  Just what do you think you’re doing?  Have you got something else hidden in the pockets of those unseemly pants?

Me:  [Raises hands; Steps backwards]  N-n-no!  I only wanted — ah!!  [Loses footing; Stumbles; Falls to the floor].

Poe:  [Rushes down to my side; Gently sits me up right]  Oh, I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to frighten you so.  Are you alright?

Me:  [Rubs back of head]  Yeah, it’s my fault, I should’ve looked where I was going.  Oh look, there’s a floorboard come loose.

Poe:  No, no, never mind that!  [Hurriedly tries to get me to my feet]  Come along, just come along [Grabs my arms; Almost frantic now].  Up you go!

Me:  No wait, what is that?  [Angles head to look underneath floorboard; Squints] It — it looks like [Eyes catch a glint of red then look slowly up at Poe].

Poe:  [Stiffens; Glares back].

[Long Silence]

Me:  Ne-ne-never mind.  Can I have a sip from that flask?

[BIG FLASH]
 

What comes to mind when you hear the word “Cave Man?”  1. The Geico commericals?  2. The soulful creatures who created beautiful cave art depicting human and animal figures?  3. Grunting men in shaggy hair fighting off T-Rex’s with spears?  (Yeah, I know, that one is totally off, but tell that to Hollywood).  4. The dillemma of there having been at least two kinds of “Cave Man,” and the ensuing fight for survival between the two species of Human?

Now I admit, my perceptions surrounding the word “Caveman” have gone through quite the journey.  As a kid, I was among the third class.  Having watched insane movies like Yor and Quest for Fire it wasn’t too difficult for Hollywood to have its way with my young and docile mind.  Shortly afterward, in the advent of Geico Greatness, the third class took over and had me in its mercilessly unrelenting yet hysterical grasp.  Then in school, I was inducted into the second class; having studied under great professors who showed me a whole new world of Early Man and their historic contributions.  However, I’ve lately been introduced to the fourth class, thanks to some relatively recent findings that have come to light in the Athropological community.

As we all know, Neanderthals lived a long time ago; between 130,000 and 30,000 years ago, to be exact.  In appearance, they were sightly more robust than modern humans, slightly shorter, had larger noses, and it is debated how developed their speech was in comparison to ours.  Sure thier lives had their hardships like any other species.  But they had some sweet moments too.  They composed art, they cared for their sick and elderly, they even buried their dead.  They lived lives filled with as much meaning as any unassuming creature of the world could think to hope for.  Then suddenly, Homo Sapiens swooped down upon them like the wrath of God and thoroughly, brutally, mercilessly eradicated them from the life grid.

Or so I thought.

Recent findings show that Neanderthals weren’t completely wiped out after all.  Neanderthals and H. Sapiens co-existed and even interacted for some 30,000 years (There are some theories that the myths and tales about leprachauns and trolls living under bridges are simply passed-down and glossed-over evidence of Early Human perceptions of their Neanderthal cousins).  However, there was always a tiny inkling of a hint of a breath of a whisper that there may have been some other forms of interaction between the two species…you know…the sexual kind.  It’s always been brushed aside that nothing could have come from these couplings due to their being two different species, but studies show that these forays have had long lasting effects.  Effects that show up in the form of 1% to 4% of human DNA having originated from that of Neanderthals!  They’re mainly people from Eurasia, and still others in the South Pacific, however none are from Africa (due to the time discrepancy between the interbreeding and the one or two ”Out of Africa” migrations).  But isn’t that amazing?!  Even though it’s such a small percentage, there are some people today who are living decendants of another species of Human!

While it is evident in the DNA (genotype), there is still some doubt as to how much of their physical traits (phenotype) have been expressed in the Human appearance.  But that wouldn’t stop some of us from speculating that maybe, just maybe, the guy at work (with the odd, unplaceable accent, and the heavy brow, and the jutting jaw, and the shifty eyes, and the big hands that are always ending up in the most inappropriate places on women’s bodies) might be hard evidence of Neanderthal posterity.  That’s not to say that all Neanderthals were creeps - or that they just so passed the creep gene down to the biggest creepo of them all who happens to work a couple terminals away.  But that’s beside the point.

The point is that all this hate-talk of racism is a bunch of nonsensical crap.  At the end of the day, no matter the percentage of Neanderthal DNA present, human beings still genetically share 99.8% in common with each other.  Making us all one species of Homo Sapiens, and all one race.  Skin color, ethnicity, culture don’t separate us from each other that much in the grand scheme of things.  But how much more wide would the separation be; how much more brutal the racism that still exists today if targeted at these Neanderthal cousins of ours, were they still in existence?  They, with their short stature, and snubbed noses, and long arms, and wide chests.  How different would the world be if they hadn’t essentially bled part of their DNA into us, and eventually died off.  How much better or how much worse?  What kind of impact would it leave on discrimination as we know it?  And would they necessarily be at the receiving end of it? 

Just some light thinking to leave us all with. 

There was this sweet little memory that popped into my head the other day (which is really convenient for the purposes of this blog).  I used to have my own constellation!  Or rather, there was a random set of stars that I used to see all the time in the night sky which I called my own.  Of course you can tell by the blog title what the constellation was called (informally): “Lucy’s Airlines”!
Looking at them perspectively, you could trace a series of imaginary lines with your finger and it would form an airplane.  (In reality, it was just four stars in the sky that basically looked like a “Y”.  But flip the “Y” upside-down, and rotate it counter-clockwise about 45 degrees, and you’d have (a sad-excuse for) an airplane).  Corny, I know.  But you couldn’t blame me though; I was in the 5th or 6th grade.  It’s been scientifically proven that those are the corniest years of life…the corniest years of life.

Well anyway, right after I had “discovered” Lucy’s Airlines, I was so taken by it that I’d see the ghost of the constellation everywhere.  Like during lunch time in the cafeteria, there’d be a pattern of spilled milk droplets on the table that would match the constellation.  Or when my sister would complain about a set of freshly formed pimples on her face and - although I feared for my well-being and wisely kept it to myself - there it was!  My constellation right there on the left side of my sister’s frowning face!  I mean, I saw it everywhere…

But not anymore.  For some reason, a while back, I just stopped seeing it.  And I had only ever seen it in the Winter because, you know, the position of the Earth at certain times of the year more or less prohibits you from seeing certain stars/constellations with the naked eye [Fact Check].  But even in those Winters, I wouldn’t see it anymore.  And I wasn’t sure if it was because the light from one of the stars had stopped coming to Earth due to its possible demise light-years ago (scientists say the “light” of the stars we see at night is just the relatively transient legacy of an already “dead” sun).  But really, I secretly wasn’t sure if I had stopped seeing it because I was getting older, and so the juvenile element of imagination that had allowed me to see it in the first place was wearing off…

So of course, after being sad and confused about it for some time, I eventually stopped trying to see at all.  And after that, I apparently just forgot it ever even came into existence for me.  I don’t know why I suddenly remembered it.  Maybe it’s because I’m missing the Winter so much right now - what with the oppressive heat and all (yes, opressive) - and looking at the stars is such a big part of the Winter season for me.  I don’t know, but I’m glad I remembered it anyway, corny name and all.

Maybe one of these days I’ll spot a Summer constellation and informally title it again (corniness will of course be optional).

[BIG FLASH]

Me:  Ah hello, Mr. Lamarck, hello!  Oh this, this is a real pleasure!  You probably won’t believe this, but I was so captivated by your Aquired Characteristics theory in high school Biology.  [Looks down bashfully] I more or less flunked, but man, your theory stayed with me!  I remember, I used to attribute my runner’s legs to my dad having competed in his college days.  [Shakes head] But of course, that was all  -

Jean:  Wait, wait, these are my private gardens!  How did you get in here?  [Caresses nearby plant petals] And I would have you know that sudden flashes of light are dangerous to this species of flower!

Me: Oh, so sorry about the flash, I totally didn’t mean to put you off.  [Looks around] Place is great by the way.  And huge.

Jean:  Don’t touch that!  Now what was it you were saying about my work?

Me:  Oh, that I really enjoyed learning about your “Inheritance” theories and all.  And that, well you know, considering all that happened afterward - well, it was worth the shot.  [Tries awkwardly to pat his back].

Jean:  [Swats my hand away]  Wait, what do you mean you’ve really enjoyed my work?  I haven’t even published anything yet.

Me:  Oh no?…Oh no.  [Pats jeans pockets] My calendar…

Jean:  [Tightens grip on big pair of shears] And why do I get the feeling you are patronizing me?

Me:  Huh?  No, no way.  [Holds hands up] I mean, your idea with the giraffes really got the ball rolling!  No one was even able to touch that one for a while.

Jean:  [Gestures wildly with shears] Hey, there is a lot more to my thoery than just giraffes!

Me:  Oh I know, I know [Backs slowly away].

Jean:  There’s that bird thing…and the mole thing too!

Me:  Of course, of course!  [Backs up against patch of tangled shrubbery] Hey, do-do-don’t worry about it. 

Jean:  Look at me, I’m not worried!  I am not worried!  [Points shears at me] Where are you going?

Me:  Yeah, I have this thing.  [Looks quickly over shoulder] Gotta catch up on some reading…

Jean:  No, listen, since we’re on the subject, how about I fill you in on my invertebrate research!  [Reaches for my arm] Come back here!

Me:  Ah! [Turns and ducks into shrubbery; Hides]

Jean:  Hey! [Runs and stops short at low-hanging leaves; Stalks perimeter of entryway; Yells into bush] So let me get this straight - my research isn’t good enough, huh?! Forget about the scientific community and my esteemed colleagues, because it’s not up to par for some silly girl with short hair and dirty pants!! [Breathes heavily; Stops in front of a gap in the shrubs; Whispers] I can hear you in there…

Me: [Crouches lower; Holds trembling hand over mouth].

Jean:  And I can see your pants! [Raises pair of shears above head; Prepares to slash them down on my hidden form].

Me:  [Darts hand from shrubbery; Grabs Jean’s ankle; Yanks him off balance].

Jean:  Aaaarrggh! [Lands hard on his back in the dirt].

Me:  [Slowly emerges from shrubbery; Picks up shears laying in dirt by his hand; Stands over him; Holds pointy end to his throat] Now, what were you saying about my pants?

[BIG FLASH]

Close your eyes.  Now open them.

You’re remembering one of the best days of your life as a child at a theme park, and it was great, even if you and your family didn’t arrive as early as you would’ve liked.  Your mom and dad took turns holding the camera throughout the day as you and your siblings ran amuck and wreaked havoc and all the great stuff memories are made of.  You suddenly want to take a thorough hike up memory lane and relive things exactly as they happened, and you totally can, thanks to Mom and Dad.  So you flip on the video, and you’ve got a recording of the day’s events, and namely, its sensations, as they happened.  

Watching the tape, you can “see” everything you saw in the theme park that day.  You laugh at the images on screen: the crazy spinning ride you were waiting in line for and the whacky colors of its various boxed cars flying overhead.  You even slap your forehead in dismay at seeing the oversized yellow t-shirt and jean shorts you were wearing, which totally didn’t complement your skin tone, but whatever.  Listening to the audio, you can “hear” how much of a pest you sounded like when you were ten years old and marvel at how high-pitched your big brother’s voice used to be.  You’ve even got a recording of the “taste” and “smell” of the lunch you all had that day; your mom’s already given you the recipe to her tuna sandwiches (not enough onions but way too much pickle relish) and - what a coincidence - you happen to be eating and smelling the very same as you sit and watch the madness unfold on tape.  

Then something strikes you as odd; you mishandle your sandwich as you set it down and completely miss the plastic plate resting on your lap.  In the forefront of your mind, a nagging but puzzling question replaces the concern for the growing mayonnaise stain on your khaki pant leg, and that question is: what is the only non-recorded sense that you’re missing in all of this?  Why can you relive everything else, every other sense, that occurred that day, one of the best days of your life - sight, hearing, taste, and smell - but not that of the “physical” sense?  There’s no play-back, no stimulus, to cause you to relive the crazy fluttering your stomach did when the cart flipped upside-down the first time and your seat-belt strap slackened enough to make you grab your brother’s hand next to you so that if you fell from the ride, he’d either fall with you…or save you.  You sit back and think about how today as adults, you and your brother hardly ever see each other anymore, so you couldn’t replicate that childish reflex as you’re sitting watching the rest of the tape roll, especially since the embarrassing hand-holding wasn’t recorded on tape.  You can watch the part when the ride was over and you ran so hard into your mother’s arms that the wind was knocked right out of your lungs upon the beautiful impact, but can’t relive it in the same manner as seeing it, or hearing the residual “Hoomph!” when you and your mom stumbled backward.

Stepping out of the scenario, I would like to understand why the sense of “touch” or “feel” is the one out of the four to be left out.  Perhaps it’s because there are no devices or methods (known to the public) that can essentially bottle-and-cap physical sensations as they happen, as there are for the other senses: video recordings for “sight,” music and audio tapes for “sound,” perfume or home recipes for both “smell” and “taste.” And yet nothing for physical feeling.  You can’t bottle the feeling of a broken bone or a stubbed toe.  And you can’t record and later relive the first time your lips touched someone else’s, your first menstrual cramps, your first fight, the last time you wrapped your arms around a lost loved one…at least not physically. (Memoirs and journal entries should be excluded from all of this, as reading something won’t necessarily create the accompanying sensation [Fact check]). Although it does seem that the most you can do is record these physical sensations in your memory.  

I know there are a lot of blurred lines, and ideas, here - especially in the wake of the previous “Morphosensism” entry.  But there is a discrepancy that exists among the senses. And there is a lot more exploring to be done.  So “Alley-oop!”

[BIG FLASH]


Me:  Oh!  It…is…such…an…honor!  I admire you so much, like really!  I read a huge biography about you by Antonia Fraser that changed my life!  Man, I even wrote a term paper that semester titled, “Mary, Queen of Hearts.”  [Looks down bashfully] Corny, I know, but you’re so…

Mary:  Excusez-moi, qui - qui vous est?  [Rises slowly from dresser table].

Me:  Oh I’m sorry.  Uh, you speak English, yeah?

Mary:  Oui, oui.  I just - who are you?  [Glances behind me; Clutches hair brush to her chest] That flash of light…what…what…are you wearing?  Pants?

Me:  Yeah, listen, I’m really sorry about all the ruckus.  But…you know?  [Puts finger to chin; Shakes head] It’s remarkable to hear you speaking in your native tongue.  Well, not exactly “native” because you were born here in Scotland and all -

Mary:  [Continues brushing hair] Oui, the land of my late father.  But you are a long way from there, no?  This is France.

Me:  Oh?  Weren’t - aren’t you in…?  Yikes…what date is it?  [Patting jeans pockets] It appears I haven’t packed a calendar…I mean, you do look a bit young.  If I remember, you were still a wee thing after your first husband -

Mary:  [Freezes hair brush mid-stroke]  What was that?  My first husband?  [Points hair brush at me] Listen, I don’t know who you are, but I am married to my first and only husband, understand?

Me:  [Nods hurriedly]  Y-yes, of course.  You see, I just kinda lost my bearings for a minute.  And seeing as you’re not wearing your mourning garments, I had only assumed -

Mary:  Mourning…garments? 

Me:  Ah, yes……uh, sooo how is Francis doing? I know he had -

Mary:  Stop!  [Slams hair brush on dresser] First you inexplicably mention my wearing mourning garments, then call my husband - The Dauphin - by his given name.  [Raises voice]  Do you mean to threaten the French crown - and while my guards await me by the door?! 

Me:  No, hey wait, wait!  You’re getting me all wrong!  [Glances nervously towards the doorway] I - I - I mean it’s not like the French crown is the only crown you have claim to.  There’s always the English crown, right?  

Mary:  [Looks to the side; Puts a finger thoughtfully to her rouged lip]  But my cousins are there; Mary and Elizabeth.  [Smiles to herself]  Dear Elizabeth.  In our correspondence, she is always so kind to me.

Me:  [Coughs]  She is now.

Mary:  [Bats eyes]  Hmmm?

Me:  Uh, so you never answered my question.  You know, how Francis is getting on?

Mary:  [Frowns]  And just what is it to you?  Why are you so concerend with my husband? 

Me:  [Laughs nervously]

Mary:  Yeah I thought it was comical too.  That for a woman who looks like a boy - and with such ill-fitting pants - you might show a little more concern for finding a man of your own. 

Me:  [Lowers head slowly; Looks at pants] Oh…

Mary:  [Flips hair; Grins] As for myself, I have a husband and I mean to keep him.

Me:  [Looks up at Mary’s hair]  Although it’s a shame you couldn’t say the same for your own head in the coming years.

Mary: [Silence]

Me:  [Nodding] That’s right.

[BIG FLASH]

ohdedewo asked: You think you're better than me?

I think Eugene Levy is…and that’s not saying much.  So there.

I’ve always imagined what it would be like to have lived for centuries and to have witnessed the fluxes and changes, even births, of the world’s languages.  To have known something that is extinct while it was still alive.  Or to have been around for the beginning of something so old it seems like it just always…was.  While I haven’t quite tackled the necessary steps to achieve immortality, then perhaps the second part of my wish might come true.

Or has it always been coming true and I was just never wise to it until now?  I think about language a lot.  But I teeter between thinking about it too much and not enough.  Allow me to explain the contradiction.

You see, when people talk, sometimes I listen to the kind of verbs they use and their participles, where they place their pronouns (subjective and objective), their intonations and inflections, and I even listen to hear if perhaps the speaker has an impediment like I do (in which case we immediately touch our foreheads together in the universal sign of one-ness and make double rainbows…I don’t score there too often). But it’s almost like listening to two conversations at once.  This has been the “I think about language too much” part.

The “Not enough” part is: rather than listening to two conversations at once, I could be listening to the “bigger” conversation going on all around me.  That English, as I think I know it, is and always has been, in flux and evolving.  And not just accent- and dialect-wise as addressed in Part 1, but grammar-wise as well.

In one of the two Linguistic classes I took in college (yeah, I know), we passed over the studies of grammar that fell under “Prescriptive” and “Descriptive” [Google check].  The Prescriptive study of grammar refers to the structure of language and how people think it should be used; which opposes the Descriptive study that refers to how language is actually used by speakers and writers.  

Now, everyone has their Prescriptive pet peeves.  A few of mine are the mixing up of pronouns.  The details would bore you, but some examples would be starting a sentence with “Me” or “Him” as the subject, or using “I” or “She” at the end of prepositional phrases.  Although of course I’d be last in the “Perfect Position to Judge” line, but you know what I mean.

But my point is, rather than nitpicking and poring over the minutiae of “Prescriptive This” or “Descriptive That”, why don’t I just ride the wave?  Who knows, centuries from now, English speakers (or the speakers of whatever English may turn into) may not even have a word for grammar anymore.  What if there’s a world-wide Fahrenheit 451 heat-flash?  It’s some post-apocalyptic era [insert apocalypse of choice] and all books are burned.  Anyone caught harboring them is beaten and flayed in front of their children. And let’s not forget the rampant cannibalism.  Life suddenly becomes more precious because you can at least talk to your loved ones that survived, rather than judging and reprimanding other survivors that happen to speak more indiscriminately.  Eventually, everything becomes colloquial; no more pre- or descriptive grammar and no more syntactical hierarchy.  And I’d be turning over in my grave.  Because I would have let the beauty of the grammatical transition in this pre-apocalyptic era pass me by without at least trying to embrace it…give it a hug and hold it for extra long and make things awkward, then avoid eye contact for the rest of the interaction…you know?

Hum.  So I guess that means I’ve got more or less until December of 2012 to “let go and let flow.”

[BIG FLASH]

Me:  Oh my gosh, oh wow, Your Grace, I am a huge devotee!  I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you in person!  I know almost everything about you, like you don’t even know.  [Bashfully looks down] I must admit…I had a major crush on you for a few years.  Oh, look at me gushing, and I’m talking a mile a minute, it’s just that…

Philip:  Con permiso, con permiso, pero, ¿Qué estás haciendo en mi - ?

Me:  Um, sorry to interrupt but my Spanish is so-so…

Philip:  Si, si, por supuesto.  Em…what are you doing here in my private study?  What was that big flash?  And why are you wearing pants?  [Quickly glances towards the doorway] Look, this is most improper; my wife could walk in any minute…

Me:  Oh, sweet!  May I ask which wife you’re married to now?  [Patting jeans pockets]  I don’t have a calendar on me…

Philip:  [Lowers eyebrows] Excuse me?

Me:  Oh, it’s just that you had a few.  Wives, I mean.  Like, you weren’t - I mean you aren’t - exactly the mate-for-life kinda guy…you know?

Philip:  [Silence]

Me:  [Looking nervously toward the doorway]  S-s-say, if I go by the process of elimination, I could count out Mary of England because she never stepped foot in your Escorial.  So that would only leave -

Philip:  [Takes a step forward]  How did you know of my relations with the English woman?

Me:  [Takes a step back]  Well, I know about your relations with qu-qu-quite a few English women, actually…

Philip:  [Takes another step forward]

Me:  None of which ended particularly well…but that’s beside the point, right? [Backs up against a bookshelf]

Philip:  [Grabs my arm; Lowers voice]  So just what are you trying to say?

Me:  [Sputters incoherently] …

Philip:  [Takes a long, scathing look at me, up and down]  Because for a woman who has short hair and wears pants, I don’t think you’d have any proper knowledge of any man’s relations with women…

Me:  [Gasps]

Philip:  [Chuckles lowly]

Me:  [Sniffles]  Well, with all due respect Your Grace, neither would you…

Philip:  [Grabs my other arm, squeezes]

Me:  …for you are the one who got with his own neice and fathered her children.

[Long, tense silence]

Philip:  How about I “get” with you and father your children?

Me:  [After long silence] Yes…please.

[BIG FLASH]