Today a plane was grounded due to flatulence. Here’s a link to the story: http://www.tennessean.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20061205/NEWS01/612050361. Apparently, a woman (yes, a woman) was passing gas on the plane, and, embarrassed that people might discover that she is the farter, began lighting matches to cover up the smell.
Now, I have been cracking rats for 31 years, and I don’t think I’ve ever lit a match to kill the smell. Does this even work? Hey, you know what works…not farting! Or Febreeze, but that might be a little too conspicuous for the average person.
When did gas, become taboo, anyway? It’s considered rude, but it’s a totally natural function. My wife thinks I should leave the room every time I fart, which is an increasingly unrealistic expectation as the years of marriage trudge on. Remember that moment, guys, when you were comfortable enough around a girl to fart. That’s like James Bond getting his license to kill.
This story naturally made me think of my dad. He was one of the world’s great farters; a real genius. Like a flatulence virtuoso, he would grab a wiggle his cheeks when he produced a particularly robust ass bomb. It was always funny to him. In fact, he had a wonderful sense of humor, but nothing made him laugh faster than a good fart.
He was an important man, by most accounts. When I attended high school, my father was an executive on Madison Avenue. He was a leader in his industry (high-end and designer office furniture). I knew him, however, as the guy who would have fart contests with me.
My dad would have taken particular glee in this news story. This was the type of absurd crap he liked. In most ways, he was a simple man, despite his intelligence and sensitivity. No need for sophistication or wit. A good fart story will do fine.
As I continue training for the marathon, I’m tending to think on my father more and more. I know it’s only day three, but the workouts are developing into a time of reflection and meditation. Sometimes the thoughts are melancholy. At other times, though, I’m reminded of something silly or ridiculous my father said or did.
That’s the good stuff. The good times we shared. The laughter stays with you for years and years.
Some day in the future, when the shadows on my own life have grown long, I’ll look forward to a time when I can meet my father again. I’ll embrace him, and we’ll laugh together for days of Earthly time. But it will only be moment in heaven.
Just a blink.
2 comments:
OK, I love the labels at the ends of the entries. Last one was "marathon, running, training..." this one is "fart, fart jokes." Such diverse topics! smacky = Sherry by the way. Did I mention that before? Keep us posted! Are there any good stories about running AND farting? Or fart training? I am the only one commenting on this thing. You need a bigger readership...
Alright, sherry sent me here. I am not much of a blog reader, so I might never come back, but perhaps I shall - as I need to get back into exercising too and find this inspiring. Oh, and I am a big advocate of fart freedom (with some discretion and respect for others noses, of course). In fact, I am very interested in the gender differential in farting acceptability. I mean, she brought down a plane, it embarassed her so much! And guys get laughs for farts EVERY day. Interesting. . . Any chance I could hold onto this blog entry for a future feminist theatre piece on farting. . . seriously.
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