Hey Madge, do you mind if I tell 'em that you are an incessant smoker & reader of paperbacks who propped lil' ol' moi in front of the boober-tuber to receive psychic transmissions directly from Stalinist Russian satellites 24/7 as soon as I was able to sit up without falling over? And can I tell 'em just how many times you mused a comparison of my alcoholic embezzler & long-lost dear-old-dad to Jack Nicholson?
She calls back from the boiler room, "shut up, Stan".
I'll take that as a yes.
|Jack, Ma & Danny|
I read his mail not too long before my traditional mid-afternoon 2 to 6 catnap.
Upon awaking, my Mom accosted me with some info she had heard on the BBC. Here it is.
The biggest (or one of the biggest) IPO's in the history of the NYSE, from a Chinese Internet company called ALIBABA, the brainchild of a Chinese man my Mom insisted looks like a Macaque.
"That is interesting" said I to she, "because I just got an email from a dude, about this Japanese cartoon that is the story of a little Macaque who makes it big in the show-biz, but reforms & goes on to serve humanity in a big way.
"Really?" said she, adding "what was that show called?".
"Alakazam the Great", said moi.
Now, because I was still a little groggy froggy, it didn't click just so, & my old Ma slinked in to score the one-timer. "Alakazam like ALIBABA?", she winced.
At this moment, I said something no young man should ever have to say to his Mom.
"Mom", I sprechen, "you just fucking blowed my mind".
It had to be said.
Here O Bruvvers & Seetsas, are the astounding details.
Alakazam the Great is based on a Chinese tale called Journey to the West. Like the journey of a massive whale of a Chinese IPO heading into a Western market, an IPO with a decidedly Arabic appellation. ALIBABA.
Here is a picture of Alakazam the Macaque.
Here is a picture of ALIBABA CEO and founder, Jack Ma, who my ma thought looked like a Macaque.
Does your inner monkey see what I see?
Now, here is the juice.
As many of my readers know, yer pal Da WWWiz doesn't get out much. A couple of daze per Moon, to get the chores done. The rest of the time I am home & alone, or with my dear old Madge, sharing a laugh over the Housewives of OC.
Well, just a very few days ago, I shopped for a new shirt at a big & tall shop I visit a few times a year.
It was an early hour. At the check-out, I offered that I was rarely up at such an ungoodly time as 10 am, as I usually worked late into the night & slept in accordingly.
The fellow there asked what I did for a living & I gave the standard, "I'm a writer", which isn't exactly true, but much easier to explain without giving the dreaded TMI.
At this moment, a lady employee of the store jumped into the chat, & in an odd way to say the least.
She was a Chinese lady named Feng, with poor English pronunciation, in her middle 50's I reckon, a bit too friendly. She inquires "You have a nice place to write?".
"Nah", says I, "I write in a dingy stairwell". True.
And may the fires of Satan confound me for all time should I lie, here is what she said next.
"There's this movie about a hotel".
I waited like Phillip Petit waits for a strong breeze.
"It's got Jack Nicholson, and I'm kinda obsessed with it".
JACK MA! Are you fucking kidding me Stanely?
(But in the dark ardent corners of a burned blue heart I whisper...Stan, my boy, I'll be yer mechanical bride like fur-evur, duder.)
And, for the last, thanks Denny Coq-qu-vin, & by the way...
Addendum Explanatium. There are two Stans in this tale. One of them is me ('cuz my mom calls me Stan).