I Give a Fig

Hello. Today’s Gene Pool will be short because I had started on another one — a phenomenally dramatic one about murder — but then I realized I had to hold it for Father’s Day. So this will be a series of eccentric observations.

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We begin with the sculpture above. It is a famous representation of Adam, by Italian artist Tullio Lombardo who lived in the time of Columbus. Please note the fig leaf. Fig leaves were famously an adorably prudish and mannered staple of Renaissance-era art, of course — there is apparently a reference to “fig leaf aprons” in Genesis — but it was not until yesterday that I personally noticed that the fig leaf was … a fig leaf. I have a fig tree in my front yard. It actually IS my front yard; fig trees grow exponentially over time.

Here is a fig leaf from my tree, with balls:

Okay, good.

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That photo was from Rachel, as is this one. It is of a car that is always parked in my neighborhood. The owner likes bumper stickers.

I am showing it to you only because sometimes you have to weave through the chaff to find the wheat. It is a valuable lesson about life. We shall now focus in on the gem.

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On an unrelated development, the entire sleazy industry of lobbying in Washington — historically the province of former shitty politicians shittily selling their influence after they are deservedly thrown out of office —is now in jeopardy. I do not mourn, except in the sense that extinction of a species is always something of a tragedy for humankind. Even a disgusting species, like the dung beetle or the lobbyist.

I say this because it has now become apparent that one no longer needs to take people out to lunches at fashionable restaurants, or craft elaborate ideological arguments or stratagems to get things done: One merely needs to bribe the president of the United States with cash.

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And finally, we are clearly in times of destructive polarization, so I want to share a moment of connection and concord and comity that occurred yesterday. I was taking Lexi out for a walk. We were a few blocks from my house, and she pooped near the backyard of someone else’s house. I suddenly realized that I had not brought poop bags with me, so I noted where I was and we began to move on.

A guy who was wearing a wife-beater undershirt emerged from his house and yelled at me — threateningly, I thought:

“So are you just going to leave it there?”

I just KNEW this was a Trumpist. I didn’t ask. I just knew.

I said, truthfully, “No, I will come back in a few minutes to pick it up.”

And then I added something that I must grudgingly hereby admit was spontaneous and not intended irony. Frankly, I was also trying to be obnoxious.

I said:

“You don’t have to have a shit fit over it.”

We looked at each other and burst out laughing simultaneously.

“Okay, we’re cool,” he said. “I now know you’ll be coming back.”

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Today’s Gene Pool Gene Poll:

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Finally, if you DO believe in any sort of afterlife and can afford $4.15 a month, you might want to upgrade your subscription to “paid.” Just to get right with the deity, who keeps lists.

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