The WeightThe giant in the storywill not eat you, I told my daughter, because the giant only eats people for your amusement. "Would the giant eat me if I found it amusing?" she asked. "Even then," I replied, "the giant would not eat you, because I would not find that amusing, and that's the only way it counts." "Would the giant take his clothes off?" "Maybe," I admitted. "The giant is visibly topheavy. That could be an argument either way, couldn't it? I mean this story is clearly sentimental and nationalistic and therefore not about nude giants per se, more like a collective moral mouth rinse to fight greed, which is why I can tell it to you despite everything. Of course it may be a huge metaphor for the embargo on Iraq, in which case everything in it gets a second meaning, like in a sweepstakes, and can retire early to one of those airy duplexes in a hip gated community -- this is, you know, a condition, not an idea." "Good idea," said one of several George Bushes, I forget which, "I'm starving, -- though in order to eat anything I'd have to first descend upon it with my talons outstretched, and that's really too much effort, or as you probably call it, work. I'm trying to demonstrate how well I fit in both camps, not that you'll cave in and vote for me anyway no matter how much you fear the Democratic Party (or is it the other way around? who knows?) -- hey, I can afford all the multiple meanings you want! They're on me! Put it on my Late Capital Card, for which I get frequent flyer liquid spaces, because even distance has gone postmodern. You know this reminds me of a party I never left as the kid nobody anymore can be. Equanimity was really attained there, a gelatinous one, between meanings or whatever, and you know what it felt like? It felt just like The United Nations -- whoo! Lemme tell ya, all the waiters are topless there, in every sense."
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