Marine Biology (read at your own risk)

The other day someone asked me:

"So, besides the whole theater thing--what are your other interests or pastimes?"

"Like, hobbies?"

"Yeah, what do you do in your spare time?"

"Besides see or read or work on plays?"

"Right."

[Awkward pause.]

"Ummm, right now? Well, I'd say I go to movies but I haven't been to one in about six months. I like going to concerts but I haven't done that in half a year either. I read, I do, but that still means I sit and think about the order of words which is essentially the same thing as doing theater. I love to travel but can't afford to do that, so, ummm, yeah."

[Longer, more awkward pause.]

"I listen to podcasts...?"

I do, I listen to podcasts. This is about the only stimulus I take in that gives me even a fleeting chance of being able to make conversation with a breathing, thinking, human being. This is not a guarantee of interesting conversation. Not at all. It usually means I try to tell you about the story I heard on New Scientist about super novas in another galaxy but I forget most of the interesting parts so you end up hoping I'll just stop talking.

But really, it was really cool. A really cool story.

Sigh.

But every once in a while, there's a pay off.

Today on an NPR books they mentioned an experiment that was done in the mid-1960s where a woman and a dolphin co-existed in a partially flooded house together. On the broadcast, the author of the book (which is actually about many essentially "failed" experiments from that era) explains that the project ended up shrouded in scandal because of something that happened between the woman and the dolphin. The host gave him an opportunity to elaborate, and he said, "No, I don't think you (want me) to."

So of course I have to look that shit up!

"In the summer of 1965, (Margaret) Howe lived in the company of "Peter," a male dolphin, 24 hours a day, six days a week in a simplified flooded house. There are surreal photographs of Howe working efficiently at a desk or chatting on the telephone, eyed curiously by a dolphin as her whole environment is sopping in 24 inches of water.

"A dolphin is more like a shadow than a roommate," Howe said. The thing would stay by her all day and never leave. She could talk on the phone for hours. The dolphin wouldn't get bored. It wouldn't leave. As weeks passed, Howe was subject to depression and crying jags. "I have found that during the day I will find any excuse to get out of the flooded room," she wrote in her diary. (Lilly meanwhile was contemplating a flooded car for the future bi-species society.)

Peter began exhibiting courting behavior. He lightly nibbled Howe's legs, getting erections, and rubbing against her ardently. As a matter of expediency, Howe took to giving the dolphin hand jobs. Peter would "reach some sort of orgasm, mouth open, eyes closed, body shaking, then his penis would relax and withdraw." Dolphin libidos being what they are, this had to be repeated two or three times; then, finally, the dolphin could concentrate on its lessons.

That made for a pretty good conversation stopper. Otherwise the experiment's results were debatable. It seemed that Peter learned to say "hello" and "ball" and parrot consonant sounds. When Howe asked Peter to get the ball, he would often get the cloth."

You didn't need that image, did you?

No, well, neither did I. But now we all have it. In our heads. Present. Indelible.

Happy Tuesday.