A Brief Meditation on the Act of Waving
Some memorable (to me) moments in waving – some historic, some just plain trivial: Queen Elizabeth’s patented satellite dish half-swivel; Julia Stiles’ sarcastic imitation of same in The Business of Strangers; Douglas MacArthur’s departure from Manila (not actually pictured and I don’t suppose he even waved, but somehow I always picture him doing so); Jed and all his kin at the end of each episode; the late waving man of Berkeley; and of course there’s old Dick’s weird overhand farewell.
None of these, though, will live so long in my memory as the high point of last night’s dinner. I looked up from my plate and saw Baby Dog, seated in her newly assembled high chair, staring at me with that curious focus and intensity available only to the newborn and the tetched. I smiled and gave her my imitation of another memorable wave, Chris Kattan’s bizarrely fey stiff-armed, limp-wristed waggle in Corky Romano. Baby Dog’s face lit up with her brightest grin and she returned my wave! Mama Dog and I exchanged dumfounded glances. We tried not to jump to conclusions – after all, Baby Dog has been fond of flailing her arms since her first weeks of life. So I waved again, and once more she returned my right-handed wave with a joyously mirroring left-handed thrash. We exchanged wave repeatedly through dinner, until there was no doubt; although she lacked the motor control to manage anything but a broad up-and-down motion, she was consciously attempting to duplicate my gesture. Our little girl is learning to wave.
In other news: the cannibal poll comes down tonight, and the unfortunate winner is Pamela Anderson, the preferred meal of 30% of respondents. It was a close race, with as three-way tie for second place. Elderly folk-rocker Bob Dylan received only a single vote, but it remains unclear whether respondents spared him because he’s a beloved figure or because, as a couple of people pointed out, he’d be too stringy.
None of these, though, will live so long in my memory as the high point of last night’s dinner. I looked up from my plate and saw Baby Dog, seated in her newly assembled high chair, staring at me with that curious focus and intensity available only to the newborn and the tetched. I smiled and gave her my imitation of another memorable wave, Chris Kattan’s bizarrely fey stiff-armed, limp-wristed waggle in Corky Romano. Baby Dog’s face lit up with her brightest grin and she returned my wave! Mama Dog and I exchanged dumfounded glances. We tried not to jump to conclusions – after all, Baby Dog has been fond of flailing her arms since her first weeks of life. So I waved again, and once more she returned my right-handed wave with a joyously mirroring left-handed thrash. We exchanged wave repeatedly through dinner, until there was no doubt; although she lacked the motor control to manage anything but a broad up-and-down motion, she was consciously attempting to duplicate my gesture. Our little girl is learning to wave.
In other news: the cannibal poll comes down tonight, and the unfortunate winner is Pamela Anderson, the preferred meal of 30% of respondents. It was a close race, with as three-way tie for second place. Elderly folk-rocker Bob Dylan received only a single vote, but it remains unclear whether respondents spared him because he’s a beloved figure or because, as a couple of people pointed out, he’d be too stringy.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 10:42 PM
1 Comments:
You forgot to mention that your waves to BabyDog were accompanied by exclamations of, "Hi Baby Dog!"* She's a verra smart damned gringa!
*Not actual name.
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