Yo-Yo Boing!

— Brascho. When I saw this rabbit, I knew she was the reincarnation of Brascho. I was in love with him. He was a beautiful maricón. I must have been a maricón in another life. That’s why I’m called, Okoge, the rice that sticks to the bottom of the pot, a fag hag.

— Okoge, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Wassila.

— Makiko, Makiko Nagano. Okoge is the rice that sticks to the bottom of the pot.

— Her great grandfather was Japan’s first ambassador to the United States under Commodore Perry. They called him Shorty.

— Not Shorty, Tommy. They named a Polka after him, Tommy’s Polka, even though his name wasn’t Tommy. He used to hop off trains and run and jump back on them. I’m the reincarnation of my great grandfather. That’s why I feel I belong in this country. If my father had been born in America he would have been a maricón. He is very vain like Brascho. A whole collection of designer suits and shoes and ties. I illustrate children’s books. I don’t like children but I love animals. This is Moi — a schipperky — and this is Brascho — a Jersey Woolly. I lost my Chinese turtle, Ming. But I still have dozens of fish, and an iguana which lives in a fish tank that Tess and I stole from Brascho’s apartment. I loved him. He was beautiful. Ugly people give me rashes. Hillary Clinton looks like Yoko-Ono. Doesn’t she? We Japanese, love to imitate, but when we imitate — like we sing salsa — the woman that is singing this song — is Japanese — with a perfect Spanish accent even though she doesn’t know what she is saying. We Japanese are wackos. We always say yes, yes, yes, and you have to guess if it’s a yes or a no, and then you just have to confront our smile, and laugh with us, with your hand over your mouth. Japanese are not supposed to show their teeth when they smile.

— Nor whistle at night, it’s bad luck. But they don’t believe that to dream of weddings means death.

— I can’t laugh and show my teeth. That’s low class. But to dream of teeth or white snakes is good luck, especially on New Year’s Day. And I know five bad words in Spanish: coño, pendejo, puta, maricón, carajo.

— Perfect pronunciation.

— Corzas, a Mexican painter, taught me. And Tess perfected my pronunciation. I’m an expert at breaking up relationships. But I’m a very generous person, and I love to cook. What do you do?

— I worked with Martin Scorsese. But now I’m on my own. Scouting raw material.

— Where are you from?

— Canada. But my mother is from Chile. I am Jewish.

— Like Mona. You look like her.

— Very interesting. We are both northern Europeans. I don’t know if it was because I grew up in boarding schools three thousand miles away from my parents. My father was a diplomat — neither rich, nor poor, but I grew up in boarding schools. I don’t know if it was because of that that I lost confidence in myself.

— Mona went to a boarding school in Belgium when she was four years old and it was a boys school and the Beechnut girl and Mona were the only girls. Mona suffered because her mother never sent her Christmas gifts so the school had to give her a plain ol’ dictionary wrapped up so she wouldn’t be the only one without a gift but everybody knew it was just a plain ol’ dictionary. One year, her brother Benny got a sled. Mona got all excited thinking she’d get a sled. No such luck, just another plain ol’ dictionary. And she had to see all the boys receiving the holy communion, and she used to wonder:

— Why can’t I have it too?

— I used to read every book that fell in my hands. I’m an excellent letter writer. Maybe because I grew up in a boarding school three thousand miles away from any blood relative. May I see your palm. Amazing. A double life line. I see no sickness, but you actually live two lives. The second longer and more prosperous than the first. Maybe a new career.

— I’m psychic.

— Can we talk. After Last Temptation of Christ, Martin Scorsese went belly up. His agent sat him down, put both hands on his shoulders, and said:

— Look Marty, my man, ya gotta bite da bullet. Ya gonna hafta do other people’s films til ya can afford to do ya own.

Which is what Marty did, or rather I did for him for three years like The Grifters which was milk and water except for the grace of Anjelica Huston. Well, as planned, he made enough money from Cape Fear so as not to have to produce other people’s films anymore, and that’s why I’m out of a job. I was too successful. Now, I’m thinking, I’m forty-two years old and I have to go back to Van Couver and depend on my parents, who I don’t really know because I grew up in a boarding school three thousand miles away.

— Stay in New York. This is your place.