Thursday, August 2, 2007

Notes on the San Francisco Zoo

Sometimes something is in there

mama one baby one daddy one grandpa one

zoo keeper gathers up the peacock molt and leans over the enclosure to the lady in pink sweatpants. Delighted, she goes up the path, bestowing iridescence on every child she passes.

“Monkey smell bad! Monkey smell bad!” old lady laughs to fat faced baby.

“Obviously, they have hemorrhoid problems!”

little girl posed on a bronze hippo, chanting Ooga chaka Ooga chaka

eat signature pastas at the Leaping Lemur Grille, long-tailed and singing a gay techno anthem of summer blockbuster cartoon jungle dwellers, You gotta move it moveit!/You gotta move it move it!/

faux rattan foto booth Choose your safari scene!

Leaving through the gift shop (stained glass giraffe bean bag gorilla) and streaming through the crowded gates, a kid on the stone wall stretches out her hand and taps me twice, on the head, with a feather.

not an ostrich but an emu not an antelope but an oryx not a greater but a lesser

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