laughed. “More like, dit. Du-dit. Du-dooo-doodly-do . . .” He completed an impromptu ska line with a catchy swing beat, and everyone clapped.
“Lord, that stuff’s right over my head!” cried Angela, tugging the arms of a miniature denim jacket right-side out. “Afraid you’re more in the land of Barry Manilow, honey. Now, it’s a shame you’ve missed the corn. But while you’re out here, make your sister lay in some good country-style ribs. And head over to the Herbert Hoover Presidential Museum—it’s a real treat.”
“Right after we visit the monument to Enron.” Since Angela didn’t pick up, Edison swallowed any more cracks about this state memorializing an Iowa native still a byword in the rest of the nation for catastrophe and incompetence. When he bantered genially about what kind of a whip his kid sister cracked, I demonstrated: time to get back to work.
“We contract out for the electronics,” I explained once we’d retired to my office. “But we do the audio. At first I had customers send their own recordings of the subjects—who around here we call ‘vics,’ like in cop shows—so the dolls could speak in the vic’s actual voice. But we got complaints that, even if the vic said, ‘Big diff, baby, big diff!’ fifty times a day, it was the dickens to get it on tape. Also, skulking around after spouses with secret digital recorders in their pockets made people feel creepy. So we hire actors, and I think the satire is more successful hyped up in a different voice—and it softens the ribbing somehow. Matching the right actor to the script is part of the art. Among other things, I’m a casting director.”
“You gotta admit, as manufacturing goes,” said Edison, lowering into my office armchair, “this operation’s pretty out.”
“I know it’s nuts,” I said easily. “Still, people make stupider products.”
“Like what?”
“Whole factories in China do nothing but produce ghastly, hideous, pointless toys for American kids, who break them after playing with them once. I make attractive toys for adults out of natural materials that become treasured members of the family. And these dolls aren’t only a way for people to tell each other what drives them crazy. They’re also a way to show they love each other.”
“How you figure that? Seems to me what you’d buy when you were fucking dark on somebody, man.”
“It’s surprisingly difficult to nail people verbally. Some customers take months studying the subject and taking notes. That intensity of attention is a compliment. And for us at Monotonous, it’s been a mini psych course. You should see some of these phrase lists.” I rifled the papers on my desk. “They’re tiny character studies. Like this one. Louisa’s working up his costume, and calls him ‘Dr. Doom.’ ” I handed Edison the printed-out photo of a gangly guy with wild red hair, his hands despairing midair, along with its accompanying script:
We’re not going to make it.
All I do all day is RUN, run, RUN, run, RUN, run, RUN, run, RUN !
Don’t ask me .
This is impossible.
I don’t have any time.
It’s a disaster !
I have too much to do.
It’s not going to happen.
Fugetaboutit.
We’d never find a parking place.
That won’t work.
I bet it’s sold out already.
Can’t do it!
What are we doin’ ?
I give up!
“Real life of the party,” said Edison.
“Chronic paralysis and defeatism. Revealing, no? Or this one’s fun.” In the photo, a short, plump young woman in a spangled spandex skirt was raising a glass to the camera; one of my staff was bound to have fun with all that jewelry. The phrases in the commissioning email read:
I don’t have that many credit cards.
Over the next year, that’s only fifty cents a day!
No problem, we can take out another home equity loan.
This house is worth a fortune!
I’m not telling you how much it cost.
But that bag was half price!
All you care about is money .
We only have a cash
“Lord, that stuff’s right over my head!” cried Angela, tugging the arms of a miniature denim jacket right-side out. “Afraid you’re more in the land of Barry Manilow, honey. Now, it’s a shame you’ve missed the corn. But while you’re out here, make your sister lay in some good country-style ribs. And head over to the Herbert Hoover Presidential Museum—it’s a real treat.”
“Right after we visit the monument to Enron.” Since Angela didn’t pick up, Edison swallowed any more cracks about this state memorializing an Iowa native still a byword in the rest of the nation for catastrophe and incompetence. When he bantered genially about what kind of a whip his kid sister cracked, I demonstrated: time to get back to work.
“We contract out for the electronics,” I explained once we’d retired to my office. “But we do the audio. At first I had customers send their own recordings of the subjects—who around here we call ‘vics,’ like in cop shows—so the dolls could speak in the vic’s actual voice. But we got complaints that, even if the vic said, ‘Big diff, baby, big diff!’ fifty times a day, it was the dickens to get it on tape. Also, skulking around after spouses with secret digital recorders in their pockets made people feel creepy. So we hire actors, and I think the satire is more successful hyped up in a different voice—and it softens the ribbing somehow. Matching the right actor to the script is part of the art. Among other things, I’m a casting director.”
“You gotta admit, as manufacturing goes,” said Edison, lowering into my office armchair, “this operation’s pretty out.”
“I know it’s nuts,” I said easily. “Still, people make stupider products.”
“Like what?”
“Whole factories in China do nothing but produce ghastly, hideous, pointless toys for American kids, who break them after playing with them once. I make attractive toys for adults out of natural materials that become treasured members of the family. And these dolls aren’t only a way for people to tell each other what drives them crazy. They’re also a way to show they love each other.”
“How you figure that? Seems to me what you’d buy when you were fucking dark on somebody, man.”
“It’s surprisingly difficult to nail people verbally. Some customers take months studying the subject and taking notes. That intensity of attention is a compliment. And for us at Monotonous, it’s been a mini psych course. You should see some of these phrase lists.” I rifled the papers on my desk. “They’re tiny character studies. Like this one. Louisa’s working up his costume, and calls him ‘Dr. Doom.’ ” I handed Edison the printed-out photo of a gangly guy with wild red hair, his hands despairing midair, along with its accompanying script:
We’re not going to make it.
All I do all day is RUN, run, RUN, run, RUN, run, RUN, run, RUN !
Don’t ask me .
This is impossible.
I don’t have any time.
It’s a disaster !
I have too much to do.
It’s not going to happen.
Fugetaboutit.
We’d never find a parking place.
That won’t work.
I bet it’s sold out already.
Can’t do it!
What are we doin’ ?
I give up!
“Real life of the party,” said Edison.
“Chronic paralysis and defeatism. Revealing, no? Or this one’s fun.” In the photo, a short, plump young woman in a spangled spandex skirt was raising a glass to the camera; one of my staff was bound to have fun with all that jewelry. The phrases in the commissioning email read:
I don’t have that many credit cards.
Over the next year, that’s only fifty cents a day!
No problem, we can take out another home equity loan.
This house is worth a fortune!
I’m not telling you how much it cost.
But that bag was half price!
All you care about is money .
We only have a cash
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