Thursday, September 15, 2005

Desert Island Discs, Part XVII

(Continued from Arts & Shipwrecks, p. 3) -- as Mr Selkirk continued to gnaw at the tentacle. "These are the discs that made my survival possible," he continued. "My faith, my ingenuity, my college experience in eating small creatures raw, my ability to distill alcohol from coconuts -- all would have counted for naught had it not been for Tamboo, Jivaro, Yma, and their savage rhythms." The hirsute maroon crawled ashore in 1957, more dead than alive, and more wet than dead. "What I beheld," he said, "turned my triumph and jubilation into despair. Sand, coconuts, slugs, rats, fungi, a few bikini tops, and a rusted beercan were the other

inhabitants of my desert island.

"I had like to have gone mad," he continued. "But, praise be, within a few hours those nice folks from Tower Records had airdropped these fine discs for me -- along with a magnificent DuoPhonic Sound System, as well as -- and this I had not expected -- a leather multisectional bachelor sofa and glass coffee table." Selkirk's spirits were immediately lifted.

"I was momentarily aghast when I opened the disc package," he said. "These were not the Bach organ works I had specifically requested in my letter printed in the official Tower magazine. My first instinct was that someone had swived up." But he soon changed his mind when when he heard the wild and crazy sounds. "I found myself snapping my fingers, dancing a calypso, and really digging that crazy beat, Daddy-o."

How had he stayed alive these many decades? "I had to use slugs for clothing," he lamented. "My only food was sand. I was able to erect an inadequate shelter from the elements with the fingers of both hands. With a steeple," he smiled. "But 'twas the hot cha hootchy kootchy rhumba chick swinger music that kept me young."

As rescue developers pushed him into a waiting helicopter, Selkirk was asked what he intended to do first. "Stop off at Havana, man. I hear it's a swingin' town."