“Queequeg was George Washington cannibalistically developed.”
Ishmael, Chapter 10
“Queequeg was George Washington cannibalistically developed.”
Ok, you guys, Father Mapple totally made us all stand up and move around by using nautical commands. I don’t know about you, but I’m sold. Father Mapple = Legit.
And then his whole sermon was about Jonah and the whale! I am just so excited to go whaling, what with all the whaling references, by-products, and souvenir knick-knacks available in the shops. And now, heavy-handed religious allusions to boot!
Ugh, wait a minute: that moment when your preacher keeps going on about how Jonah willfully ignored God and now he’s swallowed up by a big fish, and asks how that relates to our lives, then gets so worked up he covers his face, kneeling and shaking, until we all leave the chapel. Awkward.
“In vain he tries to look all ease and confidence; in vain essays his wretched smile. Strong intuitions of the man assure the mariners he can be no innocent.”
OMG, the service here is excellent! I had not been seated very long ere a man of a certain venerable robustness had entered. And ZOMG, it’s Father Mapple! What’s that? Did I drop something? Oh yes, I suppose Father Mapple *is* incredibly famous, and I suppose I *was* in attendance for this particular sermon, and I suppose that *does* make me superior to you in most ways. Ishmael = awesome, get over it.
Also, PS, the pulpit in this place is shaped like the prow of a ship, which gives the whole shindig a real authentic nautical theme. Way to know your audience, NewBedMass!
“‘Ah, noble ship,’ the angel seemed to say, ‘beat on, beat on, thou noble ship, and bear a hardy helm!’ [….] What could be more full of meaning?”
So every Sunday, I like to pop in to the local house of worship, wherever I may be. Mama raised her boy right! Besides, I can wrap myself in my shaggy jacket of the cloth called bearskin all I want, but that doesn’t mean the storm outside isn’t being a complete bitch right now. My first morning stroll was hideous.
Wow, a muffled silence reigns in this Whaleman’s Chapel. You’d think someone died or something.
Oh crap. Some people totally died or something. Oh, I am always doing stuff like this. Score one for Ishmael, duh! And aw, they even put some plaques up on the wall to commemorate the fallen! You know, not to downplay the sorrow or anything, but the dead guy tablets are made of marble with black borders, and they absolutely scream sophistication. I’m just saying, they really tie the room together. Black and white: such a classic combination.
Not to get super deep, but since heaven is going to be so effing awesome, I’m a little confused by how sad all these peeps are. I mean bodies are just bodies, amirite? Sometimes we shove them up against other bodies when we have to share beds at cheap inns in NewBedMass, and sometimes they’re towed out of sight by a whale. You know, balance. So I say bring it on, death! My soul is a total BAMF.
OMG! It’s Queequeg! Wow, Q, who’d have ever thought you and I would find ourselves in the same chapel together? Well I guess I may have toyed with the idea at one time or another. But seriously what are the odds? Is this a sign? Ha ha, sign for what? Ha ha, oh god just kidding, I’m being silly. Per usual. Silly, silly Ishmael!
“Take my body who will, take it I say!”
I do believe it’s time for me to sally out for a stroll along the hardscrabble streets of New Bedford, Mass! Whistle while you work, and aaaaaaaaaaall, thaaaaaaaat, jaaaaaaaaaaaazz!
I like to think I’m an open-minded person—I mean, after all, Q is pretty much my new favorite person ever, and he has sooooo much ink and loves playing with his harpoon more than anything. And also, he sells shrunken heads around town. So there’s that. But back to the subject at hand, there are some real Queery McQueerersons in the thoroughfares nigh the docks who take no qualms with jostling the affrighted ladies!
Knock, knock! Does it make a stranger stare? Who’s there? You better believe it, sister.
But aside from all the cray-cray whalers, there are some seriously fantastic houses around here. I hear the residents are all about recklessly burning the lengths of their spermaceti candles at night. And the gardens, oh my god, the gardens! I don’t know if they all use the same guy, but Jesus Christmas, give me his name and address if they do!
There are lots of ladies around, due to the fact that all the men are whalers and thus pretty much constantly at sea, and I simply can’t help but notice all of them are positively glowing! Positively glowing with rosy, flushed cheeks even in the dead of winter.
I wonder what those ladies get up to while the proverbial cats are away!
“No town-bred dandy will compare with a country-bred one—I mean a downright bumpkin dandy—a fellow that, in the dog-days, will mow his two acres in buckskin gloves for fear of tanning his hands.”
Oh man, I cannot wait for breakfast. It’s just going to be me, Queequeg, and whole bunch of sailors. And you know what they say about sailors! They love a good curse word, etcetera, etcetera. They look fabulous in flared pants, etcetera, etcetera. Any warm hole, etcetera, etcetera.
Alright, me and Q are looking sharp in our monkey jackets. Let’s do this!
…So. Yeah, every man’s maintaining a profound silence up in here. Worst. Breakfast. Ever.
Silver lining: Q just sat the fuck down at the head of the table and helped himself to more meat by using his harpoon, like a boss.
QUEEQUEG = BALLER.
