June 23, 2005
Zoobilation 1
Jill Brooks, INtake columnist

The Indianapolis Zoo has come a long way since my childhood years of visiting the shantytown they called the zoo back then, its location on 30th Street. I have photos of me and my small friends on a class fieldtrip at shanty zoo; I’m wearing striped knee socks, a brown corduroy mini skirt, an orange hang-ten tank and a white buttoned hat with Avon animal pins all over it.

But here’s where it gets weird: there are no animals, except for the pins with the perfume in the middle, in any of the photos. I honestly can’t remember…were there live animals at that zoo? I only vaguely remember ice cream.

I attended Zoobiliation last weekend and there weren’t any animals there, either, at least none that I could see. I had never been to Zoobiliation, and at those prices I’m thinking the Scott Jones Foundation should give scholarships or financial aid to anyone able to name an animal at the old zoo (If I guess some breed of goat, do I get $50 off?).

I was invited by a fellow surrealist who enjoys drinking and eating as much as I do, so we had a blast. When I first arrived, my chore was keeping my strapless dress level; after two servings of beef tips and a side of Ahi tuna, my belly kept it firmly in place.

Strapless dresses are tricky—something I don’t wear a lot. Couple this with the fact that the delicious oysters from Oceanaire were already loosened, and you’ve got trouble.

A long lost friend surprised me, tapping me on the shoulder just as I was slurping my third oyster (it was getting late and the staff told me I could shift to their “all you can eat” buffet). I aimed the oyster toward my mouth while pirouetting to greet my friend. A small part of the oyster fell to the ground, the rest inside my dress.

Thinking quickly, on oyster high, I sucked in my gut allowing the oyster to take flight; not my friend, nor anyone else (until this admission), was the wiser.

All animal dens, nests and burrows were off limits to visitors, so as not to “bother” the animals. I pictured them all hovering in their retreats, hooves twiddling and paws covering fuzzy ears, as they sat through countless cover bands and renditions of Mustang Sally. I felt sorry for them actually, so kept whispering, “This $200 per person is coming your way fellas—just hold on a few more hours.”