Oh So Apropos

A friend of mine posted this quote on his blog yesterday. I thought it was so fitting to some of my current challenges that I would wickedly steal it:

“The dangerous are attracted by the lure of an equal, and the weak are afraid. They avoid you, or go out of their way to make your life miserable so you’ll leave and they can continue deluding themselves that they’re safe.” ~Ivy (Kim Harrison: A Fistful of Charms)



Where to begin?
There’s that old cliché
With the spider who stole
My I.D. away

And if compromised
Bank accounts aren’t quite enough
There’s that infantile mall owner
Who wants to play tough

Neighbors are evil,
Manipulative, nuts!
I wish they’d just move
Because I hate their guts

I’ve no team to tag
To jump into this fray
And I’ll win these battles, sure
But what price to pay?

I’m not the victim here
I shape my fate
But the stuff I’ve let happen:
I can’t contemplate

I’ll just focus on other things
Things quite empowering
And hope the distraction’s
An end to my glowering

And if despite efforts
I can’t make things right
I’ll buy a plane ticket and
Fly off in the night

My nerves are still fragile
And I need a break
Yes, I need that beach condo
For sanity’s sake

I’ll recover, it’s true
I’ll never say never
I’ll be back on top soon
Cause I’m endlessly clever

And hopefully then
I’ll rise over the fray
And the wisdom of Buddha
Will find me someday

But right now I’m just me
I’m all that I’ve got
And I take on the world
Without giving much thought

To consequences dire
That might find their way back
To my best of intentions
And give me a smack

So what can I learn here?
I’ll take away what?
That when personally challenged
I won’t try to kick butt?

But won’t that just leave me
The victim I fear? Or
Will turning the other cheek
Make everything clear?

It’s confusing, confuzzling
It fills me with gall
That brains and correctness
Solve nothing at all

For this is the fact
Of which I’m not proudest
The spoils go to the victor:
He who yells loudest

That’s never me
I’m soft-spoken and lazy
Which is why I must suffer
From those who are crazy


Carlotta Watch 2008

Interestingly enough, Carlotta disappeared on the day someone began using my bank account in locations across Africa and Europe.

Sadly, that person was not I.

Take it from me, girls . . . don’t let a spider into your heart. He’ll bite you every time.



Carlotta, Come Home!

It's been two days since I last saw Carlotta, after my accidentally breathing on him caused him to vanish in the blink of an eye. Carlotta is a zippy one and two days is plenty of time to reach the bedroom and lurk around my pillow until the exact moment he kills me in my sleep through whatever hideous means he is capable. Not that the prospect of my death at his eight hands is paramount in my thinking; I also consider him a friend. Where did you go, my friend? I'm sorry I accidentally breathed on you and also dropped that little piece of lint on your web to see if you would think it was a tasty insect. I just didn't want you to think that all of your work and waiting were in vain. Now that I consider it, maybe this was like giving a starving person a cardboard box to chew on, but my heart was in the right place. Come back, Carlotta! And if you don't come back, at least don't, you know, kill me.


Some Pig

While I was observing Carlotta this morning, I accidentally breathed on him and he scurried away. He has yet to reappear, igniting my fears that he will exact terrifying revenge on my respiration.

Today, also, I got a flat tire while I was driving to work. The only other time I have ever had a flat tire, I was dressed up as a ghoul and on my way to Amy’s house to go trick or treating. That was eighteen years ago on a dark country road. Today’s experience was on a freeway in downtown Baltimore with huge trucks whizzing by and a dead bird directly where a jack would need to be placed. So I called AAA and killed time until the assistance vehicle arrived by contemplating my current situation.

I have been waiting for Carlotta to start weaving messages to me in his web. “Buck up,” he might say, or “You’re looking a little chunky there, Fatty McFatfat.” But I think the one message he has been the most successful in conveying does not involve words. Carlotta teaches by example: Be Patient.

Cowering on the side of Interstate 83 with monstrous vehicles shaking me to the core as they screamed by, I was Patient. I sent a grateful pulse of energy to Carlotta, who responded that he would rather have cash.


Carlotta’s Web

There is a little spider on the windowsill next to my toilet who has constructed a little web, under which he sits and waits patiently for his prey. He is about 4mm across and his web is about 1 cm. The idea that he is going to catch anything is just so ludicrous, but he looks tremendously dedicated to his task. He reminds me of Goblin so although I normally hate spiders, my heart has gone out to this one and I have yet to scoop him up in toilet paper and flush him. He is probably a miniature tarantula or a dreaded whooping spider that will come and kill me in the night or sting me while I am pooping. I have named him Carlotta.



I am trying something new today, Internet. Not without some effort, but I am writing to you longhand, just like they used to do on Little House on the Prairie. I find it Interesting to discover I can barely form the words. The handwriting recognition software on the Prairie must have been more sophisticated, or else how did anyone ever update their blogs? I hear Alonzo’s blog was heavily digged, or was that dugged? Those were more complicated times. If a wolf or a hyena came along, that would be all she wrote.

I have been thinking of writing longhand on paper, but then I thought, “What is this, the Dark Ages? ” Paper! I might as well be wearing a monocle and scribbling with a quill.


Friday Chupacabra Blogging

This morning, I woke up at five a.m. to queue up for my new iPhone 3G, which went on sale at eight. By nine, I was bitterly disappointed to learn that because of my bizarre business service plan, I would have to order it through my business rep, who is about as intelligent as a dead leaf. Since the dead leaf had told us the day before that we would be able to make our purchase in the store with no problem, this was disappointing. Luckily for the dead leaf, he was not taking or returning calls today. I have been trying to find a target for my building ire and none of my other options have been very satisfying; the dead leaf has escaped my wrath for now. Instead, I typed some snippy emails to my accountant and got into a half-hearted flame war on my neighborhood bulletin board, but what I am really looking for is someone to dismember a la that guy on “Dexter.”

My uneasy feeling from the other day has exploded into a mood so foul it defies description. It’s not because of the iPhone. I love my old iPhone and my only reason for craving the new was to be a part of that unique Apple hoopla that tends to fade after a few days after a new product has been released. Sadly, I have very few other joys in life, so I don’t think a couple hundred dollars is too much to spend every year or two on that pursuit. I don’t know what’s wrong other than that many things have not been going my way and the people to whom I have stood up for myself have managed to make me even more feel ridiculous. The only good thing is that I had a rolfing session this morning that cured my incipient carpal tunnel syndrome and I’ve been able to stop wearing that uncomfortable brace.

Anyway, don’t cry for me, Argentina. I’ll be all right in a few days. Until then, perhaps you should contemplate this chupacabra, brought to you fresh from the labs of George W. Bush, Super Genius.



Spanish Speculation

You’re such a die-hard fan of this weblog that you go back and check for new comments on posts from weeks and months ago, so I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. Apparently my Chupacabra Fridays have been retroactively attracting the attention of various Spanish-speaking Earthlings who speculate as to the truth behind the legends. My proficiency in their funny talk is sufficient to note that some seem to think the chupacabra is an experiment of the American government who escaped captivity and now roams the lands in search of livestock to drain of bodily fluids. I am not convinced, and my response is basically the same as it is to the conspiracy theorists who blame the government for 9/11: We’re talking about George W. Bush and Dick Cheney here. Sure, they’re evil enough for all that and more, but they’re also the most incompetent duo since Lippy the Lion and Har De Har Har. These are people who fire scientists who actually believe in doing science as opposed to simply rubber-stamping the press releases from oil companies and televangelists. Are we supposed to believe that they have masterminded something as sleek, beautiful, intelligent, and elusive as the chupacabra? The chupacabra is primal magic. It was not prayed into existence by someone who can’t pronounce “nuclear.”


In Which I Display Some Actual Knowledge

I have an uneasy feeling today, and I don’t know why. If something bad happens, I will claim I predicted it. If nothing bad happens, I will forget all about it. Actually, something bad already happened but not to me; it could be that I simply feel remorse because of that bad thing, and yet the uneasy feeling doesn’t alter in any way when I contemplate it, so I will have to assume it is unrelated. Not that I don’t feel bad about the bad thing that has happened, but the uneasiness is another delightful layer on my emotional cake.

Speaking of uneasiness, I think I know what Barack is doing. At first I thought he was floundering because he didn’t have Hillary to focus on anymore, but now I think he has picked a few wedge issues on which to publicly triangulate against his liberal base. While rather shopworn, this tactic could be effective if it solidifies his reputation among the uncritical undecideds as an aisle-crossing centrist: the issues are mostly in areas that famously appeal to emotions rather than intellect, and more notably, the individual situations are ones in which his stated opinion is meaningless in terms of current outcome.

On the other hand, it’s rarely effective for Democrats to run rightward after securing their nomination, mostly because the Republicans are experts at exploiting such behavior as a weakness, but also because the left wing of the party’s elected officials are already to the right of center on the traditional political continuum. Only in a coo-coo land where our current president is seen as a moderate Republican (some conservatives are even painting him as a liberal to explain his infinite failures) instead of the fascist, lawbreaking dictator that he actually is would Barack be considered a liberal at all, by anyone. Therefore, his attempts to appear more conservative will surely backfire.

But at the same time, who else are we going to vote for?

I think Barack is trying to reach those ignorant masses who still think that McCain is some sort of righteous maverick instead of the doddering Bushian sycophant he actually is. I just hope he doesn’t overplay his hand and alienate those of us who have some dollop of faith in his sensibility. This current strategy is something I had predicted from Hillary, who is famous for it. Maybe my mother-in-law is right . . . Hillary was imperfect—and I might add even more imperfect than imperfect—but at least you knew what you were going to get. Whereas any indication that our new messiah’s shit actually stinks like everyone else’s is bound to cause unexpected consternation.

By the way, I am only discussing this to prove that my areas of expertise extend slightly beyond Seann William Scott’s crow’s feet, even if I still don’t know how to turn on a Windows PC.


It’s Alive!

I am writing this at work, where I am supposed to be working, except right now I am breaking. Breaking: this conjures scenes from Death Becomes Her but in truth it means that I get to eat a cherry muffin and take a load off. How are you today, Internet? Did you enjoy the fireworks? I didn’t see any, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any. I have faith in fireworks.

Yesterday, we spent the whole day cleaning the house and then we saw a movie starring Seann William Scott, a heartthrob who emerged blithely from the likes of American Pie and The Dukes of Hazzard to play an ambitious grocery store assistant manager in The Promotion. One of the several things I noticed about him in this movie is that, while he is famous for playing a teenager, he now looks older than I do, although he is five years younger. The other thing I noticed is that he chose a rather uninspiring movie in which to start looking older than I do. At the very least, his Bo Duke might have shown all of those crow’s feet. I do not have a single crow’s foot outside of a jar in my medicine cabinet, but that serves a different purpose entirely. (Beware, all who cross me.)

Boy, that cherry muffin was good. A lifetime on the hips. If someone were to bite into my hips, we could test that theory. I have been doing 30 pullups a day and am considering trying for 60 like I used to do. Maybe on some days I could do 60 and on some I could do 30. I wish “none” were an option, but that choice would not be auspicious for embarking on my career as a younger Seann William Scott.


Friday Chupacabra Blogging

Chupacabra sez: “Will you be mine?”