Archive for August, 2003

August 31st, 2003

» the invasion

There’s a cricket somewhere — in the apartment, right outside the door, it’s hard to tell — shrieking disconsolately. Making a high, shivery, mechanical sound, like a tiny overloaded washing machine. How his wings make that hideous noise is beyond me.

The cricket invasion is worse this year than it was last. For whatever reason their favorite spot to congregate is right outside our door. There are some scattered everywhere on the sidewalk, sure, but ours is the only place where there are over a dozen outside, and half a dozen more crawling around the doorstep. Every night. Every morning. Most afternoons, though usually then there are less. I expect that’s when most of them go off to eat and sleep. Make ready for a night of continued merriment.

They’re plotting ways to get inside, I can tell. Ways to eat our rugs and our clothes and our toes at night. Skulking around the bathroom, the hall, the living room. With crickets it’s always about world domination. Breeding and jumping in wild, unpredictable patterns and grating wings.

Look out, boys. Tomorrow we fight back.

August 28th, 2003

» me, according to eng204

My name is Bob. When I was eight, I joined the circus. It was all the elephants that got to me — a fascination with big ears, I guess. I spent the next five years moisturizing their knees. During that time I was taken under the wing of an aging, cross-dressing acrobat who trained me in the way of circus folk and bee keeping. One thing led to another, and I ended up serving cocktails at the UN, but unfortunately my allergy to green wool stockings forced me to quit that job and begin my life as a vagrant/hired assassin. Like all vagrant/hired assassins, I spent two years in a rotting Mexican prison before digging my way out with a rusted spoon and finally making my way to Wall Street where I earned my first million selling cheese dip for hot salted pretzels. My partner was busted for tax fraud and I decided to leave the life in pursuit of higher education.

In my first year at Truman State, I suffered a massive heart attack and died. The mad scientist who lives in the catacombs beneath Science Hall unearthed me and restored me to life via a risky experiment involving osmosis and candy corn. I have the brain of a psychopath, the heart of a baboon, and the toe of an emu. I also have 67 cats who I have trained via our psychic connection to jump above the ceiling tiles in my dorm room whenever the SA or George Bush is near. At night we huddle beneath my bed while my roommate performs elaborate seances, calling upon the baboon donor of my heart in an attempt to turn me and my cats into an evil army of semi-undead bee keepers. Come to think of it, my father always did say there was a fortune to be made in honey somehow.

When I’m not training my cats for the 2004 Olympics synchronized swimming competition, I enjoy the long walk to McClain, junk email, and cricket infestations. This coming winter I hope to debut my new recipe for the Honey Bun, so watch your grocer’s bread aisle.

August 21st, 2003

» Anthony Stewart Simpson

I woke up this morning thinking: ASH was disgruntled because he was perpetually older than his oldest saucepan.

He had somehow got into a dream about the Simpsons, who were the live-in servants (more like slaves) of a family of cartoon rabbits. Lisa had woken up in school instead of in her bed at home, and had called to report this to the rest of the Simpsons clan, who were, for whatever reason, spurred to a frenzy of activity by this. The bunnies unfortunately found out, and joined the gathering posse to set out to the school.

Then came exposition-time, where all of the Simpsons and Tony Head were walking around the kitchen with a massive amount of pots and pans while there was a sort of voice-over monologue describing the scene.

And then the phone rang, and that was that.

August 20th, 2003

» bells and footfalls and soldiers and dolls

Saturday my sister is getting married. Between now and then I have to finish her tablecloth and the video presentation for her reception and figure out what I’m wearing to the groom’s dinner and pack the rest of my things so I can go back to school Sunday.

It’s strange, thinking of her with a new name. With a husband. With a future that possibly involves things like moving to Alaska. She’s happy, though, and I’m happy for her, and it’s one of those rare easy and uncomplicated things in life.

I turned 21 last Wednesday, and I had to stand up and dance the cha-cha in front of our whole room at Buca’s. How I love public embarrassment. Erin, Steph, and Mel took me out drinking, which was quite nice; I got pleasantly buzzed and we had an early night of it.

The bachelorette party was Friday through Sunday, and because I’m not at all convinced there aren’t pictures somewhere out in the vast world of the internet, I’m not going to tell where. Suffice it to say there was a great deal of drinking, and a good share of nudity, and a lot of laughter.