things, stuff, other things. and stuff.
I'm not fond of things that smell like watermelon, but aren't watermelon. Nor things that smell like banana, but aren't banana. Actually, I'm not always fond of bananas that smell like bananas, though I don't wish them to smell like anything else. Unless they could smell like lemons.
I like it when trees appear a bit insurmountable. I don't like the thin, reedy trees of new subdivisions, or the spindly trunks of various ornamental foliage (foliaii?). They seem wretchedly halfhearted, and much like they'd be lacking in roots -- like Lindsay Lohan's hair, five minutes after it gets done.
No, I like a big oak or a big maple, resolute of trunk and ferocious of leaf. It should take a hurricane to knock a tree down -- not the high setting on the A/C.
I nearly stepped on a caterpillar today, but swerved (well, I was walking, so I just stepped a bit to the side) out of the way, just in time. He didn't appear particularily startled -- I admired his composure. I actually stood and watched him for a moment, and the rascal showed his gratitude toward my careful footfalls by climbing onto my toe.
That's right; he just climbed right on, like I was some sort of rock or something, just waiting for him to grace me with his presence. I decided to see just how audacious the wee thing was, and kept walking with him clinging to me like an untrained puppy, making a slow ascent up my leg. He got to my knee before I lost my patience with striding protectively and gingerly, and I picked him off to set him on a leaf. For all I know, I may have resulted in that tree being eaten, when normally, it would have been just fine. I disturbed the flow of nature, and now what will happen?!? Ah well, perhaps I was just a tool of nature.
Or perhaps I was just a tool.
Speaking of tools, I really like wrenches. I love the whole notion of torque. Or maybe it's Peter Tork I love...I get confused sometimes.
The Monkees, while not always responsible for playing their own instruments, were pretty damn fun to watch on TV. I liked it when they would speed up the scenes when they played 'Last Train to Clarksville' or something -- it was always them running from some villain, or a pack of screaming girls. Those two things could be the same thing in some cases, but only if they were high school girls.
You could not pay me enough to make me go back to high school.
It wasn't all that traumatic for me, since I had friends, and I liked lots of subjects, and was active in various areas, but I tell you -- I have enough random fits of insecurity at 31; I couldn't go back to the fits I had at 17. The fits I had at 17 led to some scary hair at my senior prom, and one particular awkward moment involving the captain of the basketball team's jacket. I spent those years in a weird rural community with heavy drug problems (the community had them, not me -- although erythromyicin made me throw up when I had strep...that was a bit of a problem), and the kind of student body that cheered when they put Iron Maiden on at pep rallies.
But I digress. It wasn't so bad. I did tip a cow once; contrary to what some urban people will tell you, that tradition is not a myth.
And it was more than 15%, thank you very much.
11:27:59 PM 
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