Why I need to wash my car...

Last night I parked in the stall next to the garbage bin in our parking lot. This morning I began driving to work (yes, I was driving to work, which is about five blocks away, because I was too lazy to walk), wondered why my windshield was so dirty, and realized there were paw prints all over it. Apparently the neighborhood raccoons had a little party last night in the garbage bin and on my car, which makes me slightly worried about what, exactly, those paw prints consist of.

Mmm...concerts...

So my friend managed to get some tickets to the Bright Eyes show last night. I'm sure most people haven't heard of Bright Eyes, but it's probably the most successful band on the indie label Saddle Creek Records (in fact, Saddle Creek was created by Bright Eyes), which is based here in Omaha. Anyway, Saddle Creek and 1% Productions team up to bring a lot of small shows here, and it was the 10 year anniversary of 1% Productions, so they thought, let's bring back Bright Eyes! It was a good show, but I feel obliged to make some suggestions to both 1% Productions and to all the people who attend concerts:

1. 1% Productions: Don't EVER bring back the band Flowers are Forever as an opener. Seriously. They're awful. No, really. They are. I know. Not only did I have the misfortune of listening to them last night, they also opened for The Faint when they came. I like to say they're an assault on all the senses. In one song, their lyrics for several minutes consisted of "Flowers are forever (creepy Nazi-esque salute arm wave-y thing), flowers are forever (repeat creepy Nazi-esque salute arm wave-y thing), etc." But merely sticking burning pokers into your ears will not save you. Because you would still see the lead singer moving in grotesque gyrations that, without the proper protection--i.e. people blocking him from view--will sear themselves onto your retinas, forever tainting the way you see the world. Hence, I recommend hot pokers to ears and eyes. They also burn gross incense on stage. And I'm sure that if one were to accidentally touch them, one's fingers would require amputation after exposure to the rancid sheen of old sweat, various drugs, and who-knows-what-else that makes their skin glisten in such an unnatural way.

2. Girls with large purses: Please do not stand behind me anymore. Please do not turn to look at your friends every five seconds for validation of your existence, bowling me over with said large purse every time. Please do not stick your cell phone in front of my face so you can get a better angle of Bright Eyes in your picture. Please do not be so anxious to take the front row spot of the fainting girl directly in front of me that you block the club guy who is trying to help her. After taking her spot in a survival-of-the-fittest fashion, when you stand in front of me, please do not continue to turn to look at your friends every five second for validation of your existence. Also, please do not randomly step back, thereby bringing my face dangerously close to your frizzy ponytail and trapping me in a single square foot of space that is also bordered by random, obnoxious jumping guy and dancing girl. In fact, please never go to a concert again.

3. Random, obnoxious jumping guys: Please don't push me over at the very end of the show in your eagerness to get closer to the stage. Please do not have spastic dancing seizures when you are within 300 feet of me. If you must have dancing seizures when you are closer than 300 feet, please try not to land on me each time you jump/convulse. And for heaven's sake, go see a neurologist! I think you might have epilepsy.

4. Dancing girls: Really, I don't swing that way. Please don't dance that close to me or bump into me. All it does is knock me off balance and make me very disgruntled.

5. People in general: Please don't go into some sort of religious/musical ecstasy/rapture trance over your favorite band. It's creepy. And it reminds me of some sort of cult. You know, the ones where Charles Manson is like, "go kill some people," and you're like, "I love you Charles!" and then you go kill people.

By the way, I really did have fun at the concert. I just think that a few simple changes will drastically improve my enjoyment. And after all, isn't everything done specifically for my enjoyment? No? What? The world doesn't revolve around me? Stupid.

Cicadas-not just for annoying you with incessant buzzing

This past week I haven't been sleeping well. At first, it was thanks to random thunderstorms. I'm pretty sure I was woken up at least three times by sudden bursts of thunder. One night I was in that confused state you get in when you're abruptly woken and are still half asleep, and I couldn't figure out why it was so light outside when my clock said it was 3 AM. Then I realized (and in my delirious state, it probably took me several minutes) that it was actually lightning. Anyway, so the storms kept waking me up at all hours of the night. A couple of days ago, when the forecast was thunderstorm-less, I thought I was finally in the clear. Little did I know...(that sounds pretty ominous, right? Cause it's supposed to)

Little did I know that somewhere, some cicada had my number. You may know cicadas from their omnipresent, unceasing serenade (by serenade I'm thinking more 1812 Overture than Eine Kleine Nachtmusik) of grating buzzing. Well, I have good news for you--cicadas can do more than just buzz obnoxiously! They can also dive-bomb windows! Yes, it's true. Last night I spent about two hours lying awake in bed, listening to one repeatedly collide with the glass of my window. Honestly, I don't know why it didn't die. I mean, that bug must have had an exoskeleton of steel. I should probably check my window for chips today, just to make sure, what with how honkin' huge it was. You may be imagining a small moth-sized bug and thinking that I'm just a big whiner, but in truth, this cicada was roughly the size of a Bolivian fruit bat. At first, I couldn't figure out what I kept hearing, but after perhaps ten minutes of staring out my window, I noticed the humongous insect, crawling along on the sill. Anyway, last night, when I first saw it, I wasn't actually sure what it was, but I had plenty of time while I lay there, unable to sleep, to identify it, and then this morning I verified my identification skills via the internet.

I also suspect that I had difficulties falling back to sleep due to an irrational fear of said cicada. Although, it wasn't really irrational. Have you seen a cicada? They're hideous. My niece Abby seems to have this strange fear of flies, and wakes up sometimes from nightmares about them, but I think that maybe she's really having nightmares about cicadas. No, really. Do a google image search for cicadas and tell me they aren't scary. Cause they are.

squirrels, part 2

This was too long for one post, so here's the second part. Please read part one first.

Wednesday, April 5^th

Don’t care about classes anymore. Only care about bike seat and squirrels. Saw one through the window, just hanging out on the seat. Got mad. Chased it away again.

Friday, April 7^th

In retaliation, squirrel left a disgustingly moldy dinner roll on seat. Soggy. Didn’t want to touch it, but had to in order to throw it into the trash.

Saturday, April 8^th

Sick of water leaking up through hole and getting on pants. Also, have sneaking suspicion that increase in number of holes in seats of jeans due to rubbing against velvet coating of bike seat. Decided to fix both issues at once by duct-tapping the seat. Bike looks awesome with half-duct taped seat. Duct tape is so silver and shiny, it fits right in with the chrome colored handlebars. Take that, squirrel.

Sunday, April 9^th

Squirrel felt it had lost control of the situation when I chased it away and then duct-taped the seat. Decided to commit most atrocious act yet. Found relatively large, olive-colored leavings on seat when I got home from church. Had minor apoplectic attack, then went inside, got paper towels, and cleaned it off. Came off easily, at least.

Monday, April 17^th

Olive-colored leavings on seat again, only more this time. Squirrel is obviously one step ahead. Came up with three phase plan. Completed Phase 1 today: brainstormed anti-squirrel measures, came up with some good ideas. Top ideas: 1) removable spikes, kind of like the ones they put on roofs to keep pigeons off, 2) some sort of malodorous (to squirrels) repellent, 3) poisoned apple cores. Will have to think about these more before moving to Phase 2, design, and Phase 3, implementation.

Thursday, April 20^th

Three phase plan compromised. Possible that squirrel read previous entry and moved up its own plans. Once again, bike seat was too wet to ride to class. After class, walked up to door and noticed strange yellow material all over welcome mat. Realized it was foam. Looked at seat. Titanium-like duct tape chewed through like tissue paper, previous nickel-sized hole now enlarged to something resembling crater. Didn’t know what to do. Tried re-taping with the no-longer impervious-seeming duct tape, but have little hope that it will hold against squirrel’s jaws of steel. Once threatened squirrel with death, now fear for my own life.

Friday, April 21^st

Rode to class. Bike seat extremely uncomfortable, what with craterous hole. Am still alive, though. Have decided to surrender for safety’s sake.

squirrels, part 1

So my junior and senior years of college, I had some run-ins with the rabid squirrels that live off the land/garbage on and around Penn’s campus. Several people said I should write about my experiences, so I decided to revisit my old journal and post some abbreviated entries here (ok, so I didn’t really keep a journal about it, but I feel like it’ll sound better in journal entry form). Additionally, in a later post, I’m going to include some squirrel journal entries, you know, just my own conjectures of what the squirrel/squirrels would have written themselves about our encounters.

Monday, March 13^th

Went to class. For some reason, didn’t feel like riding my bike. Walked instead. Class was boring. Came home. Started walking up to my door. Bike was locked up to the rail next to it. Noticed something strange sitting on the seat from the distance. Got closer. Saw that it was a moldy, half-eaten apple core. Stopped/stared in shocked silence. Picked up apple core, threw it into garbage cans right across the driveway, all while cursing idiot who had placed it there when the trash was so close. What kind of sick joke was that? Went inside. Was too irate about it still that night to go to sleep. Stared at ceiling in the dark, thinking about the apple core.

Thursday, March 16^th

Didn’t ride to class again, for no apparent reason. Boring again. Found another apple core on my bike seat at home. Who is this jerk? I think I might get some sort of security camera and find out, then pelt him or her with apple cores.

Friday, March 24^th

Was sitting on the loveseat in my teeny living room. Tofu (my cat) was sitting on the windowsill, as she often does, staring through the bars and dreaming of her days of freedom wandering the streets of the Philadelphia Zoo. She started making those weird noises like Boots and Koko used to do when they’d see birds outside. Couldn’t see what she was looking at. She was looking over by my front door, which isn’t easy to do unless your face is smashed up against the glass. Didn’t want to leave a face-print on the window, so got up and looked through the peephole. Didn’t see anyone or anything at first. Looked closer. Saw a squirrel sitting on my bike seat, eating a soggy tortilla chip. Jaw dropped. Wha…?! Opened door, chased squirrel off, stood on porch, shaking fist.

Monday, March 27^th

It rained last night, so couldn’t ride my bike. With its new, plush, velvet coated seat, was tempted, but the extra-comfy foam had soaked up roughly two gallons of water, so had to walk. Got home. Walked up to front door. Something didn’t look right. Realized there was small hole dug into the foam, nickel-sized, about half an inch deep, right in the center of the seat. You’re dead, squirrel!

stochastic metastasis

After staring at my computer screen and simultaneously flipping through the glossary of my "The Biology of Cancer" textbook, inspiration struck and I completed the arduous task of coming up with a name and address for my new blog. "Stochastic metastasis?" you say. "What can she possibly mean? Random, probabilistic malignant growths forming at one site in the body, the cells of which derive from a malignancy located elsewhere in the body?* That makes absolutely no sense." If that is indeed what you're saying, please, let me end your puzzlement.

It occurred to me that the fact that I now live somewhere in middle America (that's Omaha, for those of you who don't listen to Counting Crows) after living first in Utah and then in Philadelphia is quite random, although there was certainly a greater probability of my moving here than, say, Timbuktu, since I have a sister already here. So there's the stochastic part. I, myself, of course, am the metastasis part. That's right, I just called myself a metastasis. Originally from Utah, now forming a growth in Omaha. All that remains to be seen is whether I remain a mere micrometastasis, apparent only through microscopy, or whether I succeed in overcoming my hostile environment and cloning myself to become an all-out, macroscopically-visible neoplasm.

*In the tradition of Nikki, I'll be using the good ol' * to denote foot notes. In this case, I'd rather not be a plagiarist, so yes, I'm citing my source. Weinberg, Robert A. The Biology of Cancer. 2007.