Sunday, November 6, 2011

Courage, Cockroaches and Comets

I was watching the Swamp Channel™ again last night and was surprised to come across this interesting Afghanistan fact: One of the biggest intel ass-kickers of the woman-hating, mutilating and subjugating Taliban was...

A woman. Jennifer Matthews, RIP.

I won't apologize for the graphic nature of that first link. Do the perpetrators ask forgiveness for carrying it out? It's a permitted, barbaric reality, and I know of no accord between darkness and light. It's also a fitting irony that someone who'd inflicted such damage upon these Cro-Magnons was of the persuasion they've so little regard for.

If changing one's perspective was easy, the world would be a wonderful place. Then again, what one man can do, all others can do. I came across "Love Happens" and it portrayed this in the most beautiful and simple way. Aaron Eckhardt and that girl who was in that NBC show with that other girl who played the sister of that goofy guy who also played the douchebag Lieutenant in "Band of Brothers" with Marky-Mark's brother?

That's it - Jennifer Aniston. This is one lady who's definitely aging gracefully, no? If you're reading this, Jennifer, and find yourself inexplicably drawn to me, I'll have to respectfully decline. How can any man realistically follow up Brad Pitt? That would be like having runners on first and second with no outs in the bottom of the ninth of a season-ending game, your team down 3-1, and not bunting.

Back on topic: Eckhardt plays a speaker who takes his attendees outside, right into a busy Seattle intersection. It's bedlam. He asks them what they see and hear, and their replies are, "Cars. Honking cars. Jackhammers. Stoplights. Cement. A homeless person. Trash. Middle fingers."

He then takes them on an elevator all the way up to the roof and asks them the question again. With sighs and smiles the people gaze out, marveling at the vantage point. Their replies are,"The ocean. Trees. The Space Needle. Skyscrapers. Mount Rainier. Rivers. Beautiful rivers. The sun. Naked hot-tubber."

Eckhardt replies, "Wow. Little bit different up here, isn't it? And yet, it's the same. We haven't gone anywhere. We're just looking at things from a new perspective. Inside of each of you, there are sirens, honking horns and gridlock, but there's also this. We just have to do the work and climb the stairs to find it."

Wisdom, whatever the source, is always appreciated.

In other news, I walked into the bathroom last night and guess what I found on the floor? A cockroach looking back at me as if to say, "Um, knock?

I have not, will not and won't ever live in a place with cockroaches. I thought they were only in gritty 1970's crime dramas that happened to show apartments, not my apartment. Springing into action, I lunge for the plunger and corner him behind the porcelain. Our eyes lock. It's tense. He knows what's coming. "Don't fight it," I tell him with my icy stare, "There's no honor in kicking a lion's teeth goin' headfirst down its gullet."

I set the plunger down with a "whoomp", directly atop the revolting intruder. Ever thinking ahead, I'd grabbed an old bill in advance and slid it beneath the cup.

What exactly is the name for the end of a plunger? "Plunger" is the device itself, handle and all. Cup? Bell? Bell sounds a little better. There's gotta be an industry standard for that. Hey, there's another entirely meaningless evening of research for me. I'm not kidding.

Anyway, I slowly raise the paper and the plunger in unison, careful not to break the hermetic force field of disgust bonding the two. Hovering now over the toilet, I carefully pitch slightly left, parting the paper and the... bell.

The dirty creature hits the water and immediately begins scrambling. I almost don't want to watch. But it's like Osama: no picture, no proof. I don't want any living thing to ever suffer, either, so I reach for the toilet handle.

That @#$% must have felt a nano-millibar change of the surface water pressure on his 11th leg and dashed. He dove down, oriented his bearing for the big drain-hole-thing (I'll look that name up, too) and expertly maneuvered through the waves, darted in and escaped.

Would you believe this? I have little Spetznas cockroaches in my @#$% apartment now. What truly bothers me, however, is this: How do I know he's not going to come back? You know, bring some friends, a little payback.

Barge in, chase me around, trap me in a bell with a bill you'll never pay? I know I would.

In closing, the first-ever test of the nationwide Emergency Alert System is taking place on Wednesday, 11/9/2011 at 2:00 PM Eastern. Interesting in its own right, I was also intrigued to learn of a comet passing between the Earth and the orbit of the moon the very same day. In the infinity of spacetime, this is akin to a bullet grazing your temple.

More coincidentally, the third trumpet in the Book of Revelation is a star falling to Earth: Wormwood. This can be found at 8:11, which is also the date (November 8) YU-55 first enters and becomes visible. I'm not saying it's going to hit, and neither is NASA. I merely find the confluence of details peculiar.

We track less than 10% of such celestial bodies. For every aircraft carrier-sized YU-55, there could be nine Montana-sized meteors. But don't fret - should calamity strike (again), the cockroaches will turn out the lights for us.


  1. I'd be interested to know how many of your readers know what Spetznas means off the top of their head.

  2. I should post a poll. The two people who read this blog are welcome to weigh in. :p