Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Creepy crawlies

Interesting confluence of non-events. Much like my life to date. Weekend update. Firstly, I trudged to Filene's Basement for a pair of tights and while groveling through the Petite section's 60% racks (who knew!) there was a sudden kerfuffle, a small gasp, a scream, and some indecipherable muttering over by the dressing room area, which I normally avoid like the plague.

It took me a while (loitering in the Junior's sportswear section nearby, where I have no business) to figure out that it was a RAT!!!!

No, it wasn't. It was a.... gigantic cockroach. Which is like 10 times worse. By this time, the screams had reached fever pitch and I was rendered paralyzed near Puma until someone said, "oh, now it's on the wall." I left shortly thereafter.

Earlier, I had watched the History Channel's "Life After Humans," a pretty well done piece of work* (which of course spotlighted our cockroach friends as survivors), so I was able to superimpose Life After Humans onto Filene's Basement, which is pretty cool. Lots of crappy cotton jersey and one-ply cashmere to devour. Not that I myself partake of that shit.

Oh. Two more things. I was reminded -- thinking of the possible rat (see above) of the writers' strike (which makes me think of gigantic blow-up striking rat which made me remember New Year's Eve and the lovely woman I met who actually worked at Troma Films (Toxic Avenger, Class of Nuke 'Em High) briefly. How cool and weird!. Just after film school, I interviewed with Troma's Lloyd Kaufman, was offered an impressive $14K a year job, left with a -- well, creepy-crawly feeling -- and never looked back. Looking back now, however, I wonder how differently my life might have turned out.

The road not taken, at any rate, seems as littered with creepy crawlies as the one taken. Now for some tea and Jane Austen. Good night.

* "Life After Humans" also mentioned my beloved home state of Maine (Black Island, precisely) where abandoned stone structures apparently just "melt" after fifty or eighty years, due, in large part, at once to the surprisingly verdant land and the corrosiveness of salt in the air and water.


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