It's been so hot lately that I've already run through my entire stock of clean short-sleeved shirts. Rather than suffering through today in a long-sleeve, I got up early this morning to do some laundry.
As I was throwing clothes into the washing machine, a medium-sized spider bumbled out from deep in the laundry. I was not pleased by this. I had heard from other people that spiders like laundry, but this is the first time I had ever witnessed it.
The bad thing about having a spider in the laundry is... well, hell, spider in the laundry. Lucky I didn't go the lazy route and just dig something out to re-wear, huh? Gross AND creepy-crawly.
The good thing about having a spider in the laundry is I was able to wrap a shirt around my fist like an impromptu boxing glove and literally beat the shit out of the spider until it was dead. I have killed many spiders in many ways over the years, but until now I have never been in a situation in which it was feasible to end its life by serving up a banquet of knuckle sandwiches. The experience was just as magical as I ever hoped it would be. (Though if my landlord ever reviews the video from the basement security camera, he might wonder why I suddenly get into a fist fight with my clothes). Good times.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Spiders (CONT'D)
I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth when I glanced over and saw a spider had built a web between the bottom edge of the shower towel hanging on its hook and the floor.
It wasn't a significant spider... probably just a cellar spider, the kind that sometimes plague my apartment in droves. Nevertheless, this would not stand, man.
I rolled up a little wad of toilet paper to use as a combination smashing/disposal device, poised over him, made ready to crush the spider against the wall...
...and it ran up to hide in the folds of the towel.
DAMMIT.
I wasn't going to dry myself with a bespidered towel. Nor was I going to throw it in the laundry basket, free to run amok in my closet. No, suddenly this was a SITUATION, and I had to deal with it.
I shook the towel, hoping it would fall out. It didn't. I shook it harder. No spider. I took the towel off the hook and spread it on the floor. Caught in the open, I'd easily be able to spot it, right? Nope... the spider was yellow, the towel a light green, and it was nowhere to be seen. I flipped the towel over. Same deal.
I couldn't full-on slap the towel against the floor, because then the spider could go flying into the apartment proper, and that just wouldn't do. (Besides, I needed to see a body... If it could hide in plain sight, until a corpse was delivered I would never 100% believe it wasn't in the towel, and chaos would ensue). So I instead engaged in a maneuver I'd like to call "aggressive flipping," roughly turning the towel over and over, hoping to shake it out without sending it airborne. Nada.
Sometimes, the way to solve a problem isn't to just keep blindly attacking it. You have to step back, get perspective. I hung the towel back up on the hook, left the room and checked my email.
I went back into the bathroom, hoping that with a fresh set of eyes I'd see the spider. I didn't.
But then I gave the towel the most gentle of shakes, and the spider dropped on a line down to the floor and took off at a full sprint... for my shower!
Caught in the open, it had no chance against my fury. Let's just say that, somewhere in the world, there are weeping spider parents.
I'm a little baffled by the spider's tactics. Why didn't it flee during the other phases of my operation? Perhaps aggressive flipping made it just cling harder to its position, refusing to come out. But when I nudged the towel, it thought, "Please God, I can't handle another round of aggressive flipping," and made a run for it. Who can tell the minds of arachnids? Not I.
It wasn't a significant spider... probably just a cellar spider, the kind that sometimes plague my apartment in droves. Nevertheless, this would not stand, man.
I rolled up a little wad of toilet paper to use as a combination smashing/disposal device, poised over him, made ready to crush the spider against the wall...
...and it ran up to hide in the folds of the towel.
DAMMIT.
I wasn't going to dry myself with a bespidered towel. Nor was I going to throw it in the laundry basket, free to run amok in my closet. No, suddenly this was a SITUATION, and I had to deal with it.
I shook the towel, hoping it would fall out. It didn't. I shook it harder. No spider. I took the towel off the hook and spread it on the floor. Caught in the open, I'd easily be able to spot it, right? Nope... the spider was yellow, the towel a light green, and it was nowhere to be seen. I flipped the towel over. Same deal.
I couldn't full-on slap the towel against the floor, because then the spider could go flying into the apartment proper, and that just wouldn't do. (Besides, I needed to see a body... If it could hide in plain sight, until a corpse was delivered I would never 100% believe it wasn't in the towel, and chaos would ensue). So I instead engaged in a maneuver I'd like to call "aggressive flipping," roughly turning the towel over and over, hoping to shake it out without sending it airborne. Nada.
Sometimes, the way to solve a problem isn't to just keep blindly attacking it. You have to step back, get perspective. I hung the towel back up on the hook, left the room and checked my email.
I went back into the bathroom, hoping that with a fresh set of eyes I'd see the spider. I didn't.
But then I gave the towel the most gentle of shakes, and the spider dropped on a line down to the floor and took off at a full sprint... for my shower!
Caught in the open, it had no chance against my fury. Let's just say that, somewhere in the world, there are weeping spider parents.
I'm a little baffled by the spider's tactics. Why didn't it flee during the other phases of my operation? Perhaps aggressive flipping made it just cling harder to its position, refusing to come out. But when I nudged the towel, it thought, "Please God, I can't handle another round of aggressive flipping," and made a run for it. Who can tell the minds of arachnids? Not I.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
On Perception
I haven't written anything here in a while because I've been busy as hell. But something's been on my mind, and I think I can keep this short...
It's impossible to describe how much I love riding a motorcycle. I'm able to transport myself from one place to the other, but everything I've always hated about driving has been removed from the experience. In exchange for freedom, there is an increased chance of getting killed. But while everyone dies, few people are free, so it's a trade-off I gladly make.
Now that I'm not in a car, I've observed a few things about drivers who are. For example, I've noticed how long it takes people to notice a green light. I used to count: one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand... It typically takes about three full seconds before the cars start moving forward. I've gotten up to five, and once -- seven. (I won't count the guy on Hollywood Blvd. who NEVER noticed the green light, as I feel the pot smoke billowing out of the windows was a mitigating factor).
This weird beat drivers take to notice a green light is the primary reason why I lane split through stopped traffic to get up to the line. But sometimes the other vehicles are too close together, so I have to sit and wait for the herd to move.
My theory is, when the light turns red, everyone in cars finds something to keep themselves occupied, and they get so wrapped up in whatever they're doing that only half of one eye is on the light in front of them. This is understandable. When I lived in Des Plaines, IL. I never knew when a quick run to the store would turn into watching a train go by for twenty minutes, so I kept books and magazines in my car. I get it.
Whereas on the bike, there is no stereo to play with, no texts to send, no calls to make. There is only the road, and it's that focus on the road that keeps me alive.
Which got me to thinking about perception. In one of the original Sherlock Holmes stories, Watson comes right out and asks Holmes how he got so intelligent. (It might even be the very first one...) Holmes explains that he actually isn't smarter than anyone else; he just puts effort into noticing the world around him.
To paraphrase, he says to Watson... "You walk up the same flight of stairs every day to get to your apartment. How many steps are there?" Watson can't answer. Sure, he's been going up that same flight for years, but when he's actually climbing the steps, his brain goes into autopilot and his mind drifts elsewhere. Watson isn't thinking, "One step, two step, three step, four step..." He's thinking about a patient or a case or bills or whatever.
Sherlock also says that he doesn't fill his mind with information he doesn't need. He sees thoughts and memories as tools, and doesn't want to have to sift through clutter to find them. For example, he says he doesn't want to know how many planets there are in the solar system, unless it affects a case.
That's a little extreme, but Sherlock's an extreme dude. He spends his free time walking the streets of pre-GPS/Google Earth London, memorizing the stores, the intersections, the distances. London is as sharp in his mind as it is in reality. It's a tool he wants in his brain.
I think the same thing applies to the green light. Riders aren't quicker off the line when the light turns because sitting on a two-wheeled vehicle turns you into a brilliant genius. It's only because, in the absence of the "living room" aspects inherent to a car or truck, perception is forced to be completely focused on the road.
I've found similar analogies since starting my own management/production company. When you're the name on the door, there is no longer any such thing as showing up at a certain time, punching a clock, doing your thing, and leaving. The work day becomes active, rather than passive. While the hours are longer, I have more freedom in deciding how to spend them. For example, if I'm unable to get to the gym until the middle of the day, I can still go and sneak in a workout, since I'm not tied to a desk. On the other hand, I'm typically reading scripts during times when nine-to-fivers have been able to shut down for the day.
I'm okay with that. The periods I've been unhappiest in life were consistently when I felt like I was in a rut, that there was no forward motion, nothing was changing. When one day seems the same as the one before it, I become depressed. I start to wonder if this is what being a ghost is like, just hanging around, having nothing to do with the world. Ennui makes me miserable.
The opposite is true when my perception is focused on the road in all areas. I know where I'm going, I know how to get there. I'll hit a few curves and red lights along the way, but that's the nature of the road. In fact, the obstacles are gifts, because they exist to keep you on your toes, and reward you for keeping your eyes and mind open. If traveling was always just going in a straight line at the same speed until you arrived, it would be easy to go into autopilot, which isn't what's wanted.
I'm actively involved in the journey, and the only person who's going to make sure I arrive -- and don't get killed along the way -- is me. And it bears mentioning that the place I'm going is AWESOME.
It's impossible to describe how much I love riding a motorcycle. I'm able to transport myself from one place to the other, but everything I've always hated about driving has been removed from the experience. In exchange for freedom, there is an increased chance of getting killed. But while everyone dies, few people are free, so it's a trade-off I gladly make.
Now that I'm not in a car, I've observed a few things about drivers who are. For example, I've noticed how long it takes people to notice a green light. I used to count: one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand... It typically takes about three full seconds before the cars start moving forward. I've gotten up to five, and once -- seven. (I won't count the guy on Hollywood Blvd. who NEVER noticed the green light, as I feel the pot smoke billowing out of the windows was a mitigating factor).
This weird beat drivers take to notice a green light is the primary reason why I lane split through stopped traffic to get up to the line. But sometimes the other vehicles are too close together, so I have to sit and wait for the herd to move.
My theory is, when the light turns red, everyone in cars finds something to keep themselves occupied, and they get so wrapped up in whatever they're doing that only half of one eye is on the light in front of them. This is understandable. When I lived in Des Plaines, IL. I never knew when a quick run to the store would turn into watching a train go by for twenty minutes, so I kept books and magazines in my car. I get it.
Whereas on the bike, there is no stereo to play with, no texts to send, no calls to make. There is only the road, and it's that focus on the road that keeps me alive.
Which got me to thinking about perception. In one of the original Sherlock Holmes stories, Watson comes right out and asks Holmes how he got so intelligent. (It might even be the very first one...) Holmes explains that he actually isn't smarter than anyone else; he just puts effort into noticing the world around him.
To paraphrase, he says to Watson... "You walk up the same flight of stairs every day to get to your apartment. How many steps are there?" Watson can't answer. Sure, he's been going up that same flight for years, but when he's actually climbing the steps, his brain goes into autopilot and his mind drifts elsewhere. Watson isn't thinking, "One step, two step, three step, four step..." He's thinking about a patient or a case or bills or whatever.
Sherlock also says that he doesn't fill his mind with information he doesn't need. He sees thoughts and memories as tools, and doesn't want to have to sift through clutter to find them. For example, he says he doesn't want to know how many planets there are in the solar system, unless it affects a case.
That's a little extreme, but Sherlock's an extreme dude. He spends his free time walking the streets of pre-GPS/Google Earth London, memorizing the stores, the intersections, the distances. London is as sharp in his mind as it is in reality. It's a tool he wants in his brain.
I think the same thing applies to the green light. Riders aren't quicker off the line when the light turns because sitting on a two-wheeled vehicle turns you into a brilliant genius. It's only because, in the absence of the "living room" aspects inherent to a car or truck, perception is forced to be completely focused on the road.
I've found similar analogies since starting my own management/production company. When you're the name on the door, there is no longer any such thing as showing up at a certain time, punching a clock, doing your thing, and leaving. The work day becomes active, rather than passive. While the hours are longer, I have more freedom in deciding how to spend them. For example, if I'm unable to get to the gym until the middle of the day, I can still go and sneak in a workout, since I'm not tied to a desk. On the other hand, I'm typically reading scripts during times when nine-to-fivers have been able to shut down for the day.
I'm okay with that. The periods I've been unhappiest in life were consistently when I felt like I was in a rut, that there was no forward motion, nothing was changing. When one day seems the same as the one before it, I become depressed. I start to wonder if this is what being a ghost is like, just hanging around, having nothing to do with the world. Ennui makes me miserable.
The opposite is true when my perception is focused on the road in all areas. I know where I'm going, I know how to get there. I'll hit a few curves and red lights along the way, but that's the nature of the road. In fact, the obstacles are gifts, because they exist to keep you on your toes, and reward you for keeping your eyes and mind open. If traveling was always just going in a straight line at the same speed until you arrived, it would be easy to go into autopilot, which isn't what's wanted.
I'm actively involved in the journey, and the only person who's going to make sure I arrive -- and don't get killed along the way -- is me. And it bears mentioning that the place I'm going is AWESOME.
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