Chicken Theory #23: Flies are the Evil Emissaries of Satan.

Hi World:

I hate black flies.

It is not very PC these days to express your dislike of any species publicly. I am sure that somewhere, right now, a loosely assembled, disorganized group of knuckle-headed drunk dingbats is planning a mass annihilation of flies. When eventually they are caught in their attempt to totally disrupt the already fragile eco-system with their diabolical plan, they will undoubtedly hold up this blog posting as the executive summary of their manifesto and point their grubby little fingers at me. Also, right now, a peyote tripping hippie in New Mexico is starting a “Rights for Flies” web campaign. I’ll get hate mail from people who will liken me to Tony Hayward, Leona Helmsley, and whoever invented BPAs.

But I don’t care.

I hate the little fuckers.

I hate flies because they are in my house and they will not leave. If a wasp gets stuck in your house, it will immediately start banging its pointy little head against the nearest window glass. When you crack open the window, it will sense the draft and fly outside. A black fly might alight on the window glass, just to tease you, but the minute you open the window (or reach for a fly swatter) it will dive bomb your head and then fly into your fridge. It will land on your uncovered butter dish, march around a bit, start shaking its butt at you, and chant na na na na nah na.

Flies are not merely pesky. Flies are assholes.

I also hate them for their indiscriminate dining practices. Flies love any kind of dung and they also love anything you have just baked and left cooling on the counter. This means that after enjoying a morning repast of raccoon shit, flies will fly their crappy tiny feet over to your house and traipse all over your blueberry muffins. I’m sure that I do not need to remind you that flies have very poor personal hygiene. The only way a fly will get wet is while dive bombing an unflushed toilet.

Or your glass of Chardonnay.

Probably both, but we know damn well which it will do first.

Cheers.

I hate the noise flies make. That incessant buzzing drives me insane. Flies have a sixth sense for two things….Saturdays and sleep deprivation. They live solely for annoying the sleep-deprived on Saturday mornings. They will start their assault at day break. Just when you are settling happily into that dream about winning the lottery, stopping the oil spill, becoming a national hero, getting love-mail from DavidThorne, and suddenly developing a charming French accent, they will rev up their engines and all you will hear for the next three hours is BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Then, when you think your head might pop off and all your life force will come spouting out of your neck like Old Faithful, the buzzing will suddenly stop.

And that’s the worst.

Because you know one thing:

At anytime, without warning, it will start again.

But what you don’t know…

What you cannot stop thinking about…

What really may finally drive you over the edge is…….

WHERE IN THE DAMN HELL IS THAT FUCKITY LITTLE FUCKER RIGHT NOW. ARGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH. ARGGGGHHHHHHH. ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Flies suck.

Chicken out

So Then Chicken Says "Let's Do This Thing!"

Hi World,

My name is Chicken.  I'm a book junkie.

It started out innocently.  About 3 weeks ago I picked up some books at the library.  I read them.  I didn't blog.  I didn't read your blogs.  I finished all my books and I thought, "I should work on my blog".  But then I started to feel itchy and broke out in a sweat.  I couldn't focus.  I told myself I had to go to the bank knowing full well the bank is next to the library. I told myself I was just going to drop in. See what's new.  I absolutely would not borrow any books because I really needed to do some laundry and blog. I don't need to read book after book.  I can quit any time.

Sadly, I couldn't seem to control myself and I came back with another stash.  I read them.

Friends stopped by over the holiday weekend.  I sat calmly, sorta, okay not really, but then I developed an eye tic.  I turned to my sister-in-law.  Blink. Blink. Blink.

"Pssst.  Did you bring any, you know, stuff?"
"What?"
"You know...books???" (spoken in loud whisper and with furitive looks around the table).
"What?"
"Books (clenched teeth). Do. You. Have. Any. Books."
"Well, I have a couple historical romances in the car....?"
(Chicken relaxes a little) "Oh, well, if you're not reading them, I'll take them off your hands.  It's been so long since I've relaxed with a really good trashy novel, you know?"

Sadly, I manipulated all visitors (enablers) in this manner.  I became good at it.    I kept reading.  Eventually, after a couple weeks, I started actively avoiding the computer.  "Just one more chapter and I swear I'll stop", I said to myself.  But I was out of control.

It is not that I didn't have ideas.  With all that reading, you can't help but have the occasional brainstorm.  But then I'd just keep reading and somehow I'd never write down the idea, and two days later I'd give the computer an apathetic glance and say, "I just don't feel the same way about you anymore".  I might have said the same thing to BigB when he suggested I put down the book and cook dinner.

Last week my older son went away for a week, which gave me even more downtime.  It wasn't pretty, World.  I spent the weekend on the couch with the second Stieg Larsson installment.  Every once in a while I'd look over to check that littleb was still in the house.  Poor littleb.  He'd look up hopefully and say, "Want to take a walk, Mom?" and I'd say, "You know who would love to take a walk?  Daddy.  Go ask Daddy to take you for a walk.  Or you could go by yourself.  Yeah....you're what, almost 4?  You're big!  Just stay on the sidewalk, ok, littleb, and don't talk to strangers.  Unless they have Stephen King's latest because I'd really like to, ah, take a look at that.  I don't HAVE to....it's not like that....no....it's just sometimes Mommies like to, um, relax a little bit and books help them...."

But then yesterday, as littleb sat staring at Max & Ruby reruns, drool trickling down the corner of his mouth, I realized we were in serious doo-doo.  Sins of the mothers and all that. 

I told myself no more.  NO MORE!

I'm determined to find my way back to you, World.  I'm a little shaky, but I know I can beat this thing.  I know I can do it. I'm just going to do it.  (cue Rocky music)

Even though someone left a copy of "Julie and Julia" on my doorstep last night.

I swear, I just found it there.  I've been wanting to read it for awhile...

So, anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, World.  I'm just going to stay up a little while longer and, um, wash these dishes, maybe do a load of laundry.  Turn in early. (big yawn).

Carry on, World.  In case I didn't mention it my PC needs some, ah, maintenance.  I might be gone a couple days.  But I'll be back.  With recipes!!!

Chicken out

Chicken Gets Serious....

Hi World:

I've said it many times....I'm not political. 

My (previously) private theory is that some people go into politics for the wrong reasons and are by nature corrupt, some go into politics for the right reasons but end up corrupted or compromised, and a few people go into politics for the right reasons and are non-corruptable, but they make up the minority, leaving us with a largely untrustworthy governing body, regardless of who wins the election(s).  Cynical is what I am. I'm not offering solutions and my opinions are defeatist, so I just keep waiting, along with John Mayer, for a change. 

All that said, I do have a few opinions that I've been trying to suppress for a week, but they just keep coming back.  The cliched "but".   The proverbial cat that won't die. The hypocritical Chicken who claims no opinion but is, even now, dragging her soapbox to the microphone.  Lowering the microphone.  Catching the eye of each audience member in turn.  Clearing her throat.....

"Spill" is a fairly inappropriate word for what has happened, don't you think?  When I think of a spill, I think of a glass of milk, not 40,000 gallons of oil.  A day.  Still, I'm so tired of seeing Tony Hayward dragged across the coals.  He is one guy.  Yup.  He sure seems callous, maybe he's arrogant, and he's definitely put his foot in his mouth on more than one occasion.  Tony Hayward could very well be an asshole.  I don't really know because I don't really know Tony Hayward.  But unless he is Satan or Lex Luthor, I'm pretty sure he does, in his heart, wish this had never happened and not just because it threw his lifestyle out of whack.

This happened. Tony Hayward didn't make it happen and he isn't going to make it go away.  We all have to figure out how to make it stop.  I guess this is where I am treading that fine line. Am I being political?  Not sure. There sure are a lot of politics involved, though, and I can't help but wonder whether the energy being spent placing blame could be better spent finding a solution.  This is America. We can place blame later.  If Brown University can take responsibility for their relationship to the slave trade 200 years after the fact, I'm thinking we can catch up with BP later.  Right now, we need to make it stop, and that is up to all of us because ultimately it does not matter who is responsible. Ultimately, seriously, will we even be able to live on this planet long enough to seek reparations from BP in 200 years if we don't make this stop soon? 

Here is a link to a NY Times series of photographs that chronicles the spill.  The pictures speak for themselves.  These are not all aerial photos.  They are close up and personal and I can only imagine what the real thing is like for those living it right now. The Times has done a great job of tracking what's happened and I think they have been pretty objective. There are also a lot of twitterers following and giving up-to-the-minute reports.  There are a lot of people focused on solutions and not blame and that is really heartening.  Frankly, if Louisiana wants to have a day of prayer, good for them.  I think that it is probably more productive than another congressional session, so why throw darts at Louisiana's prayer bubble?  Let's all join in. 

Click here for 10 things you can do to help.

Okay. I'm done now. 

Oh. Hellllllll. I forgot about Abby Sunderland. While I'm handing out opinions, here is one on Abby.  I think we parents today baby our kids too much. Guilty.  But if my 50-year-old husband informed me he wanted to sail around the world by himself, I would tell him he's crazy.  It's not the age that gets me.  It's the idea.  It is a well documented fact that Chickens do not like water.   I think Abby's parents are very brave to let her try.  Crazy, just like Abby, but brave:-)

Hopefully the ocean is still available in ten years for crazy 16-year-olds to try and conquer.

Chicken out