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2001-06-27 / 9:56 p.m. ~Misguided spiders build their webs in very inappropriate places - and what happened to the good old "Shift" key?~
This morning I went down to my car, as usual, and looked it over, as usual, thinking how one day I should wash it, really, how maybe I should keep it, how I sure hope today is not the day it breaks down, blows up, etc., leaving me stranded on the highway, checking the tires, looking for flats, and the closer I get the closer I'm looking, as always, and there, below the rear bumper, from bumper bottom, if you will, to asphalt below, is a fantastic and very beautiful spider web, complete with fantastic and very beautiful spider in its center. Fuck me to tears. This is some sort of metaphor for the adaptability of all creatures, some metaphor for life, in general, for how we think we've got it made, got it all figured out, success is within our grasp, our reach, ahhhhhh......time to relax, finish it out, take it easy, chill, when along comes someone who needs to be right where we are, who needs to drive this car. I hated it, I hated that this spider obviously spent the whole night spinning this thing, and I know, because I've watched spiders spin/build webs - it takes hours! - and it looks great, a real fine job, a great specimen of arachnid architecture. I like that, alliteration: arachnid architecture, I'll say it again. I tore it up, I took my finger and broke it, top to bottom, Run along now little beautiful spider, and the thing runs under the car! So, I'm thinking, this is great, I ruin the web, don't want to run over it, and I'm going to run over it anyway. So, I stop projecting, stop anthropomorphisizing (is that how you spell it?) and just get in the damn vehicle and go. But, I am thinking how outrageously ironic this whole scene is, out of all the cars in that parking lot, why not the one that is perennially parked, the one with four flat tires, the one that had the WARNING label on it, saying We Are Going To Tow Your Vehicle if you don't FUCKING MOVE IT!!!!!!, but then the "owner" or whoever stole it in the first place, inflates the tires and moves it two spaces, rips off the garish orange WARNING sticker and all is well again - why not THAT car? Huh, spider, huh???? Deep breath. It's okay, I did what I could do, the spider was moving too fast for me to try to capture it and put it safely on the grass, I only hoped I wouldn't run over it, and I didn't look back. I can't help it, I care, okay? I appreciated the effort expended. Speaking of effort expended......I simply must address a pressing diaryland.com issue, well, pressing to me. What happened to "Shift" keys? I know where mine are...see, look, here is a capital WTF? It stands for WhatTheFuck? And it means what is the deal with the diarists, and I use the term loosely, okay, the teens/early twentysomethings on here who go to great and tremendous lengths to create fancy/schmancy HTML coded diary pages, only to write in all lower case, like it's some chat room or something, with no effort to spell check? I don't get it. Here you've got this fab looking diary and you are writing crap, and it looks like crap. No names. I'm not saying I'm an expert, nor that my diary is better than your diary, and nah, nah, nah, nah nah! No, au contraire, I'm just saying that I read other diaries, one links to another links to another, etc., etc., and I dig the whole idea of peering into others' lives, a la "Rear Window", and "Real World", etc., etc., and this is way more real than anything on television, but come on! It's words, and these must be educated people, must be English speaking people, for the most part, where did the education go? Where did the "Shift" keys go? Maybe they don't put them on the newer keyboards??????? Rant over. Really though, one more thing, when I read "Not-a-Finger"'s diary it was the thing that impressed me most, aside from her insanely irreverent and intelligent sense of humor: no typos and upper and lower case, like writing should be. No chat room diary, but well written sentences, good syntax, great style, and I almost refuse to believe the author is really a 19 year old woman. Sorry. Show me. So Linda does this nonsensical humming thing at work. Oh, I changed topics. Thank God. Yeah, I was beginning to think she feels my vibe, knows when I am in one of my hateful moods, when I hate everyone there, hate being there, that she only hums then, to irritate me, but no, when it slows down, when we're an hour away from walking out the door, she begins, not that she doesn't do it the rest of the day, but she begins anew, afresh, anon, and I'm agog. I hate it. It's this humming thing, it's no tune, not at all, and there are little words interpersed, and she's talking to herself, but she's not saying anything, and it goes on and on, and I want to say, "HEY, Linda, SHUT THE FUCK UP, okay? Please?", but I cannot figure out a way to say it. That wouldn't sound right, I know, but what else is there? "Hey, Lind, who you talkin' to, hun?".....No, not with our history, not Ms. Lynching Photos, no, I know bygones occurred, they're gone, but I still believe she's evil, I always will believe that, and this humming thing, is part of it. It's her communication with Satan. I guess. Segue away!!! I think I have that end-of-period-hey-I'm-horny thing going. This afternoon I came in the back door, after lunch, all hot and flushed because it's like one million degrees in my car and the humidity is 500%, and there was Computer Guy, or "Dude", and man, I wanted to do him right there! He never looked quite that good to me......and there are these two young, like super young, temps working now, I don't know what department, but Jesus God, I look at them and think, No, I'm 40, Nope, I'm 40, hell, I type with the "Shift" key, I am an old fogie for chrissakes!!!! Okay, they are looking at me too, I'm sorry, no one thinks I'm 40, I constantly have to produce identification to prove it, but still, I know how old I am, and these young boy-toys are too young. I think. They are, right? Speaking of men, grown men anyway, so I wrote to Steve, a Hey, why did you call me on the Solstice? email letter, and he writes me today, well, last night, saying, Hey, where are you?, on account of he thinks I never wrote him back, but then after he clicks "send" (sneaky "send" button), he sees the letter I wrote last night and writes an oopsy kind of note. What does all this mean? I don't even know. I swear, this was a freak, a guy I never wanted to talk to again, ever, but I don't know anymore - now he's writing about Bach and Beethoven, about "Fantasia" and the music from different scenes, this whole paragraph or three about a fantastic thunderstorm he watched, on an open airfield, and hell, I'm thinking he needs to read about me and the spider, or maybe the firefly, and where are we headed with this? What is all of this about? We go from him wanting to eat me, sending me porn pics, to telling me about the rain and thunder? I don't even know anymore. Cost of the War in Iraq
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