Happy Columbus Day

Courtesy of www.SomeEcards.com, one of my favorite e-card sites.. ever:





Happy Columbus Day,
M.db

What Might Have Been

I've often thought that you probably know you love someone when you're immensely frightened of losing that person but comforted only by the knowledge that the one you love is as equally terrified of the thought of losing you.

We can't choose when we love and we unfortunately don't have a say in when we lose love either.

My father's mother met and married the love of her life in her early twenties. Less than a year later she was 2 months pregnant with her soul mate's daughter when her new husband, a pilot in the air force, vanished into a cloud bank on a routine training mission off the coast of California. The rest of his squadron descended through the sky but his aircraft never did. No wreckage was ever found nor was his body and the case was closed as an unexplained mystery. Missing in action. Two thousand miles away, in Corpus Christi, Texas, a young pregnant woman became a widow at the age of 22.

Within a couple of years, she met a traveling salesman named WJ, my grandfather, and they later married. She had already given birth to the baby girl she was pregnant with when her late husband disappeared. She had named her daughter Jacqueline (or Jacquie), after the baby's late father, Jack. My grandfather and grandmother went on to have two children of their own together, one of course being my father.

It always felt to me as though my grandparents had a relationship much like that of a business partnership. Respectful, caring, but probably not one that could be described as a romance. Though I know she loved him, my grandmother often spoke of her time with Jack, even in front of WJ. It was apparent that she never recovered from losing what she regarded as the love of her life. They lived a long life together until my grandmother passed away at the age of 81. After her passing, my grandfather spoke frequently of his and his wife's times together fondly and, in his last two years, expressed how he longed to go "home" to be with his sweet Evelyn. He died at the age of 89, 4 years after my grandmother. As I said, they obviously cared for each other and became attached, in a role most likened to a companionship that he longed for once she was no longer by his side.

After my grandfather's death, the pieces to a story that could be plastered onto the silver screen were revealed. Evelyn may not have been the only one to have longed for a lost love and a what-might-have-been. Years before meeting my grandmother, my grandfather had a noteworthy romance of his own.

A smart young man, my grandfather was accepted to Texas Tech University and having no money he took an all-night job in order to pay his way. After working through the night until dawn he would then attend classes all day. Unfortunately, his estranged alcoholic father came to visit him one weekend claiming he wanted to spend time with his son. Hoping the years of rejection might be finally at a close, my grandfather welcomed his Dad with open arms to stay with him for a few days. Instead, his father stole his tuition savings to feed his gambling habit while his son worked his night job and then left before my grandfather returned from work at dawn. With no means to afford his education, WJ was forced to drop out of school and this great man was fed another helping of rejection and defeat. He joined the Navy and even became a champion boxer while he served.

After a few years in the Navy, WJ became part of one of President Roosevelt's historic "New Deal" programs and enlisted in the Civilian Conservation Corps where he was sent to a small Colorado town. He, along with other young men employed by the program which was aimed to aide those unemployed by the affects of the Great Depression, began the task of building parks and reforesting the land.

It was in this southern Colorado town that WJ experienced love. He met a young woman named Clara. She fell in love with my grandfather and he in love with her. Their courtship was simple and sweet. Clara happened to hail from the wealthiest family in town. She and her family were well educated and polished. Although he was enamored with this young woman, my grandfather struggled with the insecurities of being nothing more, in his mind, than a poor boy that grew up on a Texas farm. One who lacked both the finances and education other suitors could potentially offer a girl like Clara. WJ felt he had nothing to give other than his love. Unfortunately he didn't believe that was enough.

Along with the multitude of other insecurities, fears, and worries that we probably all grapple with in the face of loving someone, my grandfather couldn't help but feel as though he was somehow not good enough for this girl that captured his heart. When he received his transfer orders and was scheduled to leave Colorado for good, he elected not to tell Clara. Knowing he could not provide what he felt she deserved, WJ decided he was doing her a favor. He left Colorado one evening without saying goodbye, leaving behind a heartbroken woman who would live the rest of her life never knowing what went wrong.

In a time without the Internet, cell phones or 411 .. my grandfather vanished from her life forever.

A pack rat by nature, my grandfather saved everything.. and I mean literally everything. Cleaning out his apartment after his funeral proved to be a daunting task for my father and my uncle. They sifted through the tangible belongings of their father's life like archaeologists through the earth. Much was disposed of and meaningful items were saved. Halfway through the endeavor they stumbled upon a box of letters that revealed the outcome of a love story that began 60+ years earlier.

In the last year of his life, at 89 years old, WJ wrote to the chamber of commerce in the Colorado town that he had been stationed in 60-some years earlier. He inquired the old fashioned way, via written letter, about Clara's locally well-known family during the time period he knew her. The correspondence revealed that he was placed in touch with a somewhat removed relative of the family and several exchanges took place. The letters addressed to my grandfather laid to rest 6 decades of wonder and regret. Through these letters, he learned what became of the woman he was in love with so many years before. Clara had married, she had several children and a multitude of grandchildren. She lived in Colorado her entire life and had passed away only 6 months prior to my grandfather contacting the Chamber of Commerce. I think my grandfather was able to finally close a chapter of his life by knowing that Clara went on to lead a full and satisfying life, though he was too late to ever say "I'm sorry" or "goodbye."

The parallels, to me, are daunting. This woman loved a man, much like my grandmother loved her first husband, who vanished into thin air with no explanation given. She went on, as did my grandmother, to marry, create a family, and live a long life. When my grandmother died she more than likely looked back on her life and had two men who occupied her heart on her mind. I have to wonder if Clara did the same.

I know what a wonderful person my grandfather was. He was accomplished, he was intelligent, the hardest worker I've ever had the honor of knowing. He was funny, he was handsome and his heart was gold. On the inside, he didn't give himself credit for all that he was. He let his insecurities stop him from what might have been the love of a lifetime.

Imagine 63 years of regret. Imagine cheating yourself out of spending the rest of your days with your soul mate. Imagine leaving someone to wonder, until their last breath, why you walked out.

I'm obviously glad my grandparents ended up where they did because I was honored to have them in my life and otherwise I certainly wouldn't have been born. I can't help but mourn both of their losses on their behalf.

Let it be a lesson. Never sell yourself short. Never think you're not worthy and, as cliche as it sounds, try to remember that to the world you may just be one person.. but to one person you just might be the world.

Some love is taken away from us and some love we take away from ourselves.

Fate deprives some people of love and others deprive themselves.

I don't want to be writing a chamber of commerce when I'm 89 because I let someone slip through my fingers. I don't want to wish I had said goodbye and I don't want to feel so unworthy of something that I actually deserve that I am foolish enough to walk away from it.

Life is like a "Choose Your Own Adventure" book. Here's hoping we pick our paths wisely.

In loving memory of my Grandfather, W.J.
M.db

PS- can you imagine all four players in this story being reunited in heaven? Awwwkkkwaaaarrdddd. :) (had to end on a light note)

Blow me

I love those high pressured cans of air that you use to clean computer keyboards and electronics. Holy shit they're so exciting! It's fun to point that thing at your keyboard like a pistol and watch little particles of who-knows-what fly everywhere. Funny, I don't remember eating Doritos at my computer?

But there's also an element of fear involved, for me anyway. The outside of the can has all kinds of warning labels posted on it basically stating that its contents under pressure will potentially explode like a Palestinian car bomb leaving a path of destruction for approximately a 4 block radius. The can itself also gets really cold to the touch after you've used it for a few seconds. That, naturally, leads me to believe that the inevitable explosion is approaching rapidly! Plus, it starts to hiss a little bit. So after I blow out my laptop's keyboard I usually hold the air can about two feet out in front of me, ever so delicately, the way a bomb squad member might handle a ticking suitcase he had just discovered. I then walk carefully to my file cabinet and close that sucker in the drawer as fast as possible and scurry away.

Cleanliness can be such a thrill,
M.db

Re-Uh-Luh-Tor

I am a Realtor, that's my job. You can call it Real Estate Salesperson, Real Estate Agent, or just Realtor. No matter which name you choose to call the position it means the same. One of the above words, however, needs to STOP being mispronounced. And that word is Realtor.

Let's break this word down:

Real + tor = Realtor.

It is NOT pronounced Re-UH-LUH-Tor. There are not FOUR syllables in the word "Realtor" there are two. It is also not pronounced "re-luh-tor" either. Count with me.. REAL-TOR. ONE-TWO. It's not a type of dinosaur, like a Volac-UH-rap-tor. It's just plain Realtor, don't make this harder than it is.

To further prove my point, let's look at some other similar profession words:

Take Doctor for instance. Do you call it a Doc-UH-tor?? No, you would never because you're not stupid right? it's DOC-TOR. Emphasis on DOC and emphasis on TOR. That's it!

How about Contractor? Do you say Con-Trac-UH-tor?? No, why would you? Those letters aren't even in that word. It's CON-TRAC-TOR. No more additional UH sounds required.. just sound it out. So simple!

Now let's look at Teacher maybe? Do you say Teach-UH-cher?? Nope. It's TEACH-ER. Emphasis on teach and then followed by the er. Quite straight forward.

The word Realtor is comprised of two parts, much like the word doctor we just learned about. Say those two parts with me.

Part 1.) Real.. okay now stop.

Word 2.) Tor.. now don't forget, pronounce that the same way you would pronounce the "tor" at the end of "doctor" or "contractor." Ok goooooood.

Now put them together (this is the tricky part, stay with me) Ready, go!

"Real" (just like we practiced) + "tor" (just like we practiced). Come on, you can do it.. REALTOR! There! You did it! Now you won't look like a retard!

Now the next time you speak about a real estate professional stop yourself and ask "what did Mason tell me about this word and it's CORRECT pronunciation?" and I bet you'll be glad you look a lot smarter than those times you've been saying Re-UH-LUH-tor.

Thank you for your time and best of luck out there in this crazy mixed up world of pronunciation.
M.db

HEY! GET OUT OF HERE!

I like to leave notes in my medicine cabinet.

Some people can't rid themselves of the temptation to peak inside someone's drawers when no one is looking. Or maybe open up the medicine cabinet for just a second when they use someone's bathroom. I understand, trust me, it's tempting to see what's going on in there though I refrain (honestly) from doing it. What do we expect or hope to find when we do things like that? It's like "ADVIL?!?! They must get headaches!" or "Holy SHIT a toothbrush! someeeeboodddyyss got a plaque problem!"

I guess it's the hope of finding something juicy, something that was hidden behind a closed cabinet door for a reason. Some prescription for an ailment we've never heard of or the homeowner would never want us to know he has. One that is, of course, contracted sexually. I supposed that's what we really want. Funny thing, even if you found said prescription pill bottle you would have to somehow remember the prescription name and then google it later to find out what it was a cure for. It's not like medicine names are ever called "Herpes Fixer" or "Uncontrollable Diahrea Stopping Pills." It's more like "Dexahethelaximine" or "Rhynatrosintrocitol (Generic for Rhynotrixonoxinopinol)."

Either way, I don't have anything juicy in my medicine cabinet but I like to leave a note in there anyway. Not everyday, of course, but if I know I'm having lots of people over. Like last year when I had my Christmas party. I folded a piece of paper, propped it inside the cabinet so it would be the first thing you see if you opened the door, and wrote on it "HEY! GET OUT OF HERE!"

It's fun to think of someone finding it and either feeling busted or thinking it's funny.. but either way having to remain silent about it.

Now GET OUT OF HERE!
M.db

Word of the Day

You've heard of Japanimation (Japanese Animation).. well try this on for size:

"Afghanistanimation"

That's funny.
M.db

Rub a Dub Flub a Rub Dub Dub

My good friend Alissa is a Realtor, like me. When she called me to invite me to lunch this morning I had a feeling we'd be in for more than a salad.. knowing we both have flexible schedules.

The day was gorgeous so we sat at a great table on the patio at the restaurant we went to. As expected, we not only each ordered a salad but a couple martinis as well. Ooops. 2 hours later, however, construction vehicles began to tear up the street outside of where we were sitting. After we finished eating and realized we had to yell to hear one another we both decided it was an excellent idea to take ourselves elsewhere. Besides, two and a half hours wasn't a sufficiently long enough lunch hour.

Here are the dudes who screwed up our lovely time with their noise pollution:



So we wandered a couple of blocks south, seeking a place to soak up the sun for another drink. A hole-in-the-wall we had never visited seemed like the most logical selection. Monsignor Murphy's it is!






At 60 degrees (but about 80 in the sun) it was THE perfect weather to not be working when everyone else was.

Alissa checking her email, JUST in case it was important:




We made friends with all who passed (and documented it all, obviously):



And then something magical happened.. and it wasn't anything related to the "astrology" store behind the patio we were sitting on. But rather we realized we were also sitting right next to a hot dog restaurant we had never seen. An entire establishment devoted to hot dogs called "Flub A Dub Chub's." As if this day couldn't be more perfect.. we then both started singing, to the tune of the Globe Trotter's theme song, a ditty that went something along the lines of: "Flub-A-Dub Chub, Rub-A-Dub Chub Rub-a-dubba-flubba-chub chub-a RUB A DUB DUB!" (or something along those lines.. the rules of the song were fast, loose and up to interpretation).



We immediate realized that we were going to need much more information about this place. With a name like Flub A Dub Chub's.. there were questions to be answered, so we began an inquisition. Every person who passed by us on the sidewalk was asked if they had dined at Flub A Dub Chub's before and if so, how was their experience. If they hadn't been, we informed them it was the best place ever, gave them the store hours and made them promise to give it a go some time in the near future. Reviews from the passer by's were mixed. Not mixed regarding the restaurant but mixed regarding our sanity and legitimacy.

Someone actually came OUT of Flub's with a sack full of.. hot dogs, I assume. We stopped him and asked him how his experience was to which he replied "Not sure, this is my first time, haven't eaten it yet." Alissa said "A VIRGIN!! Take a picture of his first time!" he scurried off in a fit of fear, but I caught him, paparazzi-style, on his way off:



The next person to emerge from Flub's had great things to say about the place.. because he was the owner and our new favorite person, today anyway. He brought us a menu and explained that he got the idea for the name of the restaurant from a lady at a bar when he was drunk and that every menu item was named after someone in his family. We perused (and did the maze on the back of) the menu and learned that they sold t-shirts as well! One that said "My Girlfriend Gave Me a Chubby!" one that said "My Boyfriend Gave Me a Chubby" and another that said "I Came Hungry and Left With a Chubby!" That was good enough for us: SOLD! Shirts were purchased from the owner.





And soon it was time for us to call our lunch to a close. After all, it was nearly 5pm and we originally met for lunch at noon. We couldn't leave without actually going INSIDE Flub A Dub Chub a Rub a Whatever's to get a to-go menu and a sense of the interior of the place we had been advertising to everyone who passed. You have to know the product you pedal, after all. We said goodbye to the owner and all exchanged business cards. Alissa made some sort of purchase from the owner that I wasn't aware of:



As we walked down the sidewalk Alissa handed me what she had purchased, 10 "Flub Bucks," and said "Happy Early Birthday!" We both laughed pretty damn hard.




I'll be using my Flub Bucks soon.
What a great lunch.
M.db

Goodbye Danny

Pets really are special to the people who love them. Another life that brings so much joy into your own life.

You were a great little guy.. I'm sorry your last day had to be today. There was just no more fight left in you to battle the cancer that was bigger than you. Somewhat selfishly I'm glad I didn't have to be there to deal with the sadness when Mom and Dad took you to lay down to sleep one last time this afternoon. I am glad they were by your side to say goodbye, though, and I'm glad you weren't all alone.

Thanks for being a good pal to me when I still lived at home and thank you for being a special companion to my mom and dad in the years that I have been away. You were truly a sweet dog. Your pain is gone.





G'night Danny.
M.db

5 Year Aged Brat

I was at Whole Foods today and while there I went by the specialty cheese counter in an attempt to find the type of cheese I had last week that I so enjoyed. I couldn't remember what kind it was but figured if I saw the name it might spark my memory. God it was good and God do I love cheese.

While I was standing there reading the labels an annoying mother with her 5 year old daughter was browsing through the different cheeses as well. I say she was annoying because she asked the cheese expert behind the counter about 15 vague questions in an attempt to find the kind of cheese she was looking for. Not questions like "I think it's a Gouda," nor were they questions about consistency or coloring but rather "noooo.. it wasn't Parmesan.. I mean.. isn't there one that's like, Parmesan but not like Parmesan?" In your head pin whatever voice on this story that you'd like but definitely choose an annoying one because her voice certainly was. Anyway, I watched the cheese counter guy, who obviously knew his stuff very well, attempt very diligently to help her. He continued to describe the different qualities and textures that the cheese in question might possess.. to no avail.

Then I suddenly realized what was going on when the woman said "No, it's not that one.. it's just one that, oh UGH what is it, it's one that she really likes and can't get enough of.. oh honey which one was it?" she said looking at her five year old daughter. It was everything I could do not to say "KRAFT SINGLES! That's which one your stupid daughter likes!" I'm not talking about being at the deli counter at a supermarket here, this is the specialty cheese counter at Whole Foods. The place where two full-time specialists are hired to pair cheese with wine and anything else you can imagine. The counter where a couple ounces of aged cheese can set you back 15 bucks. I couldn't believe it, this woman was taking up what seemed like a billion minutes of this man's time, making him cut up numerous samples to hand down to her daughter who ate them and then mumbled things like "mommy I want juice." All this in an effort to find out what kind of 12 dollar cheese her 5 year old can't live without, who apparently has a pallet more dignified than a 40 year old. A cheese that has probably been aged longer than the little brat has been alive. Meanwhile, the little girl looked about as interested in the cheese selection as I probably would if someone started to describe the inner workings of a car engine. Guess what, lady, do your pocket book a favor and save about 10 dollars.. walk over to the sliced meat section of the store, in the fridge next to the bacon, pick up a packet of cheddar (and a juice because that's what she really seems to want) hand it to your little girl and stop wasting everyone's time.

The economy is horrible. Gas is so expensive I rarely fill my tank all the way but stick to just putting 20 dollars in at a time (which equals less than 5 gallons in Chicago). Our country's morale is so low that people are getting nasty with each other during this election. All over TV all you can hear is how doomed our markets are. But somewhere in this city tonight, a little girl snacked on a cheese older than she is to the tune of 6 dollars a bite and it only wasted 15 minutes of my life that I'll never get back.

Now I'm going to go back to eating my Parrano cheese. It was Parrano I was looking for, and I found it on my own for the record. After I sampled it, the lady and her daughter followed suit and decided that Parrano was the winner for them as well.

Hope she's enjoying it on her grilled cheese sandwich as much as I am enjoying it with my wine.
M.db

Vernon's Birthday Gift

A while back I stopped doing my own laundry, and it went something like this:

I don't have a washer and dryer in my condo but rather there is a laundry room on the 3rd floor of my building. I started thinking that I should look into one of those services that picks up your cleaning and returns it to your door and charges per pound. After all, I'm paying to do laundry in my building as it is and my time has got to be worth a couple bucks on top of that, right? It worked out pretty well for a while, but in the end I couldn't justify the cost. It wasn't a terrible expense, about $1.75 per pound, but it was still averaging about 7 dollars more each time than what I spent in my building's laundry facility. I decided 2 hours of my time wasn't worth 7 dollars (I'm a mean boss to myself).

Right about the time I started not being able to justify the expense of this convenience, the laundry company dissolved and the driver who always picked up my laundry kept some of his valued clients by taking their business (and his) to another laundry service. Because he was now just an independent driver taking TONS of business to a laundry facility, the price dropped to 50 cents per pound and only one dollar (you heard me, ONE dollar) for each piece of dry cleaning- no matter what it is. In other words, I had a suit dry cleaned the other day and the two-piece suit cost two bucks to have cleaned, AND it was picked up at my front door and returned to my front door 7 hours later. My laundry, at 50 cents per pound, also gets returned to me folded and ready to be put away. Now my time DEFINITELY is worth 50 cents a pound.

Can't beat it with a stick.

So anyway, I always tip Vernon, the driver, several dollars. He's a nice guy and very punctual, which I appreciate. He must appreciate me a bit, too: my phone rang a few minutes ago and I saw on the caller ID that it was Vernon calling. More specifically it showed up as it is categorized in my phone book: "Vernon Laundryservice." "Hmmm, what could this be about" I thought. Well, apparently one of Vernon's clients works for Ticketmaster and tipped him the other day with 30 front row tickets to the Brooks and Dunn / ZZ Top concert. Good ole' Vernon called some of his favorite clients, which apparently includes me, and started passing out front row seats to the show. How nice is that?! Way to pay it forward Vern! His exact words were "I don't know who Brooks and Dunn are." Vernon doesn't even know my birthday is next week, but I'll consider this his birthday gift to me. He even said "how many do you want, brotha?" I'm not his brother but I took 4. What a nice surprise.

Oh by the way... I know, I know.. "ZZ Top / Brooks and Dunn?!" you might say. Random, yes, but whatever. Not saying I necessarily would have gone out of my way to buy tickets on my own but hey, it's front row, it's free and it's something fun for an otherwise uneventful Thursday night next week.

Thanks Vernon!
M.db

Re-direct

I 'announced it' before, but it officially took place today (after a minor glitch).. mason1017.blogspot.com is no more. All traffic is routed to MasonAgainstTheWorld.com. Before, I had it set up to simply direct traffic to the blogspot address. Now, it's all on the new domain name and if you type in the blogspot address you're sent to the new page, not the other way around.

The glitch today, however, came when I re-directed traffic from the .blogspot.com to masonagainsttheworld.com but accidentally still had traffic from masonagainsttheworld.com directed to the .blogspot address. Thus, I created a circle.. if you typed in "mason1017.blogspot.com" you would receive a message saying you are being re-directed to "masonagainsttheworld.com".. but that page just redirected you right back to "mason1017.blogspot.com" so basically you were screwed either way and just kept bouncing back and forth. One page led you to a page that didn't exist and sent you back to the other page which bounced you right back to the previous. Confused? I was, too. All fixed now though!

Cheers! Welcome to the world, domain name.
M.db

Canned Marine Life

I have to pee so very badly. I was just out and about and before I left Caribou Coffee (the last place I was) I thought "nah, I'll just wait until I get home to use the restroom." Upon arriving home my housekeeper was, for the first time in the history of her employment, cleaning the bathroom last rather than first. She always starts in the bathroom, except for today. EFF! I have to pee so bad. I might just go in there and pee in front of her while she's cleaning the shower.

I'm eating some tuna to take my mind off of.. she's done, be right back.

So much better. So anyway I'm eating some tuna and I always think of my aunt when I make tuna. One time we were, for some reason, talking about sandwiches and when a tuna sandwich was mentioned she shuttered. I said "what?! How come you don't like tuna?" and she replied "Fish in a can, that's why. Fish... in a can." I thought it was a pretty funny statement. It is pretty disgusting sounding once it's put that way. So now, every time I make tuna, I say to myself as I'm opening the can "Fish.. in a can. That's why."

That's why,
M.db

Can't Think of a Title

You know who LOVES the movie Titanic? TNT, that's who. They play this movie all the time, or at least it feels that way to me. I end up watching it every time, too. Titanic is to TNT what A League Of Their Own is to TBS. And literally as I just typed that, the network cut the movie off to bring major league baseball coverage, live. Fuck you, TNT! Now I'll never know how the story ended. I wonder if that ship ended up sinking? Guess what outcome I don't care about though? The outcome of Angels and Red Sox game that they just started airing, that's what.

Channel.. changed.

The movie Marie Antoinette is on another station and it's the part of the story where Antoinette's mother is writing her a letter to say she needs to get up on her husband and produce an heir already. What an uncomfortable letter to receive from your mom. I'm ready for one of these movies to portray the women and men of this particular age in a more accurate way. I have been to Versailles, and history class for that matter, and I've seen the paintings.. Marie Antoinette looked nothing like Kirsten Dunst. Quite a homely bunch, they were. And can you even imagine how bad those people smelled in the summer with all those clothes and wigs on? Yummy.

This past week Kevin invited me along to a GenArt event downtown hosted by Pete Wentz. He's about 2 feet tall by the way, Pete Wentz is I mean, not Kevin. Kevin is a member of GenArt so he goes to events throughout the year. GenArt showcases local talent in music, film, arts, etc. This particular event is the yearly big bang/hoo-rah and largest event. I was honored to be invited to VIP-it-up with K. Huge fashion show (with open bar, wee) featuring local talent, giant after-party at a loft in the West Loop (with open bar, wee) then an after-party at a bar in the Gold Coast. Very fun.. maybe too much fun for my own good on a Wednesday night but well worth the hang-over and the tiredness the next day. I did misplace my big gift bag somewhere along the way though. Something about copious amounts of champagne makes me forgetful of where I put things. I love free shit so I definitely mourned the loss of my gift bag but the time was fantastic.





The rest of the week and this weekend was business as usual. Work and showings this weekend and a couple of appointments today as well. I'm craving for a coke pretty bad, so I think I'll go make that happen.

M.db

The Loss of a Friend... sort of

I try, while the weather is still pleasant, to enjoy my balcony and sit outside at least for a few minutes every day. Usually in the morning for coffee. Side-note I also seem to attract grasshopper-like creatures into my world. I've even blogged about it before (that 2004 post can be found here). The other day I was driving home and looked into the passenger side mirror as I was going down the road and noticed one of these guys had hitched a ride. He stayed there all the way to my condo and into my garage.. so I snapped a photo of him before I got out of the car.



So anyway a while back while I was enjoying my coffee on the balcony I also watered my plants and felt like I saw a leaf moving out of the corner of my eye. It wasn't a leaf but rather another grasshopper. I'm not a huge fan of bugs but this thing was actually pretty cool because he looked exactly like a leaf with his markings. It was remarkable that he matched the plant he was on nearly identically, so I took a picture. I had to wonder.. how on earth does a grasshopper end up on a balcony 33 stories above the ground? Either way I figured it to be a one-time sighting, took my paparazzi pictures of him and went about my coffee drinking.



The next day that I was sitting out there having my morning coffee, I looked over and there he was again. This time he crawled out from inside the plants and made his way across the glass table by the wall. When he got to the wall he slowly started crawling up it, poking around with his antennas. I must be the pied piper to these insects, I swear. A sexy talent, I might add, attracting bugs.



"Crazy grasshopper" I thought, and went about my business. Well, it kept happening. Every time I would go onto the balcony in the past few weeks I found myself looking around in the plant and feeling a little comforted when I would discover he was still there. I should just break down and get a dog, is what you're thinking. Well this week several days went by with no sign of the grasshopper. I figured he must have moved on to greener pastures or to a neighboring balcony where a resident takes better care of their plants. A couple days ago it started raining and I decided to go out onto the balcony and move one of my potted plants so it could be in the path of the rain to get some water. I moved the pot and it was suddenly like the opening scene to CSI Chicago. The thunder practically boomed and lightning struck (not really) at the very moment I moved the pot and discovered the lifeless body of my old friend the Grasshopper. Natural causes, I assume. I still felt sort of bad.. it was like if your cat had been missing and then days later you found he had been hit by a car who-knows-how-long-ago. Well, sort of like that... but a cat you only had for a couple weeks and that was really really small and green and had antennas and showed no affection towards you as an owner. Either way, I have to mourn the passing of yet another grasshopper that made its way into my surroundings. I'm sure there will be more.. riding on my car mirror, living outside my front door(as one did in College for a week), or hiding in the plants of my balcony. R.I.P. Grasshopper. I still haven't decided what to do with the body. Maybe I'll bury him in the flower pot.

G'night,
M.db