Anyway, this thing is roughly the size of a soccer ball, and bees are entering and exiting it, like the Death Star. And I don’t care for it, not one tiny bit.
I have a feeling it played a part in the vicious dive-bombing stinger-first back o’ the head attack I experienced a few days ago. Ya know? So, they can be aggressive little bastards, and there’s a big quivering sack of ’em right outside our front door. Simply excellent.
The youngest Secret said he was afraid to sleep in his room, on the night we discovered the “nest,” and Toney and I tried to reassure him. “What do you think they’re going to do,” I asked, “form a hand, like on cartoons, and open your window?”
Yeah, I said it as a joke, but the thought had already passed through my mind as well. I’ve seen bees form hands, many times, on Saturday mornings throughout my childhood. And I had visions of me waking up on Saturday morning like this.
So, I think we’re going to hire a Death Star removal service. No way in hell I’m screwing around with that thing… We’ll just let our pest-control buddy, “Alec Baldwin,” take care of it. And more power to him.
Speaking of the younger Secret, Toney and I tried our best to convince him to join the swim team his older brother belongs to, and he won’t budge.
He says he doesn’t want to do it, is adamant about it, but won’t tell us why. He’s a strong swimmer, but absolutely refuses to join the team.
“Do you think you’re not good enough?” I asked him.
“That’s part of it,” he said.
“Well, I feel that way every time I get out of bed.”
We finally dropped it. He’s got a strong opinion on the subject, and we don’t feel comfortable forcing him into it. So, that’s that; no swim team for him. Too bad, because it’s a great program, with many benefits.
If you’ve got younglings, have you ever insisted they participate in an activity they’d previously refused? How did it work out? Did they end up loving it, or were their worst fears realized? I have a feeling the Secret would like it, but that might just be hopeful estimating on my part. Do you have any experience with such a thing?
We were at Sam’s Club over the weekend, and they were giving out samples of Kraft macaroni ‘n’ cheese. What the? Is there anyone on the planet Earth, except maybe a handful of African tribesmen with bones through their noses, who is unfamiliar with this product? What’s next, toast? Iceberg lettuce? Table salt?
Needless to say, though, I knocked it back, like a shot of Jack Daniels. And it was very tasty, indeed.
While we were driving home from Sam’s the boys started bitching about the CD I’d brought along (one of Paul Weller’s more laid-back efforts), so I turned on the radio.
We like to play a game, with the classic rock station, called How Long Before Zeppelin? Each of us makes a guess how many songs will play before Led Zeppelin makes an appearance. Toney won on Saturday, with her guess of two. “Kashmir” propelled her to victory.
We’ve also played the game with Pink Floyd, but it works best with Zeppelin. Apparently Pink Floyd isn’t played as often as it seems; it’s just some kind of aural illusion, I think.
Man, being the program director at a classic rock radio station must be an almost completely stress-free job. “Yeah, just keep playing the same crap we’ve been playing since 1978… I’m going to lunch.”
Am I wrong? And what are some other stress-free gigs out there? Help me out, won’t you? I might be interested in pursuing a few of ’em.
And while we’re at it, let’s compile a list of rock radio cliches. I’ll get the ball rolling:
Twos for Tuesday
What are the rest? We need to capture ’em all.
And speaking of rock that is classic, Steve and I made a successful trek to Philadelphia last night, to see Paul Weller play a blistering (and very loud) show in a tiny, crumbling former vaudeville house.
I’ll get into the details soon, but it was a good time. With only one tiny complaint… Would it kill the man to throw in a few more songs by the Jam? I mean, seriously. Westerberg never stopped playing Replacements songs, and nobody’s ever accused him of being a nostalgia act.
Weller did “A Town Called Malice,” and an acoustic version of “Butterfly Collector,” and that’s it. But, he still rocked the joint, and had everyone jumping around like idiots, so I feel a little guilty bitching. “The Eton Rifles” woulda sounded mighty good, though, especially with all that Boddington’s jostling around in my belly.
I’ll tell you all about our boozy adventure, in the near future.
Have yourselves a fine, fine day, boys and girls.