Muffet. That's right, muffet. Has a particular ring to it, right? Something a bit along the Canterbury Tales line, rather "quaint," I'd say.
Anyway, you know she was the one who was afraid of the spider.
I run into them all the time and don't run away. Sure, it's disturbing to have to put your camera (and therefore nose) up within arachnid-leaping-range just to get a shot for blog-posterity. And nothing turns you off bathing quicker than a run-in with a hydrophyllic brown recluse. No time for portraits, just squish. I'm sorry I destroy life forms that are poisonous to me and disasterous for my debt. Yes, sure, health insurance, yes, right, but you know it's less than half the story/cost of care.
Today the spinner gave away $250 or so -
Just sign, don't look; this is the year of "don't use credit," but it's going as well as the "try to not be immobile so much" one. Travel-ban, I must say, is coming out like the Derby's Barbaro. I only went one place, so far, and it was practically dictated by two women, one family biological, one family chosen.
- to a car-fix place to help stave off the blood-letting from my 15-year-old Camry.
"Yeah, those Toyotas really last forever."
Sure they do, but it's not like it's an accident. You just keep dumping dollars in. Apparently, it doesn't matter much how old a car is, as mechanic guy who showed me how to tap on the starter while someone else holds the key going to diagnose if it's truly the culprit of my random strandings said, "If you get a new one, get the best warranty you can."
Wow, so much to look forward to. Newer cars cost more to fix. Bleh. Screw that. I forsee more buses in my future.
But not today, although it's the MARC collective's "Bike to Work [and look freaky when you get there] Day."
What prevents other people at bus stops from taking my bike off the front rack while I'm still inside? You know, not all people at bus stops are actually waiting for a bus. At least that's what bus drivers think. Remember, wave to the surly bus driver, or he won't stop for you. For all he knows, you're just standing on the corner under the sign looking for bikes to steal.
My other bus driver was adequate, but I detected no friendliness.
The one thing I can say in M.McG.'s favor, was that when he drove a city bus, he greeted the people using it. This, even though he turned out, by numerous civil and other lawsuits' filings to be "one of those" priests the Diocese felt comfortable with handling internally and stupidly. Yes, he may have been a wreck, but his brain was fairly good. He spent hours of time researching the transit system's customer service levels, found them deplorable and had logical solutions. Of course, management was happy with things as-is, with being constantly in the red, having inefficient protocols and failed safety ones, and life went on to affirm that indeed, public transportation in the Midwest is crappy. Cincinnati is another case, I am told. There are no east-west lines, it seems. Or a very few, so that you have to travel an hour north or south to get to a point within downtown 10 minutes away.
But at most businesses, even the post office, don't they acknowledge your presence as a customer? My driver did, to her credit, point to the change hole, when I took a half-second to take in all the logos and icons and slots. Being under the gaze of a dozen or so seasoned bus-takers didn't help. Performance anxiety! Plus, the 20+ blocks of sunny walking. Uphill.
Anyway, I'm driving to work today.
It's Malcolm X's (1925) and Lorraine Hansberry's (1930) birthday today. Both of them died rather young, 39, 34, in 1965. Had some other stuff in common, too. Fighting the good fight. Losing to things rather outside their control, assassins, cancer.