First, an announcement. Due to things like "graduate school" (catherine) and "full-time job" (gene), we're going bi-weekly for a bit. So don't get all thrown off thinking that we're slacking. It's just a paradigm shift.
Second: ugg update. Doesn't Jack Nicholson's wife in The Shining wear them? Did we need any more proof that it's a fad we shouldn't bring back?
Third, devoted readers might recall my "freak-out" at the beginning of the semester about the half-dollar-sized spider that had taken to chilling on my room's sliding glass door/window (a door that is conveniently located directly next to my bed). A refresher: the first sighting of the spider, which is large enough to warrant a name, caused me to get my roommate and his girlfriend to swat it out my window as it dangled saucily from the sill. All seemed calm (despite a weird centipede later found in the bed--upsetting!).
That is, until this morning. After waking from a dream in which my family was planning a world-wide trip, starting in Syria, to become professional trapeze artists, I gazed out the window at the dim 6 a.m. light, only to have my view obstructed by the same spider!! (Okay, perhaps not the exact same one, but definitely from the same arachnid family tree. Perhaps an inlaw?) At first I thought it was inside, a terrifying concept since it was literally 3 feet away from my head. But closer examination showed that no, it had actually spun a three-foot-wide net right outside my window and was perched contentedly in the middle, waiting for any light-seeking moths to throw themselves toward my room, only to have their life blood sucked out by its long, venomous fangs.
I showed it to my roommate and bitched about it instead of taking action (it's easier that way, no?) and spent the day with the upsetting sensation that there were bugs crawling up my legs. I returned home ambivalent--where did I want the spider to be? What if it had relocated to a more personal location, like my running shoes?
No need to worry! As I type, the spider is hanging out, maxing and relaxing, in its web, in the same spot as this morning. An desiccated insect carcass dangles forebodingly above it, and the spider has just finished fixing its web. I've been checking on it every hour or so and it is surprisingly unshy, staying put even when I bang on the glass to see if I can frighten it away (unfortunately, there appears to only be one party who is scared, and it's not the spider).
It's a difficult situation because, while I don't want the spider there, I also don't NOT want it there, because then I would have no definitive proof that it is not, say, in my pillowcase. So what is the ideal situation? Either it dies in its web, its eight-legged body a warning sign for other ersatz arachnid roommates, or I (in an unpredicted act of bravery) scoop it up and dump it off the balcony. Highly unlikely! I suppose the third option would be for it to move elsewhere, weaving a Charlotte-esque message into its web indicating that its new location is not in my bedroom. Where is E.B. White when you need him?