Here I am, 6:30 in the am, awake. Been awake for a little more than an hour now.
Dreams.
All night, the craziest, most vivid dreams. I dreamed about my friend Scritch. She had lice. The oddest lice--some had hoppers like katydids, and there was one, looked like a regular head louse, but it was HUGE--at least a half inch long. Looked mooshy like lice, but felt hard, chitinous. She was sleeping over, and I wanted to sleep head to foot so I wouldn't get her lice (I had my own, but hers were unfamiliar--better the lice you know, right?), but I didn't want to make her feel bad. Finally, I offered to lice comb and nit pick, plus the hot air treatment. And then her Grandma (who has been dead many years) came home.
Then we were hiking in the mountains. I want to say maybe Minnesota? Yes, the mountains of Minnesota. Someone had been trapping and torturing deer. Pet deer. Found one, Armus (my old dog back in Utah), still alive, with a noose around her neck. Rescued her, only to realize that the hillbillies were coming to kill us for ruining their camp (?). We ran, but now it was me, Raylan Givens, and Tim Gutterson (characters from the TV Show Justified.). We got to a high (maybe 8 foot) fence, topped with barbed wire. I knew I couldn't climb it, so I told them to go first. After they were over, I shook my head and said, "I can't." They're shouting at me, telling me I have to at least try. I get a brilliant idea--I jump up and grab the fence, yanking it down so it doubles over and is only four feet. Then I climb it!
In case you're not familiar with Justified? You should be--it's really a terrific series. Start it from the beginning so you have all the background. Seriously, you won't be sorry.
Then? I'm in the desert at a small tourist spot/rest stop. Somewhere in the mid-west (yes, the deserts of the mid-west--hang on, it's coming). My husband and I have been resting up when a tour bus arrives, carrying dozens of drama students One of whom is Darren Ewing! I haven't actually SEEN Darren (as opposed to online contact) in years, not since high school, in fact. But in the dream, he was still a kid, even though all the years had passed. He was hanging out with the other drama kids, including this painfully pompous guy in an awful striped suit. Darren decided we were more fun to hang out with, so off we went, playing a game where we would throw a Frisbee, then belt out a classic rock or blues tune while the Frisbee was in flight. Not sure what the point was. But somewhere along the line, Darren figured out how to BECOME the Frisbee. Which was super-cool, and I was really hoping to master that one myself, as it's been so long since I've been able to fly. Sadly, I can't figure it out, I keep leaping, then falling. Finally, Darren pulls a daring one, and lands in a puddle in the middle of the ROAD. Two cars coming, but somehow, miraculously, each misses him, one missing his head by a half inch. That takes ALL the fun out of it, and we wander back to the tour bus, which is parked next to an amazing flowering tree that smells SO sweet and is crawling with a swarm of tarantula hawks. That's these:
The idea of swarms of tarantula hawks had never occurred to me before (thankfully--who needs that image?), but I went out and about looking for information this morning, and I found this fun blog: The 7 MSN Ranch And now that it's in my head, I'm offering it up to you. Because horror LOVES company.
I have a sort of fun tarantula hawk story (words you don't often see together, I know). Back in 1995 or so, I was driving through the West Desert of Utah, on the Bonneville Salt Flats, on my way to Wendover, Nevada (yes, Stephen King had it right when he said the locals call it "Bendover"). I'd stopped at the rest stop about ten miles shy of town, bought a few pieces from the Goshute kids who used to sell jewelry at the stop (never could convince them to take their wares to the fancy shops in Salt Lake where they could make ten times what they were charging), and was checking out the salt crystals on the flats (which never cease to amaze me, and I never walk on for fear of damaging them) when I saw it. You know, look up at that picture. IT. I was absolutely captivated! I grabbed my brand-new Nikon and started following her. Getting in real close for "the" shot. Trying to capture the scale--I mean, she was obviously a wasp--even if the build and the aggressive, jerking way of moving didn't clue me in, the gigantic, third of an inch STINGER was a good tip off. Understand, she was a little over two inches long (and my memory makes her even bigger than that). I spent ten minutes or so stalking her--never poking or prodding, just following.
When I got my pictures back, I was thrilled, but also frustrated--no one knew what sort of awesome beast this was! These were the days before free, brimming-with-information internet (it was there, but it wasn't the all-you-can-eat breeze it is today). Finally, I took my picture up to the science department at Weber State. They called their "bug guy" for me. He took one look, paled, and said, "Jesus Christ, you didn't touch it, did you?"
Turns out these gals have one of the most AGONIZING stings out there (according to various sources, including the Schmidt Sting Pain Index). Of the "can't do anything at all at first, but once you find your voice, all you can do is scream" variety. Click the bright red AGONIZING link up there for a run-down of the top ten most painful insect stings. Here's another on a favorite site: The Straight Dope
Glad I didn't poke and prod, huh?
Well, our boy tests for his first Hapkido belt tomorrow. Wish him luck!
More maybe later--there were other things I wanted to say, but it's early and I'm tired. I've forgotten. And yeah, I turned my links red in this one. Just 'cause. Made me happy.
Oh, hey--hoping for some really good bad paneling pics! Stay tuned!
Dreams.
All night, the craziest, most vivid dreams. I dreamed about my friend Scritch. She had lice. The oddest lice--some had hoppers like katydids, and there was one, looked like a regular head louse, but it was HUGE--at least a half inch long. Looked mooshy like lice, but felt hard, chitinous. She was sleeping over, and I wanted to sleep head to foot so I wouldn't get her lice (I had my own, but hers were unfamiliar--better the lice you know, right?), but I didn't want to make her feel bad. Finally, I offered to lice comb and nit pick, plus the hot air treatment. And then her Grandma (who has been dead many years) came home.
Then we were hiking in the mountains. I want to say maybe Minnesota? Yes, the mountains of Minnesota. Someone had been trapping and torturing deer. Pet deer. Found one, Armus (my old dog back in Utah), still alive, with a noose around her neck. Rescued her, only to realize that the hillbillies were coming to kill us for ruining their camp (?). We ran, but now it was me, Raylan Givens, and Tim Gutterson (characters from the TV Show Justified.). We got to a high (maybe 8 foot) fence, topped with barbed wire. I knew I couldn't climb it, so I told them to go first. After they were over, I shook my head and said, "I can't." They're shouting at me, telling me I have to at least try. I get a brilliant idea--I jump up and grab the fence, yanking it down so it doubles over and is only four feet. Then I climb it!
In case you're not familiar with Justified? You should be--it's really a terrific series. Start it from the beginning so you have all the background. Seriously, you won't be sorry.
Then? I'm in the desert at a small tourist spot/rest stop. Somewhere in the mid-west (yes, the deserts of the mid-west--hang on, it's coming). My husband and I have been resting up when a tour bus arrives, carrying dozens of drama students One of whom is Darren Ewing! I haven't actually SEEN Darren (as opposed to online contact) in years, not since high school, in fact. But in the dream, he was still a kid, even though all the years had passed. He was hanging out with the other drama kids, including this painfully pompous guy in an awful striped suit. Darren decided we were more fun to hang out with, so off we went, playing a game where we would throw a Frisbee, then belt out a classic rock or blues tune while the Frisbee was in flight. Not sure what the point was. But somewhere along the line, Darren figured out how to BECOME the Frisbee. Which was super-cool, and I was really hoping to master that one myself, as it's been so long since I've been able to fly. Sadly, I can't figure it out, I keep leaping, then falling. Finally, Darren pulls a daring one, and lands in a puddle in the middle of the ROAD. Two cars coming, but somehow, miraculously, each misses him, one missing his head by a half inch. That takes ALL the fun out of it, and we wander back to the tour bus, which is parked next to an amazing flowering tree that smells SO sweet and is crawling with a swarm of tarantula hawks. That's these:
The idea of swarms of tarantula hawks had never occurred to me before (thankfully--who needs that image?), but I went out and about looking for information this morning, and I found this fun blog: The 7 MSN Ranch And now that it's in my head, I'm offering it up to you. Because horror LOVES company.
I have a sort of fun tarantula hawk story (words you don't often see together, I know). Back in 1995 or so, I was driving through the West Desert of Utah, on the Bonneville Salt Flats, on my way to Wendover, Nevada (yes, Stephen King had it right when he said the locals call it "Bendover"). I'd stopped at the rest stop about ten miles shy of town, bought a few pieces from the Goshute kids who used to sell jewelry at the stop (never could convince them to take their wares to the fancy shops in Salt Lake where they could make ten times what they were charging), and was checking out the salt crystals on the flats (which never cease to amaze me, and I never walk on for fear of damaging them) when I saw it. You know, look up at that picture. IT. I was absolutely captivated! I grabbed my brand-new Nikon and started following her. Getting in real close for "the" shot. Trying to capture the scale--I mean, she was obviously a wasp--even if the build and the aggressive, jerking way of moving didn't clue me in, the gigantic, third of an inch STINGER was a good tip off. Understand, she was a little over two inches long (and my memory makes her even bigger than that). I spent ten minutes or so stalking her--never poking or prodding, just following.
When I got my pictures back, I was thrilled, but also frustrated--no one knew what sort of awesome beast this was! These were the days before free, brimming-with-information internet (it was there, but it wasn't the all-you-can-eat breeze it is today). Finally, I took my picture up to the science department at Weber State. They called their "bug guy" for me. He took one look, paled, and said, "Jesus Christ, you didn't touch it, did you?"
Turns out these gals have one of the most AGONIZING stings out there (according to various sources, including the Schmidt Sting Pain Index). Of the "can't do anything at all at first, but once you find your voice, all you can do is scream" variety. Click the bright red AGONIZING link up there for a run-down of the top ten most painful insect stings. Here's another on a favorite site: The Straight Dope
Glad I didn't poke and prod, huh?
Well, our boy tests for his first Hapkido belt tomorrow. Wish him luck!
More maybe later--there were other things I wanted to say, but it's early and I'm tired. I've forgotten. And yeah, I turned my links red in this one. Just 'cause. Made me happy.
Oh, hey--hoping for some really good bad paneling pics! Stay tuned!
Kiitos kommentistasi, en osaa englantia ja vaikka google juttusi suomentaa ei suomennos ole oikein hyvä!
ReplyDeleteGoogle käännös ei ole kovin hyvä, mutta olen voinut löydä merkitystä. kiitos käynnistä!
DeleteYour friend,
Kris