Friday, May 27, 2005
All you Need is Love
Sitting im my car with the windows down, I watched a small balck beatle fly its way onto my rear-view mirror and nestles itself into a craet between glass and plastic. First noting his metalic coloring, then his ugly but fascinating head, i proceeded to turn on the engine of my enviro-killing machine. As I pulled back I expected the bug to loose its grip from the sudden movement, fall onto the pavement, and make its way back to where-ever it came from. But the little bug had so perfectly placed itself that it was completely sheltered from the wind and movement. Trying not to be phased, I drove through the parking-lot, eyes (not so safely) fixed on the little bug until I entered onto TV highway.
Now this bug (who I named Mr. McCartney for his weird face and obvious connection to THE Beatles) must have had some pretty strong legs because he held on all the way until I reached the stop to turn onto Brookwood. While this tenacious bug found shelter in the hot plasic of my car, I began to worry (please don't judge me). I had just taken Poor Mr. McCartney miles away from any home he knew and placed him in an atmosphere where he may not be able to survive.So caught in my concern, that I didn't even remember that he.....is a bug. Mr. McCartney has no home. He can live where he wants, eat where he wants, poop where he wants, and do whatever the hell he pleases. Life as a bug means that he is not connected to a home like I am. He does not need his pillow to sleep at night, he is not emotionally unhinged upon being removed from his friends, and is probably not even concerned with any of those matters.
What a foriegn concept; not having or even needing a home.
At this point I felt no need to waste sorrow on this bug, he was just a lazy beatle who found the warm black surface to be comforting and hopped along for a breezy ride. It was then that I flicked the mirror to test the real strength of his grip and with the slightest touch of my finger, Mr. McCartney fell to the hot asphalt next to my tire. Being the weirdo I am, I instantly regretted my actions as I realized the mere slimness of the chance that the bug would somehow be able to dodge the tires of the F-450 following close behind me and survive the next 10 seconds of life. Unable to reach the bug and with the car behind me honking impatiently as Mr. McCartney had enable me to notice the long green light in front of me, I left the black beatle alone on the road.
Somewhere, deep within in me, I almost wish that the world had not become so dang civilized and that somehow, we all lived like Mr. McCartney. Although it would be lonely, and although it would be different, I think it would eliminate in all totality the likelyhood of ulcers. ¶ 1:45 PM
Now this bug (who I named Mr. McCartney for his weird face and obvious connection to THE Beatles) must have had some pretty strong legs because he held on all the way until I reached the stop to turn onto Brookwood. While this tenacious bug found shelter in the hot plasic of my car, I began to worry (please don't judge me). I had just taken Poor Mr. McCartney miles away from any home he knew and placed him in an atmosphere where he may not be able to survive.So caught in my concern, that I didn't even remember that he.....is a bug. Mr. McCartney has no home. He can live where he wants, eat where he wants, poop where he wants, and do whatever the hell he pleases. Life as a bug means that he is not connected to a home like I am. He does not need his pillow to sleep at night, he is not emotionally unhinged upon being removed from his friends, and is probably not even concerned with any of those matters.
What a foriegn concept; not having or even needing a home.
At this point I felt no need to waste sorrow on this bug, he was just a lazy beatle who found the warm black surface to be comforting and hopped along for a breezy ride. It was then that I flicked the mirror to test the real strength of his grip and with the slightest touch of my finger, Mr. McCartney fell to the hot asphalt next to my tire. Being the weirdo I am, I instantly regretted my actions as I realized the mere slimness of the chance that the bug would somehow be able to dodge the tires of the F-450 following close behind me and survive the next 10 seconds of life. Unable to reach the bug and with the car behind me honking impatiently as Mr. McCartney had enable me to notice the long green light in front of me, I left the black beatle alone on the road.
Somewhere, deep within in me, I almost wish that the world had not become so dang civilized and that somehow, we all lived like Mr. McCartney. Although it would be lonely, and although it would be different, I think it would eliminate in all totality the likelyhood of ulcers. ¶ 1:45 PM
