if I can’t be a star I won’t get out of bed
IT’S JUST A BUNCH OF STUFF THAT HAPPENED
There was a deer on my block last night, just crossing the street and heading into someone’s yard to (probably) munch on their well-tended flowers and plants. The deer was safely not in the road at all but some guy driving down the block stopped to honk at it. What was the point of that? Honk honk honk hey deer! You’re a deer! I hate that guy.
I have heard that the Chicago neighborhood deer are actually becoming a problem. No natural predators (I assume our sporadic urban coyotes are too weak/inexperienced/more in the mood to eat rotisserie chicken carcasses than actually hunt). There are too many deer and this is why they are frequently leaving the not-at-all-confines of the forest preserve and showing up near our bungalows. I do not know if the park district is actually considering a cull or if we all just have to understand that THEY’RE DEER/THEY’RE QUEER*/GET USED TO IT.** I propose a Neighborhood Naked Bow Hunt, to foster teamwork, camaraderie, and a nihilistic foretaste of future desperate and apocalyptic times. Please put your name and address on this sheet and indicate whether you can bring face paint and hallucinogenic mushrooms.
*Presumably at least some of the deer are? Here.
**
DISCLAIMER
I was reading more about old-timey disease outbreaks and came across probably the greatest “Limitations” section of any science article ever:
“These problems are, and will probably ever remain, among the inscrutable secrets of nature. They belong to a class of questions radically inaccessible to the human intelligence. What the forces are which generate phenomena we cannot tell. We know as little of the vital force itself as of the poison-forces which have the power to disturb or oppress it.”
God I love that. “Here’s some science, but let’s get real; not only do we not know, no one will ever know.” That gets you off a lot of hooks.
SEEN YET NOT SEEN
I just set up my out-of-office message but it is a bit of a lie—Wednesday to Friday I am technically on the clock because I will be at a conference in San Diego, which means I am expected to answer email and generally be virtually available. But: not in the office. But: if you’re sending me an email, do you really expect or need me to be in the office? There should be a business-world-acceptable way to convey “I’m at a work thing and reading email; I just am not going to particularly care about it.” (This is a quick one and I doubt I’ll get too far out the door of the conference hotel. I am not even going to ask for taco recommendations as it would be kidding myself and ultimately just too sad.)
But first! A three-day weekend. I am going to run around like a maniac for some of it, with an epic and long-overdue Target run, gym plans, and taking the kid to both a haircut and a blood draw. (I said: “You’re leaving bits of yourself all over town tomorrow! You’d better hope your hairdresser isn’t into witchcraft and make sure you don’t get the voodoo phlebotomist!”) (Did you know that I am not funny? If you don’t even get the teenage eyeroll, it’s probably time for new material.) I also am going to the THEATER (say it in a fancy voice) with a pal and grilling meats with my family and planning several naps, as well as reading The Witch Elm (finally—had been on my list forever), a book that I think has ended my weird little streak of nonfiction books, at least assuming I can find another novel just as well put-together as this one. Also assuming I do not go insane.
—mimi smartypants is fictitious trash.