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it occurred to me that this time of year is underscored with an underlying theme... a primal one, not altogether in keeping with the popular notion with which we've become familiar. it's the hunt. searching for a stable. tracking down the babyJesus. pursuing the ideal gifts. ferreting out the perfect pint/bottle (i apologise for the proximity, sixweasels). oh, yes... and the bootycall (baby, it's cold outside). ...and that's the majority of us. ironically, that's been the script... especially the past few days. naturally, being the Great Procrastinator, most of my holiday gift-buying has been reserved for this weekend... on the scent of the Right Thing. but it's become more than that. i've been successful, so far, with banishing the foul spirit of GilbertO'Sullivan (alone again, naturally...get it?), replacing it with one of GoodCheer. except... MountainRasta, who i used to alternate with on the Show (before he was banished for not showing up), owes me. just before vacation, was back in August, i got a plea from him for many bottles of hot sauce... which i feverishly bottled as i was packing for the Beach. on the road south, i stopped by his fledgling restaurant, along the way. it looked to be a good Jamaican/ethnic place, so i was glad to get the exposure and sear some tastebuds. of course, he didn't have the cash, at the moment. to date, i still haven't gotten a dime. probably my fault for not showing up at the doorstep every week (though i have been back, and he's never been there). recently, i got a call from him... looking for two more cases. magically, he didn't remember the transaction not being completed. so, along with my other hunt, i've been on the trail of MountainRasta, with bottles of heat in the chamber... which he'll get, when business is taken care of. only, he's elusive... turns out, no lunchtime hours, when i happen to be in town. i resent having to be the pursuer on this one. when i got home, yesterday, there was a message on the machine... SlickWillie scouted poachers on the property, again. the SpeckledBeast was intent on the heating ducts... it sounded like mice were using them for a rodent interstate. now, i don't hunt... but the thought of these varmints using my electrical insulation for a snack set me looking for the traps. i've caught them before... released them... but the always find a way back. well, two of them won't. with heavy heart, i tossed their crushed bodies into the backyard... unfortunately, getting a look at their beady little eyes. i hate this role. the one the man gets... dispatching interlopers. but, when they trespass to kill on posted property.... i'm putting on my stalking clothes for a walk in the woods. too bad/good thing i have no firestick. just binoculars. and a vocabulary of prime cuss-words. this time, i won't mind being the stalker |
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