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(well, that was a peculiar little lockout, DLand) in those giant irradiated killer bug movies of the fifties, part of the formula in the scripts was to open with some paraphrased Newtonian bullshit to give it some whiff of plausibility. so, too, these past few days can be validated with the following: "for every action, there is an equal, yet opposite, reaction." yeah, that sounds over-the-top. three strange days of wintry incarceration have now been balanced with three equally strange ones of the "get-me-the-hell-out-of-here" variety. i knew something was up when i sighted the meteorite on the way home from work, halfway through the tunnel of darkness. though i was close to the tiny regional airfield, i thought it was landing lights i was seeing, at first glance. pinpoint, blue-white light... moving in a perfect straight line before fading, seemingly yards away. way cool, way close. now, this is when the bizarre disappearances should start. and, i guess that's what happened, in a mundane fashion. Biggles had rung up on Monday, offering dinner and dropping by the local for some blues-ification afterwards, my first evening back. the strange twist... Yoko wanted to go, as well. the only real monster in this story is his three-year-old... my god son... who is mutating into an undisciplined tyrant. the VargaGirl, shellshocked from dealing with it. Biggles, taking the approach to being his "buddy". "wrong," i told him... "the makings of another DudleyDursley." maybe that'll sink in. eventually we made it to the roadhouse... full, even on a bitter cold night. fire blazing in the hearth (which i'd never noticed, before) opposite the bar: my command post. now, this is the bizarre part. why is it, whenever you're in a public place with a woman... that's when other, attractive women give you the "eye"? not when you're alone... no, no. Yoko refused to dance, so there i sat. welcomed by the JazzGuy... the BrazilianRockabilly... every UK immigrant in the area... with accompanying sidelong glances from the barmaid and a brown-eyed blonde. and blondes never look at me, usually. hmmmm.... next day, Yoko bolted for her daughter's house before the afternoon was over, for yet another weekend getaway. i bolted for SlickWillie and the Contessa's house when the sun went down, afore i spend yet another babysitting the cat and the kerosene heater. "have another...and another... and another..." until early Saturday arrived, and gravity rooted me to the couch. until i could sleep no more at seven AM. "crocked," as they say. i managed to make myself move for most of the day... doing a few bits of responsible activity. like the sinkfull of dishes that were left. internet config on the laptop. sealing the doors so the hawk would stay outside. until the email message telling me i was on the guestlist for the evening. the crowd: dreadlocked co-eds... stoners... suicidegirls... if not for the musicians, i wouldn't have spoken a word. like you would expect. all in all, an opposite reaction. but, not unpredictable.
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