Happy

Birthday,

OC!

I love you!

As you may have noticed, Quilly does a lot more blog visiting than I do. This is on account of because I’m supposed to be in charge of paying the rent. I reckon those who make it possible for me to pay the rent would, at the first excuse, sign me up for a twelve-step program to keep me from writing this blog, never mind make the rounds of others.

So it was Quilly who found out about the recent (26 March 2009) goings-on at Diesel’s place. This Diesel, as you may know, hosts a community blogsite for amateur humorists. And one of his schticks has been to complain (facetiously, one hopes) about how he can’t get to be the top-rated blog on his own site. He had just bribed clambered his way up to no. 3 when …

The two top-rated blogs disappeared.

On one of them, the author abruptly pulled the plug.

On the other, the author abruptly got his plug pulled. By a drunk driver who slammed into the back of the author’s car while the author was in front of it, fixing a flat tire.

On such occasions, it is customary for commentators and other bloglifes to muse on the fragility of human existence. I, being contrary, tend to reflect on its robustness. I mean, we are surrounded, every minute of every day, by bacteria, fungi, and invertebrate microfauna worms that, given the least chance, would turn our bodies into soup within hours. And yet, even in the most squalid habitats and with the most horrific of diets, we carry on.

Until we don’t. For, sooner or later, the robustness gives out. As Quilly says in the tagline to her blog, none of us is going to get out of this world alive. The claw of the sea puss catches us all in the end, James.

We’d just rather it didn’t happen to friends, families, and neighbors. Or blog buddies, about whom you’re seldom quite sure: “is this real, or somebody’s idea of a joke?”

Turns out, the blogger who died had anticipated his death, although he expected the cause to be an obesity-related emergency (heart attack, stroke), not a highway-related one. He had even written a farewell message, for a friend to post on the blogger’s site. Clearly, this was a man who knew where his towel was.

Your Amoeba? Not so much. Although he rides at least three times a week through some of the most treacherous-for-bicyclists streets in Honolulu, streets that landed a former student employee of his in the hospital for months as the result of a fundamental disagreement between his bike and a city bus. (Note to self: playing dodge ball with objects much larger and less maneuverable than yourself on city highways is not high on the list of great ideas.)

I suppose a will’s in order – somebody has to look after the moths in my pockets after I’m no longer able to do so – or at least a message of farewell to blog readers. Until the time comes when (if) I get the job done properly, the item below, taken from a post on a predecessor blogsite in 2006 (and posted now rather than after I’ve passed on, mostly on account of because I don’t know where my towel is, but also because I do know my Murphy’s Law), will have to do …

when i am gone
do not hang your head
you cannot gloom me to any glorious reward
you cannot shout me onto fire and ice
the time for that is past

when i am gone
you may do this thing for me
you may dispose of the body
it is a computer
          (no more)
it can no longer be booted
the viruses have it
do not let my last failure
          become an epidemic

but
when i am gone
build me no monument
spend no time on a stone
it is a safe adoration
but a cold one

when i am gone
rise
splash water on your face
eat and drink
let no one challenge this

there is a living one who needs you

  - O Ceallaigh
Copyright © 2006, 2009 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.
All opinions are mine as a private citizen.

O’Ceallaigh came home from work last night, bolted a bowl of chicken soup with homemade noodles, sat down on the end of the couch, opened his briefcase and his laptop and remained there working until it was time to get on the 6:30 a.m. bus and return to his office. At midnight I attempted to kiss him good night, but I inadvertantly caused a shadow to fall across his laptop screen. He leaned away from me and continued to type.

I believe I should serve mashed potatoes for dinner tonight so that when he falls asleep in his dinner plate he doesn’t hurt himself.

UPDATE — 12/04/08 — in the comment section.  Click here.

OC participated in a musical fright feast. The free concert was titled, Chillers & Thrillers: A Halloween Spooktacular. It was a melodious yet chilling treat.

The musicians were invited to dress in costume. Most of them dressed as undertakers — tasteful nondescript black suits and ties — however there were some brave and imaginative souls in the group. The conductor came as Darth Vader, much to the delight of the audience. He swept onto the stage, cape flaring, as the band played the very familiar, Emperor’s Death March, from Star Wars.

Several other costumes brightened the stage. One was a young lady dressed as a single slice of watermelon. Another was a bright yellow fish. There were two pirates and a couple of witches. The percussion section all wore hockey masks ala Jason and/or Michael Meyers from Friday the Thirteenth (et al). There was a witch in purple satin, a fellow wearing pigtails and a short skirt, and another dressed as Willy Wonka. OC went as Wiz, from the Shoe cartoon by Chris Cassatt.

I made the costume. That is why you didn’t hear from me this weekend. OC mentioned Saturday morning that he’d like an original costume for the concert (or he was going as an undertaker). Next time I’ll know to just press his suit. I worked until two a.m., then got a few hours sleep and worked a bit more in the morning before church. After church we went to the concert. That evening I returned home exhausted to find all my weekend chores still waiting for me. Some of them are still waiting.

Here’s the robe:

Here’s the hat. (Yes, I made it, too.)

And here is the only shot I have of OC in the robe.

The frightening black shadow to the right of OC is a band member in undertaker’s garb. He walked right around me and into the photo. He saw I was taking a picture. He did not say excuse me. He said, “Move!” I quietly left the stage. No more photos.

Here is a brief clip from last night’s Oahu Civic Orchestra concert. You may recognize the score (if you can recognize it through the static) from Pirates of the Carribbean. I am sorry that you have to make do with this poor quality film clip and weren’t there to hear the whole wonderful thing from end-to-end. It was a fabulous concert and I — along with a good many more people — quite enjoyed it. They will be playing again next Sunday and I’ll capture another clip for you.

For more about this concert, visit Oahu Dreams.

Since I have been here in Friday Harbor, I have stood — twice — within 5 feet of deer who are less startled by me then I am by them. I saw a young buck sporting budding horns in velvet, and a little doe who was quite happily munching grass on the side of the trail. She politely stepped aside to allow me to pass, but she did not run.

The other night after I barbecued ribs, a fox showed up for dinner. We did not feed the poor scruffy-looking fellow, but I did try to snap his pic — it came out hopelessly blurry because of my excitement.

Every evening OC goes to a point near the edge of the harbor and practices his trumpet. Both a harbor seal and a porpoise have come to visit. Nature gets up-close and personal here.

The Friday Harbor Laboratory properties are a nature preserve. The animals seem to know that they are protected and they behave accordingly. Harming the wildlife here is expressly forbidden. We aren’t even allowed to pick the flowers. Even so, I have violated — and keep violating — the “no feeding the wildlife” rule. I suppose someone will discover it soon and ask me to leave. You see, I have been feeding the mosquitoes — in fact, considering the dots all over my body, I may even be over-feeding them.

OC says he uses the muffler [the technical term is "Harmon mute", even though mine was made by Giardinelli, not Harmon ... but don't tell Quilly I'm being this pedantic. OC] on his trumpet in deference to the fish — or perhaps the fishermen …. He doesn’t want to be held responsible for emptying the bay of marine life. (OC is the only one who thinks he’s a bad player. The seal and I like him.)