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It has rained just enough to to bring these guys back. Remember them?

In general I like them. Not like Gilbert or any other right-thinking
Kenyan, fried dry with salt, but in a neighborly way. They’re nice and
have good personalities. But, they’re the insect bulls in the china
shops. Unless I plug the generous gap under my door with my KLM
blank-ette, they sput and scutter on in and start cruising around,
like small, airborne, outboard motor boats.

Click for full art house photo effect

They mean well but are unschooled. They whack into you, beg your
pardon, and move on, but there’s no learning curve.

I like company and usually don’t get enough of it to maintain any sort
of normal behavior, but there has to be some give and take for it to
work. Here it’s all buzzing and benign but loud, persistent, personal
space invasion.

When one flies of its own free bug-will into my orange plastic waste
basket, the color of the Dalai Lama’a casual wear, it spins and
sputters and can’t get out…there’s no top. They’re challenged that
way. And the noise, while not deafening is definitely too much. It’s
mammal loud, “you’re not alone anymore” loud. So I effect a buddhist
rescue and toss him quickly out of the door while his three cousins
who had been looking for him take the opportunity to come on in and
check it out.

It’s a bug’s life.

I’ll close with something from the “everything you need to know you
can learn from the back of a Nairobi bus” category.

Here it’s the explication of a little known biblical passage in Mark’s
gospel where Jesus leaves Jersey City for the last time and takes the
disciples to Asbury Park to hang with Springsteen for a while.

So long from the Center for Biblical Exegesis, and Merry Christmas.

David