The crowds come back

I was three when I moved from Oregon to Missouri with my parents. It was early April and several of my older siblings stayed behind with my aunt and uncle to finish out the school year. Aunt Clem was unhappy that we were moving so far away and told my brothers and sisters horror stories about Missouri - that it was an uncivilized backwoods region filled with uneducated hillbillies. She said all the houses were like Jed Clampett's shack and no one had electricity or indoor plumbing.

The stories seem ridiculous now, but apparently my youngest brother, Danny (he would have been 12) believed them implicitly. They came on in late May or early June and had only been here a day or two when he ran in the house at twilight, all excited and upset. "Dad," he said, "you'd better come outside! I don't know what's going on, but there's a whole crowd of men down on the road with little bitty flashlights!"

There are no fireflies in Oregon, of course.

I was the one drafted to catch some and prove to my disbelieving brother that there really were bugs out there whose butts light up. All these decades later I still remember that story every year when the lightning bugs return. They're back now, fourth this year after daffodils (always first), tree frogs, and early purple iris. Next will come the whippoorwills and then it will be summer for sure.

Reasons why I am . . .

SOOO not as psycho as Christopher McMannana.

Okay, so a while back I was telling my friend and co-worker, Christopher, about the time I drowned my sister. It happened like this: I had gotten into a fight with my sister Dorothy because she was trying to force me to get a haircut that I neither wanted nor could afford. I was working as a substitute teacher at the time (I realized I was not cut out for teaching when I found myself standing over a bleeding five-year-old with my hands on my hips saying, "what made that seem like a good idea?"). The next day I was supposed to sub in her granddaughter's class and Dorothy was afraid I was going to embarrass the little darling because I didn't look "cool" enough. When I tried to politely decline a trip to the beauty parlor she got hateful and insulting and told me that I dressed like an old woman. She said that long hair was completely out. I pointed out that she herself had long hair and she said, "yes, but when I go out I put it up!"

"I put mine up!" I objected. "It's up right now!"

She glared at me. "Yes, but you put it up wrong."

Anyway, by the time I got home I was steaming mad. Now, I don't know if you've ever played Roller Coaster Tycoon, but if not, it's a computer game where you build amusement parks and have to attract guests and make a profit. You get an operating budget and you can build rides and attractions and hire little guys who all look alike to be handymen, maintenance workers, security guards, or panda-suited entertainers. The main goal is to attract guests, which are also a bunch of little guys who all look alike (but wear different colored clothes). If you let the program name the guests it will give some of them women's names, but they all look like little guys. Now, I had discovered early on that it's possible to kill these little guys. I accidentally dropped Handyman 14 in the lake. He floundered around for a few seconds, then sank out of sight and a little alarm sounded and a message flashed across the screen that said "Handyman 14 just drowned!"

I was very sad for him.

In this instance, though, a good drowning was just what the doctor ordered. I went home, opened the game, found a really cranky little guy and named him Dorothy. It was a desert-themed game so I had to build a moat, then I dropped him in. He floundered around for a few seconds and sank out of sight. A little alarm sounded and a message flashed across the screen that said, "Dorothy just drowned!" and I pumped my fist in the air and said, "YES!"

(And then I put a swinging ship ride in the moat and named it the Dead Dorothy.)

Anyway, I was telling Christopher this story and he shook his head and said, "sheesh! And you call ME psycho!" Clearly this suggests that he thinks I am more psycho than he is, but I am not and so I'd like to take this opportunity to defend my non-psychoness.

Reasons I am NOT as psycho as Christopher McMannana:

1. I do not have a plan for turning everyone in Warsaw, Missouri, into a zombie "with just one drop of zombie serum . . ."

2. Nor a contingency plan in case someone else manages to turn them into zombies first.

3. I do not know how to film an exploding head.

4. I have never sighed and said, "you know, sometimes I really wish my [spouse] was a zombie!" (Granted I don't *have* a spouse, but even if I did that statement would still be true.)

5. I have never asked my teenaged son to let me shave off all his hair and eyebrows and paint his head white. (Christopher makes homemade horror movies, if you hadn't guessed.)

6. I have never plotted to kill Frozen Jason the Jason formerly known as Frozen. (Okay, so maybe I have -- who hasn't? -- but I was never serious!

7. I have never cut my kneecap in half with a chainsaw without noticing!.

8. I have never impaled myself on a tractor.

9. I have never cut the crotch out of the pants I was wearing with a chainsaw!!! (And keep in mind that Christopher is a guy. That adds extra exclamation marks to that statement.)

10. And finally and most conclusively, I have NEVER eaten a stale popcorn and Miracle Whip sandwich!

And on that note I rest my case!