SHOO, FLY

Summer is usually a nice time. Aside from sweltering heat that swelters, the sun is nice, and the weather is nice, and the long days are nice. One thing that’s not nice about summer is insects, which are technically a plethora of things. One insect that is particularly not nice is the fly.

Despite their hipster appeal and glowing mystique, flies are common, and inconsiderate, and make a habit of touching gross things. This understanding has caused me a bit of concern over the last day or two. Somehow, a couple of flies have made their way into my abode. As far as I’m aware, there are two of them. One is in my bedroom. The other is in my living room. These are the places that I spend all of my time when home. So! When I’m relaxing in my chair in my room, there is a fly to annoy me. When I’m relaxing on my couch in the living room, there is a fly to annoy me. And annoy me they do! They buzz around me almost constantly. They’ll buzz onto my leg, so I swat at them. This will cause an evasive buzz before they turn and plop back exactly where they were before. Maybe they didn’t get the hint. I swat again and they courteously buzz around for a moment on their way up to my face, which is obviously preferable. I swat and then they go for the ear, which completes my annoyance by providing a grating soundtrack to the whole pantomime. You know the routine.

Seeing as how this has become a regular occurrence, I have been thinking about it a lot. And this is where the concern comes in. Here is internet knowledge—partake:

House Flies

• House flies, also known as "filth flies," have the ability to harm humans and animals. They're attracted to garbage, manure and carrion. Once they land on these substances, they transport bits of them to people when they land on food and surfaces where food is prepared. House flies not only regurgitate their stomach contents onto food before ingesting it again, they also defecate on food. House flies are not picky about the foods or filth that they consume.

House flies are horribly annoying and endlessly disgusting. This paragraph consists of 4 sentences. In them, we are brought to understand 7 horrendous facts about flies. This is an unpromising ratio for one’s reputation. However, the second sentence is the one upon which I am currently fixated. If flies are attracted to garbage, manure, and carrion, why are they so infatuated with me all of a sudden? My apartment is not always a cleanly place. In fact, until the other day, it was quite uncleanly. Why, if there’s a sizable pile of trash 15 feet away, do these flies find the need to instead come and poop and barf on and then get a taste of me? I mean I’d understand and maybe be a little flattered if these flies had the reputation of being attracted to charm or wit or nuance. But when you type ‘what are flies attracted to’ into your web browser, those are not the responses. They’re trash, poop, and rotting corpses.  I take pride in being able to fully bathe myself. Does that mean nothing to them? Do I smell bad? Do I not clean myself well enough? Am I rotting? I’m pretty sure I’m not a corpse yet. Furthermore, not only are they attracted to these things, but they literally will not eat anything until they smother it in a layer of vomit or crap, or both. What about me is so like the epitome of waste that they would go out of their way and risk being swatted or smashed or enduring a livid diatribe to                   get some?

Guh. So not only are these flies annoying and filthy and hipster and uncouth, but they have succeeded in withering my self-confidence. Herein we see the effects of the first point brought up in the all-knowing paragraph above: flies can harm people. We all know flies can’t physically harm us unless attached to a bomb. But they sure can do some emotional damage if you let them. If something as unawares as a fly senses something putrid about me, I find it difficult to assume that sentient, cognizant human beings won’t be able to pick up on the same. If I stink or otherwise remind you of roadkill, please please let me know. I want to change. I really do.

On a related note, fall is (has been) here! As we traverse the season, colder weather draws ever nearer. In fact, I’ve received reports that tonight will be accompanied by freezing temperatures for the first time all year. Colder weather will bring an end to these flies, and perhaps, a rebirth of my self esteem thereby. The circle of life, everyone.

Let this be a lesson to us all that, no matter how large our trials and challenges may be, we can chip away at them until they become a crumpled sobbing heap on the floor of life. All you have to do is treat them like they’re fecal. Also, tell someone you love them today, and maybe that they don’t smell terrible.

Paranormloia and the Mystery of the Squatch

This morning I went on a hike. I've been trying to do that regularly of late, taking advantage of the nice weather to keep in shape. This morning, however, I went quite a bit earlier than usual. I woke up before my alarm and couldn't get back to sleep, so I thought I'd make the most of the extra time. It ended up being great—I was up and back before it got too hot, and the rising of the sun made for an aesthetically pleasing venture. Plus, a certain peace attends the early morning as many still lie aslumber, abound in dreams of whither their minds might wander.

The only thing that concerned me about the hike was that the peace and quiet might necessitate extra precautions. My mind is an imaginative one, which makes for fun and terrifying experiences. A factoid that I frequently remember on my hikes is that cougars and bears are not foreign to the Wasatch Mountains, which is where I hike. Therefore, paranoid as a clam, I am constantly on the qui vive for signs of dangerously adjacent and adjacently dangerous animals. Except for scat. I am no scatman. Today, as with every other day, there were no signs of dangerous animals, and no cause for worry. Except for scat.

...until...

By the time I had climbed and was heading back down the mountain, the city below had begun to stir. The most notable sign of this was the construction happening just downhill from my trail of choice; I had noticed the familiar clank and whir of heavy machinery when I was about halfway down the mountain. As I approached the section of trail that ran adjacent to the construction site, I glanced over, mildly interested in what they were working on at the moment. I didn't expect to see much, as they were still at the point of leveling the dirt. And I didn't, really. A bulldozer, dozing bulls, and dirt. However, as I continued to watch, the bulldozer lurched forward, and, like a drawing curtain, gradually revealed a mysterious scene. In the trees behind where the bulldozer previously worked, there stood a lone, dark figure...

My first thought was bear, because I'm bearanoid. But then logic came acallin', and I remember'd that bears usually avoid loud noises. Heavy machines, which were directly nearby, produce loud noises. Therefore, etc. Upon examining the shape further, I decided that it was probably just a dark stump or rock or other thing of limited interest. Drained of any previous intrigue, I was about to forget the spectacle entirely when my mind stumbled upon an astute association: wooded surroundings, indistinct dark figure, mystery... This was the perfect set-up to make my very own instagram joke/insubstantial claim about Bigfoot! Along with possible danger of death, my senses are also always on the qui vive for instagram fodder.

So I stopped along the trail and pulled out my phone/camera. I was a good ways off, so at first I was concerned about how the resolution of the picture would turn out. But further consideration led me to realize that the blurrier it was, the more similar it would be to all of the other Bigfoot evidence pics. I chuckled to myself as I zoomed in as far as my camera could and tried to find the dark shape on the screen. It was difficult to aim the camera precisely, as is common with zoomed-in long-distance shots. I glanced up at the actual scene to find a point of reference from which to work. When my eyes rested on the scene below, I suddenly became uneasy. The dark figure that I had assumed to be inanimate began to move—just noticeably at first, before it sunk slowly into the surrounding foliage...

I stood there, dumbfounded, and a little disconcerted. My eyes remained fixed on the spot. For a moment, I hoped that the shape would reappear so that I could still get some sort of shot. Or was it the hope that another look might quell my fears? Man. What was that?

I snapped out of my stupor and continued the final leg of my hike, this time picking up the pace a little bit and glancing over my shoulder from time to time. Seeing mysterious, mobile, black shapes in the woods doesn't help bearanoia. It also doesn't help paranormloia, which is paranoia of the paranormal if you're not good at dissecting words that I just made up. I had sasquatch on the mind while all this was happening and my logical conclusion from earlier was that it probably wasn't a bear. So my next logical conclusion is that it was probably sasquatch, or a construction worker. But if it was the latter, that dude was pretty sasqueschtrian, which means abounding in sasquatch-like features or having to do with the squatch if you're still not good at dissecting words that I just made up. He would have probably been teased about it in the past, in which case I would feel bad, but wouldn't deny that it was true. I don't know. The color of the thing was uniform and it was super dark and moved lumberly and creepily. If that was human, get that man a posture coach. I don't know if that's a real thing (it is), but I'm making weird suggestions to cope with the discomfort I feel at having witnessed the unknown—perhaps something that precious few have ever seen before. In my heart of hearts, I believe I have joined the ranks of the Squatchwatch: an exclusive guild that I just made up of eyewitnesses of the mystery of the squatch if you're still not good at dissecting words that I just made up. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the squatch; he was trampling out the vintage where some grapes and stash were watched. Glory glory, hallelujah. There's no turning back. So be wary as you wander the foothills of the Wasatch—there is magic about. There's big in them there foothills, if you catch my drift. Perhaps, henceforth, they should be referred to as the Swasatchquatch. Sqwatchsatch? Wasaquatchs. I'm no good at this.