Tag Archives: end of the world

Fievel Goes North

9 Jan


I made a frenemy. 

That is, he believes he’s my friend, and I am most certain he is my enemy.  Well, I suppose “it” is more appropriate than “he”. 

…He’s a gnat.  I named him Fievel.

Like most things that leak out of my brain and onto my computer keyboard, this is going to sound a little strange, but bear with me: I’m quite certain Fievel is following me.

It all started on my couch, when I noticed his faint black pencil-dot of a body swimming around my head.  I fancy myself a fly-swatting monk so naturally I whipped out my skills, only to find that he evaded them.  Again and again and again and again and again.

Since being a monk is all about patience and self-control, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that it was a simple gnat and it had only a few months to live and that if it chose to carry out its days by buzzing around my general vicinity then I should grant it that small pathetic desire. After all, he’s a gnat and I’m a human.  I must be quite a startling thing to behold.

I was eventually able to tune him out of my sensory experience, though I knew full well that the black speck whizzing in front of me from time to time was Fievel the Frenemy. I didn’t think much of it until the next day when I sat at my very favorite spot on the couch again only to find him still buzzing and flitting around my skull.

In a moment of weakness several moments of weakness, I must admit that I attempted his murder again but failed. Apparently monk-like capabilities matter not when your monk-like fingers are awkward sausages with plenty of nooks for death-dodging.


An artistic rendering of the criminal. Since he doesn’t have wings I guess we’ll assume he can flap those arms real fast.

Fievel lived on

This repeated for a third and fourth day. I began to think that perhaps he was like the Who from Horton Hears a Who and that he had some sort of message to bring me, but I quieted everyone and everything around me only to remain unenlightened.  Then I thought it possible that he was the culmination of some sort of curse or witchcraft and that if I could just figure out his name, his power over me would be released.  But I found his name and his name was Fievel and it made no difference whatsoever to him or to the powers that be that I knew it.

I slowly started to become aware of my own teetering insanity and decided to think nothing  particularly extraordinary about Fievel and simply wait for him to die.  I thought the best remedy would be getting out of the house before the furniture started to speak to me, so I went to a gig with Dave this week to hear him play and as I sat, was greeted by none other than Mr. Fievel.  

Son of a.

Friends and acquaintances who spoke with me throughout the evening made side comments about him as if he was just some nuisance at the bar, but I insisted he was my nuisance and that I brought him from home, which, in retrospect, is probably one of several reasons no one sat at my table and is a small piece of a very grand pie chart explaining why my social life is strained.

I again attempted his murder, they attempted his murder – it was the whole bar against Fievel and Fievel prevailed.  He’s like the terminator of the gnat world. 

Fastforward to yesterday, same couch, same situation.  After his grand display at the bar the night before, I was feeling pretty aggressive and wanted him out of my life for good.  It had been days of his whizzing and buzzing and flittering nonsense and I had enough it.  So I proceeded to waste the next 15 minutes of my life trying once again to eradicate him.  I had made up my mind to not stop until he was brought to justice. Fueled by anger and humiliation and the apparent slipping of my monk abilities, I swatted and clapped and made a mess of myself until red-faced and sweaty, I finally opened my hand to reveal little Fievel, hiding in a crevice between my sausage links.

Whereupon he swiftly flew up my left nostril.

I suppose it’s the ultimate win for him.  I can’t very well harm him while he’s swirling around the gooey insides of my brain and he can live out his apparent dream to stay by my side until he dies.  And when he does his tiny gnat corpse will get tangled up somewhere in the regions of my brain and get caught in the neurons and synapses and such.  He will become part of me forevermore. At least I hope so.  Because if instead he was actually on a mission from the land of the gnats to infiltrate a human and to take command of their brain, well, he’s succeeded.  And I’ve just become the downfall of the human race.

Maybe they’ll make a movie about me. In case it’s posthumous and any of my readers survive, tell them I want Amy Adams to play me, okay?

Thanks.  I knew I could count on you guys.  You’re the swellest.

So I guess that’s that.  Either I have a gnat corpse in my brain juices or my body will soon be a mere vessel for a bug, a la Men in Black.

Wait.  That’s a movie.  They’ve already made a movie about this.  I’ve been commandeered by a gnat that will lead to the eventual downfall of the human race and I’m too late to even have a movie made about  me.

Son of a. 

P.S. It has recently come to my attention that several of my readers mistook my announcement last week that I would be embarking on a 365 this year to mean that I would be blogging 365 days a week about said experience as well.  This is a falsehood. I am committed to working out every single day and to running a 10K this year.  Isn’t that enough for you people?! Just kidding.  But seriously, I can see the confusion. And honestly, I could use the accountability.  So if you’d like updates about my Project Fat Ass 365, as explained in last week’s post, go to the top right side of this page and click the big button to follow me on Twitter, where I will Tweet my way to a 10K. I think it a fine compromise. Feel free to follow and harass me.

My End-of-the-World Sweater

12 Dec

Guys, there’s a lot on all our plates right now.  It’s the end of the year.  It’s the week The Hobbit gets released. It’s right before the week when we may or may not see the world end again.  

What I’m saying is, it’s a big time.  A big deal.  Feel the power.

Also, I just found this:

It's a thing of beauty.

It’s a thing of beauty.

Is that a sweatshirt with a digital print of a cat wearing a crown and cloak as king of the galaxy, you ask? Why, yes it is.  And it could be mine on eBay for about thirty American dollars.  At a time when everyone is focused on hauling out their ugly Christmas sweaters for prizes, I must beg the question: shouldn’t we all be more concerned about locating an appropriate sweater for the end of the world?  It may or may not be swiftly approaching.

Well anyway, I found mine.  

I’m going to want to have this sweatshirt on so that if any part of me is preserved by future races, they believe it’s an artifact proving ancient Americans worshiped space cats.   And if the world doesn’t end, I might want to consider going in to 2013 in style.  After all, Stacy London was just co-host on Anderson Live, and she said cat sweaters are in.

No really, she did.  Here is proof:

cat sweaters

Those are cat sweaters on national television, people.  They’re in.

So now I have to add this ‘to get the cat sweater or not to get the cat sweater’ to my list of to-do’s, which is already stacked to the brim with Christmas-related activities.  And then once I finish the Christmas-related activities, it will be time to reflect on 2012 and figure out what I want to do in 2013. 

Unless the world ends before Christmas, which would be great because then I wouldn’t have to pay my credit card bill. Or try to figure out if I’m destined to be a cat sweater owner in 2013.

Best of luck to all of you as we enter the Christmas home stretch/the beginning of a cat sweater fashion era/the end of the world.  

May the holy royal space cats be with us. 

Hey! I adopted another blog pet.  It’s okay; you’ll always be my favorite.  But this week I wrote my first article as a contributor over at the freshly made VStheUniverse, which is a group of folks who are dedicated to celebrating all that is nerdalicious.  I argued for why everyone should go see The Hobbit in 48fps format instead of the standard 24fps. Hey, like I said – it’s nerdy.  Go check it out here if you’d like.  End transmission.
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