Timberrrrrrrr!

After many, many years (centuries!) of debating that great philosophical, navel-gazing question designed specifically to aggravate oh-so-serious grad students and stoners alike, I now have the definitive answer to the age-old quandary, "If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"

The answer is a resounding, plodding, disappointing, and rather anti-climactic "no." (Even if the tree did fall on Schrodinger's cat's box). You're welcome!

Let me explain...

A couple of weeks ago, a lazy Sunday, I was lounging about on the sofa in the rec room watching some dumb, old horror movie (that's just a given), while my wife was watering the tomato plants in the back yard. Comfy suburbia.

Then my wife opens the back door and says, "Stuart, come here. Now."

Grumbling, figuring I'm in for a lecture about something I did (or didn't do), I mosey out back, gloves up and ready to parry. I say, "why can't you just tell me what's wrong and don't go through the...the...uh...HOLY CRAP!"

The neighbor's Maple tree had toppled over and obliterated our fence, a disheartening and rather scary sight of nature run amok. Crazy. It had been a beautiful day, no storms, not even windy. Just...boom.

But it really wasn't "boom." More like a geriatric, toothless cat's "phttt." Only our back deck had separated me from the destruction and I hadn't heard a thing. Even scarier, my wife had been standing thirty feet away, hose in hand, and watched entropy happen.

I asked, "Did it make a loud thud? I didn't hear a thing! Nothing! Did it scare you? Did you scream, I would've screamed, a manly scream, but I would've screamed! Did you want to run like in all the old disaster movies and try and outrace it only to find yourself doomed once you thought you'd cleared it? Did you get an adrenaline spike, first surprise, then shock, then fear, then relief you weren't flattened?"

You see, all of these thoughts did just surge through me and I attributed them to my wife as well. But, unflappable as ever, she said, "No, not really. I just watched it fall. It was kinda cool."

And, apparently, it didn't make a sound outside either. "Just a 'whoosh,'" she said. Although a "cool" whoosh.

Huh. There you go, philosophers. Doesn't matter if anyone's around or not, a falling tree doesn't make a damn sound. (Here, let me just kick that pesky Schrodinger's cat outta the way...)

Anyway, we alerted the neighbors. They, too, were in the house and hadn't heard anything. When they came out, they were quite shocked. 

I said, "Well, hey, at least it left a pretty clean broken stump."

"Oh, yeah," swiped the neighbor, "that's a really good thing."

"C'mon, silver lining and all," I mumbled as I Charlie Browned outta there, head hung low.

So, the neighbors were really cool about it and everything. They got right on it. The very next morning, a dozen mercenary, crazy-ass, chainsaw-wielding acrobats were on the case, juggling live chainsaws and taking risks that would've sent Evel Knievel into a thumb-sucking, fetal position. Cleared up in about two hours.

The problem was the fence. And it still sits busted up like a drunken giant had taken a face-plant and jacked up his dental work. 

No fault to the neighbors. Get this, local fence companies won't tackle a job if it costs less than $2,000. Which is ridiculous. There must be a lot of busted up fences in the Kansas City metro area collecting rust. 

Once they finally got some guy out to quote it, he said, "no." The reason being, the fence wasn't regulation size. The earlier installer, for whatever reason, had cut the height down all along the bottom. 

So there it sits.

Eat it, Nature. I'm keeping a running tally. It's Nature 3, Stuart a big fat whopping zero. I'm out! Of course if you factor in global warming, we're all about to be out. Game over.

Have a nice day!

Speaking of nice days, Zach Caulfield's having a bad day. A really, really bad day. In fact, you might call it a Bad Day in a Banana Hammock. Why is it so bad? Well, for starters, Zach wakes up in a strange bed, with no clothes and no memory and a nekkid, dead guy next to him. Of course, to prove that he's not gay (priorities; Zach's not too bright), Zach must find out what happened and that's where his easily irritable, highly competent, extremely pregnant, sleuthing sister comes in. Hey, this is just the first several pages! Find out how bad a day can get HERE.

 

 

Nature is Revolting!

No, wait... I'm not talking about the kinda "revolting" that best describes a lot of America's behavior these days, or the Kardashians' newest show, or the wacky antics of our Dorito of a president.

Nope, I'm talking about how Nature is actually rebelling against us, a coup d'etat if you will. Turns out Alfred Hitchcock was quite prescient with his film, The Birds.

Need more proof? Here are the facts (none of that "fake news" stuff goin' on here, nosiree-bob-cattail!):

FACT: The birds in my 'hood are getting bolder and braver. Robins aren't afraid of me anymore. This weekend, I was pushing my mower (and sweating and cursing and crying in misery; it wasn't pretty) through the yard. A robin sat in my path. And he watched me. Finally, one foot away, he took flight just to come right back. They've been inching closer, staring at me with their lil' birdy, beady eyes... Planning...

FACT: Lately, when I've ventured outside to sit on our deck swing, a hugely obese, three-legged, golden cat is sitting in the swing. Several times. He glowers at me like a James Bond villain's cat, and growls before sauntering off. 

FACT: We have daytime owls who can't tell the difference between night and day. I'm talking big ol' horned owls, the kind usually found in cartoons wearing glasses and a scholarly cap, dispensing wisdom to the fledglings. But these owls don't dispense wisdom. Instead, they dole out TERROR! They swoop and screech and hoot and attack. Quite the showmen.

FACT: The other night I awoke to such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. (Sorry...) There were loud thumping noises coming from the first floor at 2 or so in the morning. Now, I'm not overly fond of getting shot by burglars so I didn't go downstairs, but rather stomped around for a while. Then I opened the door at the top of the stairs and listened. Nothing. The next morning I carefully crept around the house. The covering over the fireplace had been pushed open, the wine rack in front of it had moved. Something had fallen down the chimney and made its way into the house. I'm still waiting for a rabid badger to jump out at me from his hiding place in a pantry or something.

FACT: When my wife goes outside, angry squirrels pellet her with nuts. Then they glare at her.

FACT: Ants are marching through our kitchen, and nothing--I mean, NOTHING--kills them! We've tried a lot of remedies. My wife even started sprinkling around this awful looking yellow powder. I asked her what it was. She said, "Basically, it acts like broken glass and tears their insides apart." I thought, how horrible...and now our kitchen's gonna be littered with thousands of bleeding ant corpses. Well that hasn't happened. Yet. But DOUBLE FACT: the ants have invaded my nightmares!

FACT: Mother Nature's none too happy with us right now based on the way we've treated her since the beginning. Hence, Global Warming. Yes, I know roughly half of America doesn't believe in it, but c'mon, who can argue with the crazy weather patterns that are just getting crazier?

I could go on with more FACTS, but I've illustrated my point. Now, why is this happening, you ask? I have the answer for you. 

Nature's sick of the crappy way humans have been behaving lately. They'd like the world to be pleasant again.

I mean we have riots based on injustices (hell, I wanna protest because I'm sick of the Corona-weight I've put on recently!), outta control cops wailing on people and reporters (when they're not shooting them), name-calling, hair-pulling, a regular wrestling venue (only real), stupid people running the country, smart people bounced because they disagree, racism, sexism, people still finding ways to destroy the environment on big and little scales, reality television, and all of it led by our very angry POTUS. 

You don't see animals behaving this...well, barbaric.

I tell ya, the world's going to the birds (as they gather for their annual fly-by over my car to make it look like a massive paint-ball victim).

Speaking of bad things happening to people because of the way nature's been mistreated, check out Ghosts of Gannaway, a true (kinda) ghost story based (looser than an elephant's skin) on the heart-breaking (pure ballyhoo!) saga of Picher, Oklahoma.

Adventures in the Amazon: Aftermath and Aftermess

Goodbye Peru...

Well, all good things must come to an end, I suppose. Even if there were times I didn't think I'd survive the Amazon jungle. Not due to life-threatening situations, mind you, but rather the strenuous activities of hiking through a sauna-like environment in long pants, shirts, and those damned boots.

But I made it. Even though the plane trips back were trying--eight days in the jungle and no ailments, but everyone on the plane was hacking and wheezing, sure to be my downfall; also, we had an encounter with an ugly American teenage girl who tried to cut in line (but my wife put a stop to that!)--we began the long, dull process of settling back into routine.

Fun in a germ-ridden flying tin can!

Kansas seemed rather...lifeless. Sure, it felt safer and was definitely cleaner, but it lacked the energy, the vibrancy of Iquitos and the unfettered nature of the jungle. Everything about the Midwest appeared so ho-hum.

BO-RING!

Except, of course, for my week-long bout with diarrhea. Yay, TMI! (At least I didn't suffer while in the jungle; I can't even begin to imagine...wait, yes I can).

Wake me when we leave Kansas...

I learned a lot on my adventures. While I'm not quite ready to bunker down in a tent (too many serial killers lurking in the woods), or go backpacking in the Himalayas (too many yetis), or cannonball into a hot tub with Buddha (not enough room for both of us), I've decided to embrace nature as my friend. Finally. Call me ridiculous, but the other day there was a grotesque, hard-carapaced bug skittering down the hallway. I managed to scoop him up and put him outside. In the past, he would've been instant floor-kill.

The incredible power of the Amazon--nature at its wildest, most untainted state--proved awe-inspiring, not only in its beauty and yin and yang of terror, but also in the potential it has as a natural state of energy. If people would learn to coexist peacefully with the river, harness it without doing damage, it has the potential to power a good chunk of the world. It is to be respected.

So are people. After my trip, I've vowed to try and be nicer. A tough chore, but I'm committed. Our visit to Iquitos made me realize just how "rich" we are, comparatively speaking. We saw squalor, miserable living conditions, and even worse health care issues. But the locals' living conditions didn't get them down. On the contrary, they carried on with life, making our trials and tribulations appear petty. We could all learn something from the people of Peru.

I also came out the other side with the pleasure of bonding with new friends and reacquainting with old ones. You can't go through a boot camp of that type, storming the gates of hell, without growing close to those experiencing the trip next to you. And seeing as I write full-time from home, it was the most socializing I'd done in years. Big ol' honkin' baby steps!

New friends/family!

Best of all, I love the fact that "jungle pants" has become a nonchalantly dropped word in our everyday lexicon.

Onward and upward, the world's a great big, ol' beautiful and wondrous and scary place, much more than my previously staked-out back yard of Kansas City. I can't wait to explore more. (But, um, just with air conditioning this time).

Peace.