Little Laura Goes to War

A short while ago my good friend and former roommate Laura got a letter instructing her to get her gear, she's going to war. Deployment time. Brass knuckles time. Whether it would be Afghanistan or Iraq was still to be determined, but a few things were clear: she would be the first of us to deploy and she'd need to find a way to strap more grenades to her chest. As it would turn out her deployment was not per the usual, however. When her deployment letter finally came instead of being tasked to a forward operating base or major theatre hospital in country hers read: you're going on vacation! Her six months of service to the nation would be an all-expense paid trip to Germany where she'd visit the Swiss Alps, lounge in Bavarian beer gardens, and take in culture and class at many a Baroque Austrian palace or concert hall. Sure she'd be caring for patients and war wounded at the medical center in Landstuhl, but as judged by the constant stream of Facebook photos since, she's mostly there to party.
 
Despite the fact that she had likely ruined deployments for all the rest of us for all the future I decided to pay Laura a pre-deployment this-may-be-the-last-time-I-see-you-alive visit. It was also secretly a visit to the Historic Triangle of Revolutionary America and an excuse to get a tricorne hat. The trip was successful on all accounts.

The trip was not without hardship; however, especially if you like to use the word "hardship" as a stand in for "never ending rain." The rain didn't start till after we set out on our twenty something mile bike ride, but once it started it never stopped coming. Quickly we were soaked, but still we rode on.

Whenever I insisted we stop and admire a local landmark Laura often insisted she wait under a tree. We then had a very wet lunch, and proceeded to have a very wet ride back after leaving behind very wet chairs and table clothes behind us.

We didn't stay in Yorktown or Old Williamsburg all too long, but there's always time for victory poses. Just like back in 1776.

Once all that was said and done we settled down to what really mattered. College football and puzzles.

Laura made this while slowly losing her mind -- smashing together decorated styrofoam is apparently more difficult than it looks. Coincidentally I was also losing my mind for an entirely different reason -- thank you Fighting Texas Aggies. We also saw a movie, had some food and drink, and then Laura went off to war. Went off to war a few weeks later after visiting other family and friends to be entirely accurate, but I'm pretty sure what prepared her most was my inspiring visit. My hat spurred her into a patriotic furor.

The Fifth Column

Over the past few weeks an insidious new menace has slowly advanced upon us. It has crossed our borders, invaded our homes, and watched us as we slept at night. It is ever increasing in number, ever resolute in purpose, ever purposeless in its existence. It is: tiny, little damn flies.

Stowaways on my houseplants, the first tiny flies immigrated into my home unknowningly and inconspicuously. Establishing themselves in the terracotta pots they were tolerated even welcomed at first, often working the jobs I myself did not want to work. Within days, however, their numbers increased and they were often to be founding loatering around the windowsills or flying about drunkenly with no apparent goal or purpose in mind. Simple police measures were initiated and a few flies were made examples of in the hopes that the rest would leave, but this would only be the beginning.

Emboldened by their numbers and little, tiny fly brains they grew more aggressive. Flying about at all hours of day and often seemingly intentionally flying directly into my face and eyes whenever it pleased them, the crackdown continued and negotiations were attempted. Deadlocked after the first few promising rounds, the dialogue ended over the flies refusal to concede measured autonomy and the right to fly up my nose whenever it pleased them. It was then that the decision was made for a more forceful response.

Over the next few days fly squashing picked up dramatically both in absolute numbers and in intensity. Now flies were no longer smashed only when behaving egregiously, but whenever found and in all instances. Periodic fly swatting campaigns were undertaken in the hoping of reducing their numbers. As their populations only increased, however, reproducing like some sort of crazy reproducing thing, little bowls of water and sugar were laid out at their favorite spots as traps which would eventually take the lives of dozens if not hundreds of the annoying little buggers. The conflict, now arguably a smoldering low level war, only continued.

It is now the present day. With fly corpses all over the friggin' place, and hundreds more in my vacuum cleaner, the campaign continues still. In an escalation of hostilities I have since purchased an insecticide spray with which I have doused the tiny flies' homes and hopefully their tiny fly playgrounds and schools. My skill in slapping the bejeezus out of them mid air has improved remarkably though there is, as of yet, no sign that their numbers are declining. If current military actions fail I may have to resort to napalm or a box of tiny frogs. There can unfortunately be no compromise. The tiny flies follow an ultraconservative, fundamentalist ideology. To them flying into my ear at night fully knowing their impending disintegration amongst my fingertips is an act of holy sacrifice where in heaven they will be accordingly rewarded, presumably with the chance to fly into other peoples' ears at night. There can be no peace until there are no flies. There is no other way; there can be no other way. Please by war bonds to aid us in this effort.

The current fly alert levels is burgundy. Be suspicious of things!