Not necessarily English, mind you, but a language more familiar to we Western folk. A language you might stumle upon while channel surfing at 3am. Possibly Spanish.
I'd like to learn Latin. All languages come from Latin, you know. I wonder if Ostracize comes from Latin. Perhaps it comes from Ostriches.
If I encountered an ostrich in the wild, I would scream and run in the oposite direction. I believe that ostrichs are easily the most terrifying member of the bird family, but I believe them to be in the upper echelon of the animal kingdom as a whole.
The upper echelon of the frightening spectrum of the animal kingdom, that is. They have nothing in common with fruit bats, or lemurs.
Because they look ridiculous. And they seem very unbothered by it. If you study a picture of an ostrich face for a few minutes (I have a lot of spare time), you could swear that it was intent on eating you. Or the photographer.
They kick, you know. Ostriches.
I attended a Screech-In last weekend. In the Turpin backyard. I hung balloons for Anne Marie. Then we had a can of beer (each) and shot the shit. When she's not crazy, she's a very astute woman.
Again I felt an astounding degree of provincial patriotism as I watched a misguided family of five get welcomed into our fold.
These are becoming rampantly more frequent. Which is odd.
What is far stranger, however, is that I feel less and less bothered by my sudden island pride each time I experience it.
Kind of like how carbon monoxide poisoning seems scary at first, but by the time you've experienced it for a little while, the whole idea just seems fine. "This is acceptable."
I hated this place in high school. I just wanted out. I never wanted to come back.
Except for funerals, I suppose. And The Blueberry Festival.
Because that's always a time.
No comments:
Post a Comment