Odd Happenings

Well, my life has been a full mix of research and fun (and now class), with a few misadventurous bumps along the way.

Raccoon Barricade

I was walking back to my apartment around midnight after watching a movie with some friends (who live in the same apartment complex--I'm not that foolhardy), when I noticed a raccoon on the steps leading up to my apartment. Being the wise (aka cautious, fearful, timid, etc) person that I am, I backed off, having no desire to enter into a game of chicken with a raccoon, whose only option would be taking a flying leap at my face. So I stood by my car and did what any girl in my situation would have done--call a friend to talk about it.
So I got on the phone with Liz, who had just left, and explained my predicament. At which point, I realized that there were TWO raccoons peering through the slats at the top of the steps. Wow--no way I was getting past their stairblock! I tried things like jingling my keys, etc, but I didn't want to make too much noise and wake up the whole building. So I get the idea of turning on my car and hoping that the high beams would encourage the raccoons to abandon their fortifications. I do--and there is some movement, but they don't look ready to leave. What else could I possible do? Thankfully this remained a purely superfluous question, for a raccoon loped down the steps and around the corner of the building (into the woods that conveniently wrap right up to the apartment)--quickly followed by another--followed by three more. It was a strategic retreat, but with something of a parade about it. I stared in shock as this was happening, thinking, “Wow, I’m glad I didn’t try to charge in!” and wishing I could have gotten a picture. Who says suburbia is tame? Maybe we should be worried about the advance forces of the newly-formed RRA (Raccoon Republican Army).

Respawning Spider

We’ve all heard the phrase “art mimics life” but who knew videogames and reality were so closely connected?
The first time I found this spider in my bathtub, I bravely but squeamishly smashed it with toilet paper, and was subsequently very grossed out by the leg left flopping around (a la Pirates of the Caribbean’s dead hand). A few days later I find an identical spider right outside the tub, which I dispose of. This happens again after another few days. Now, I may not be a scientific genius, but I do know that lots of spiders hatch in the same place, etc. But that’s not the point. The point is, like World of Warcraft, you have a respawning monster that is killed and then appears in the same spot after a certain amount of time. It’s the same thing with this insidious arachnid.
Freaky, huh? Now if only I got bonus points for killing spiders.

A Conspiracy of Chairs

My summer class started this week, in what used to be GCB (General Classroom Building) but which now has a long, confusing name after a professor, which I refuse to use on principle. (I’ve called it GCB for three years now—they can’t go changing the foundation of my education this late in the game.) Anyhow, there are four floors, and each flight of stairs is broken up into two, with a landing between (as you change direction). In each landing (on both ends of the building) is a single plastic/metal chair—usually orange, green or brown—with a taped (and typed) sign that says “do not remove from stairwell.” Why? What could possibly be the use for such chairs? They are in between floors, so they can’t possibly be used to prop the doors open. Are they for people to rest on who get winded climbing flights of stairs, in a gesture towards complete non-discrimination? Do they have secret building-safety powers? Can they put out fires? What is the answer to this mystery?
One chair ended up right outside our classroom, probably by a student who took the signs lightly. The chair still sits there in ominous silence—but who knows if we’ll ever see that student again?

Maybe the chairs are in league with the raccoons.