Beware the spider vendetta

We all saw its shadow before we saw it.
“It” was a humungous rock spider that was walking out of the campfire. That’s right, I said walking out of the campfire.
It was the colour of granite with a big round body, huge fangs and a bad attitude.
It cast a shadow from the fire and was calmly walking within inches of the hot embers.
A friend took a stick and poked the multi-legged terror and it reached up with one of its front legs grabbed the stick and slammed my friend to the ground.
OK, maybe it wasn’t that bad, but you could see it pushing the stick down a little bit.
My buddy was stunned at the strength of this thing and I felt a shiver go up my spine that lasted for the next 17 minutes.
I had visions of this Godzilla of the spider realm hiding in my sleeping bag or attacking me from below as I used the outdoor loo.
Any such interaction with the arachnid (especially the loo part) would cause me to squeal like a small, frightened school girl moments before I passed out.
Spider, one; big, strong man, zero.
As we examined the spider he, or she, or whatever it was, took up a defensive pose and would push the stick every time it came near him.
I suggested we nuke the spider, so it would never frighten small children or big adults again.
“Hey, why don’t you put on those leather work gloves, pick the spider up and throw it in the fire?” I suggested to my friend with the stick.
“Why don’t you?” was his response.
“Are you out of your mind? Look at that thing. I’m not going anywhere near it. Why do you think I suggested you do it?”
Four fully grown adults stood trembling in fear over a spider that probably weighed less than my fingernails, but no one was going near it — no matter what.
OK, plan A was a bust.
Plan B involved death from above and a bombing run using a five-pound stone was decided upon as the best way to rid the world of the grey terror that was holding us at bay.
I threw the rock and it kind of hit the spider on his side. He then seemed to bounce off the rock and the last we saw, he was shooting across the hot embers to the other side of the fire.
No carcass was found, so we assumed he had survived the assassination attempt, which sent more chills up my spine (kind of like right now actually.)
This freaked all of us out as none of us are overly fond of spiders or any other type of insect, for that matter.
I had more visions. This time it was of a wounded monster spider hiding in the woods, plotting its revenge, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.
Perhaps it would limp its way up the tree behind me, climb out on a limb and then drop onto my hair-challenged head.
“Eeeek,” does not even come close to what my reaction would be.
Maybe it would die a slow death, but survive long enough to pass on a message of vengeance to its 20,000 offspring.
That would be just my luck — to have a small army of ticked off arachnids hunting me and my kin down to fulfil some sort of insect vendetta.
There were only so many rocks I could throw.
Fearing retribution, I conducted a more thorough search of the area around the campfire, but no sign of my new nemesis could be found.
Sure, we all hatched the murder scheme, but it would be my scent on the rock. I don’t know if spiders can smell, but I do not want to take the risk.
We tried to relax around the fire and laugh off the incident, but deep down every one of us was keeping a close eye out for any sign of the spider of terror.
We have been back to that spot since that fateful night and have yet to be carried off into the woods by avenging insects, so our fears of a sci-fi like rebellion by an arachnid army are unfounded.

My fear of spiders remains, however, as strong as it ever has — perhaps even more.

The maim game is painful fun

I have a love-hate relationship with the tech world.

I am impressed with what can be done with electro gadgets these days, but hate when something goes wrong.

Actually, I often hate technology when everything goes right.

Nothing is more frustrating that doing everything right on a computer and it still won't do what it is supposed to.

Some would say that means I am not doing everything right and them I say...well, they are probably right, but I am doing everything I know how to do and it is still not working.

But I muddle along as best I can with my old-man brain.

However, one of the cooler areas of technology I have embraced is Facebook.

There are many aspects of Facebook I must admit I do not care for – pick a political meme, any political meme - but there are some really great things about it as well.

The coolest thing about Facebook is the ability to keep in touch with people all over the world. It also allows you to re-connect with people you may not have seen in a long time.

Such was the case when I connected with a buddy from high school. We took different paths after graduation and I have not seen him since, but through the magic of FB, we are once again able to 'hang out' and this time it is not painful in the least.

Let me explain. You see, when we were in elementary school this friend and I played a little game where we would try to maim each other.

It was nothing too serious, just good old fashioned youthful energy channeled in such a way as to cause each other occasional bruise, scrape or second-degree concussion.

I don't know how the game started, but there are two distinct incidents I remember well.

The first was in the gymnasium where the class was doing a variety of sporting type activities. I happened to have a basketball which, as most people know, is fairly hard.

Seeing my buddy standing 10 feet away, I looked over and said 'Hey, Jeff' in a very non-threatening manner.

He turned around and I threw the ball with every ounce of strength I had, hitting him square in the face.

I was quite pleased with my shot, and when he regained consciousness I was even happier.

He was out for about 10 seconds and I thought for sure I was going to get it. But instead he was very calm about the whole thing.

That was my first warning sign because I knew he was planning his revenge and for the next couple of days I was a nervous wreck.

Cue gym class again and we are playing softball under the clear blue sky.

I am on first base running to second when suddenly I see stars.

The next thing I remember is looking up at that clear blue sky while the gym teacher freaks out because one of her students has been doing the ball diamond slumber for almost a minute.

I have to admit, it was one hell of a good throw by my buddy.

A batter hit the ball to the infield and my friend grabbed it and fired a masterful shot, beaning me in the bean as I ran full tilt toward second base.

He claimed he was trying to throw to second, but we all know the truth and the smug look on his face showed how proud he was of his accuracy.

I had a headache for three days and am pretty sure that was the first time I received a concussion.

But all is fair in love, war and the maim game.

We carried on this way until we reached high school where such antics faded away as we matured and all that stuff.

Basically we got tired of always being on edge and always wondering where the next assault was coming from.

Being a young boy is not for cowards.

At least through Facebook we can't knock each other out...yet.

Copyright 2017, Darren Handschuh

Drop the needle and travel back in time

I did something the other day I had not done in many years: I dropped the needle.

That's right, I dropped a needle onto a record player for the first time since I can't remember when.

The trek back in time to the nostalgic era of my youth happened when I bought the Missus a record player for a gift.

For several months, my wife had been talking about getting a turntable so when I found one on sale, I grabbed it, wrapped it and couldn't wait for her to open it.

She was surprised and excited to have a record player of her very own – again.

In the far corner of a little-used storage room in the basement sat a box covered in dust.

Inside was a stack of vinyl history. Records from the '80s, from when we were young and records were the No. 1 way of listening to tunes, sat waiting to be rediscovered like King Tuts tomb of rock and roll.

The funny thing is, with ever-advancing technology providing music online, on phones and pretty much anywhere else you could think of, records are making a comeback.

I talked to a university student recently who said all of her friends were into vinyl.

“There is just something about the sound,” she said. “It is much richer, fuller, not as perfect as a CD or digital.”

And she is right. When we played the first record in many years, it did have a distinct sound that was really captivating, and not just because that is the sound I grew up with.

I am sure that is part of it, but the sound of a small needle dragging its way along a grooved piece of plastic does have a unique vibe to it.

Of course, the records we had were 30-plus years old and some were damaged, causing the needle to jump, but that is just all part of the experience.

When a CD skips it is enough to cause me to have a seizure as it repeats the same fraction of a second over and over and over...

A record can be similar, but not as harsh as a CD.

Digital songs don't skip at all, unless there is a glitch which causes them to stop and start and stop and start and cause that seizure I was talking about.

When a record skipped, you would oh-so-gently move the needle past the damaged part so you would not miss too much of the song.

Even without playing them, those old 33s brought back many memories.

I pulled out the first record I ever bought – Loverboy - and my second copy of Meatloaf's Bat out of Hell (the first copy got stepped on and it was, and is, a must-have for my music collection.)

Def Lepard, Styx, AC/DC (of course) and a whole pile of classic tuneage is now available for my on-demand listening pleasure.

But as I flipped through the stack of classics, I stopped cold at a beat up, scratched, liquid (beer)-damaged copy of Frank Zappa's Joe's Garage.

Instantly I was thinking of my good friend who was claimed by the scourge of cancer more than five years ago.

We used to listen to that record all the time, and even seeing the album cover brought pangs of missing my good buddy, my brother since I was four years old.

My jubilant trip down memory had hit a speed bump. Memories of a lifelong friendship raced through my mind. The trouble we got into and the fun we had while doing it. Discussions about cars, music, girls and the deep thoughts of life all filled my consciousness right up to the day of his passing, stopping the memories in their tracks.

I sat, silent and still thinking about his loss, before pushing those thoughts aside and rejoicing in the friendship I had, rather than dwell on the cruelty of it being taken away far too soon.

I know eventually, I will drop the needle on Joe's Garage and be reunited with my buddy through the magical time travel that only music can provide.

Eventually, but just not today.

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh

Dropping the needle on some good memories

I did something the other day I had not done in many years: I dropped the needle.

That's right, I dropped a needle onto a record player for the first time since I can't remember when.

The trek back in time to the nostalgic era of my youth happened on Christmas Day.

For several months, my wife had been talking about getting a turntable so when I found one on sale, I grabbed it, wrapped it and couldn't wait for her to open it.

She was surprised and excited to have a record player of her very own – again.

In the far corner of a little-used storage room in the basement sat a box covered in dust.

Inside was a stack of vinyl history. Records from the '80s from when we were young and records were the No. 1 way of listening to tunes, sat waiting to be rediscovered like King Tuts tomb of rock and roll.

The funny thing is, with ever-advancing technology providing music online, on phones and pretty much anywhere else you could think of, records are making a comeback.

I was talked to a university student recently who said all of her friends were into vinyl.

“There is just something about the sound,” she said. “It is much richer, fuller, not as perfect as a CD or digital.”

And she is right. When we played the first record in many years, it did have a distinct sound that was really captivating, and not just because that is the sound I grew up with.

I am sure that is part of it, but the sound of a small needle dragging its way along a grooved piece of plastic does have a unique vibe to it.

Of course, the records we had were 30-plus years old and some were damaged, causing the needle to jump, but that is just all part of the experience.

When a CD skips it is enough to cause me to have a seizure as it repeats the same fraction of a second over and over and over...

A record can be similar, bit not as harsh as a CD.

Digital songs don't skip at all, unless there is a glitch which causes them to stop and start and stop and start and cause that seizure I was talking about.

When a record skipped, you would oh so gently move the needle past the damaged part so you would not miss too much of the song.

Even without playing them, those old 33s brought back many memories.

I pulled out the first record I ever bought – Loverboy - and of course my second copy of Meatloaf's Bat out of Hell (the first copy got stepped on and it was, and is, a must-have for my music collection.)

Supertramp, Styx, AC/DC of course and a whole pile of classic tunage is now available for my on-demand listening pleasure.

But as I flipped through the stack of classics, I stopped cold at a beat up, scratched, liquid-damaged copy of Frank Zappa's Joe's Garage.

Instantly I was thinking of my good friend who was claimed by the scourge of cancer more than three years ago.

We used to listen to that album all the time and even seeing the album cover brought pangs of missing my good buddy, my brother since I was four years old.

My jubilant trip down memory had hit a speed bump. Memories of a lifelong friendship raced through my mind. The trouble we got into and the fun we had while doing it. Discussions about cars, music, girls and the deep thoughts of life all raced through my conciousness right up to the day of his passing, stopping the memories in their tracks.

I sat, silent and still thinking about his loss, before pushing those thoughts aside and rejoicing in the friendship I had, rather than dwell on the cruelty of it being taken away far too soon.

I know eventually, I will drop the needle of Joe's Garage and be reunited with my buddy through the magical time travel that only music can offer.

Copyright 2014 Darren Handschuh