Originally this entry was to be called “Wind Power: a Solution”. But lately I’ve come to despise the word “solution” on account of its over usage. If I recall correctly, solutions used to be confined to math and science problems. What is the limit of x as y approaches zero? What is the missing element in the following chemical compound? Technical kinds of problems that required actual thought. Somehow the definition of “solution” morphed into the answer for any problem no matter how trivial. For me, it reached the height of stupidity a short time ago when I saw a commercial that touted the product as a “meal solution”. For fuck’s sake! How hopeless, inept and utterly incompetent does one have to be at feeding themselves or their family that they would require a “meal solution”? The very idea should be insulting and is grounds to have people’s children put up for adoption with a family that will love them.
As usual, I’ve gotten off track. What I was trying to get at was my problem with mosquitoes. During the day, it’s just a matter of using repellent, but I hate to sleep with that stuff on. The answer: a fan spinning at low speed. The mosquitoes here are smaller (yet more ferocious) than the ones at home and a gentle breeze seems to be all that’s required to throw them off course.
But why are they inside in the first place? Apparently, my aunt doesn’t like screens on the windows…they bother her for reasons undisclosed. One must presume then that what bothers her about window screens or “zanzarini” as they are known, is worse, much worse than either itchy bites or even malaria. My zia Rosa has screens, but not because of the insect bites; she has them to avoid the buzzing sound. Years ago, a mosquito flew into her ear and buzzed around for long enough that that she now suffers from some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder…buzzing induced.
Zia Maria has her own traumatic memories. Almost fifty years ago she went into a store, a butcher shop, to buy something. The store was so dirty that she became nauseated and had to leave. So strong was the impression of filth that now all these years later she still can’t enter that store even though it has gone through a number of proprietors. It’s kind of like a reverse obsessive compulsive disorder…wanting others to clean constantly.
No comments:
Post a Comment