For weeks afterward, I wondered and I weighed my options in my mind, over and over again. My friend from home Greg told me, "Dude, you have to go down there and see it for yourself. And then, you gotta go out and buy it a collar and take it for walks. You'll always regret never having done it if you punk out. Make sure you take pictures and send them to me." Now, I there was no way in hell I was going to take the potentially mythical gator in my basement out for a walk. However, I would regret not ever seeing this thing for myself. What to do...?
So, on a Saturday morning, after having had some breakfast and coffee to steady myself/put myself completely on edge, I made my way to the basement. I may or may not have coaxed a cat or two down with me, as protection, along with a spatula from the kitchen and my camera, to document the expedition. After having limbered up and as I made my down the stairs and felt the cooler air hit my legs, I didn't know what to expect, except that I would likely have to run very fast. My hope was that I had the sense to run back the same way I had come. The first thing I saw, which gave my an instant sense of misplaced comfort, was a kiddy pool with a lamp hanging over it. Here was a well-known object from my youth; my sister and I would go over to my grandma's house and set up a flimsy, collapsible pool to play in on hot summer days. I can still remember the smell of the plastic lining and hear my grandma yelling to wait for the already boiling water to heat up, so we wouldn't catch a cold. Here it was, transformed into a container of death; a cage for evil. As I peered in, I saw it, a four foot long croc just chilling like no-one's business in this kiddy pool. And next to him, sure enough, was a really pissed-off looking turtle.
I made sure to keep my distance and not turn my back on these devils, but I was instantly attracted to another room in the basement, almost like a closet, where a light was on. As I walked closer and peered in, I could see drawer-like cages stacked from floor to ceiling. As I moved closer I could see that they were filled with rats. Our house also had a rat room. Awesome. Freaked out in a way that the crocodile and snapping tortuga had not managed to spook me, I hurried out of the basement and back up the stairs to my room to try and make sense of this latest development in my living situation/catastrophe.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Kittens and the Terror in the Basement
So, a few weeks after I moved in, I found myself in the kitchen with my fellow, sane housemates, Adam & Abbey. I was chatting with them and making some Annie's Mac & Cheese, like I do, when the conversation turned to something we three can commiserate about rather freely; the zoo we have found ourselves living in this summer. We were talking about how we hadn't seen the Lizard Man in quite some time, when Adam mentioned that L.M. had just gotten back with Lady Bee, his lady friend and fellow housemate. "Did you see that they brought new animals?" Adam asked. "What?" I asked, without the slightest hint of anything remotely resembling apprehension or disbelief in my voice. "Yeah, but its a kitten and she's really cute!" Adam explained. And, as I looked down at Dani the Kitten, I had to agree, in spite of my worry that the poor thing had been brought to Jurassic Park as food for the attractions.
While we're on the subject, I was watching Jurassic Park on Saturday morning. You know, in addition to the cartoons. If you haven't seen it in a while you should. It's a great movie. It also illustrates my living situation and how it came to be better than this blog post ever could. Just picture the Lizard Man as the old white guy, Mr. Hammond, who starts the Park. Just, not as sweet and grandfatherly and more obsessed with lizards.
Now, back to the story. It was at this point that the three of us realized we all found the living situation to be quite ridonkulous. As a result, we also realized we would be getting along very well for the rest of the summer. I explained to them that I was befriending their cats in case there was an Orwellian uprising from the reptiles in the house; I needed someone to watch my shit while I'm at work. They gave me the low-down on all of the animals they had seen so far, and that's when it became an incredibly educational night for me. I made some off-handed reference to the fact that I had counted a dozen animals in the house and liked to do a count-off every night, just to be sure every one was accounted for and, therefore, not hiding in the floorboards of my room. That's when Adam mentioned that there were many, many more than just a dozen animals. I started listing animals on the first floor when Adam politely stopped me and asked,
"Well, what about the ones in the basement?"
"Excuse me my good sir, there's more lizards in the basement?"
"No, no. Well, not a lizard, per se. You don't know about the crocodile?"
"Bullshit"
"Seriously, there's a crocodile and a snapping turtle. Or, at least, I'm guessing its a snapping turtle because when I saw it, it looked at me and he looked pissed as all hell. Regular turtles never look angry, you know?"
"I don't believe this..."
"You don't believe me? Go in the basement and check for yourself."
"I'm not going into the basement!!! There's a fucking crocodile down there!!!"
While we're on the subject, I was watching Jurassic Park on Saturday morning. You know, in addition to the cartoons. If you haven't seen it in a while you should. It's a great movie. It also illustrates my living situation and how it came to be better than this blog post ever could. Just picture the Lizard Man as the old white guy, Mr. Hammond, who starts the Park. Just, not as sweet and grandfatherly and more obsessed with lizards.
Now, back to the story. It was at this point that the three of us realized we all found the living situation to be quite ridonkulous. As a result, we also realized we would be getting along very well for the rest of the summer. I explained to them that I was befriending their cats in case there was an Orwellian uprising from the reptiles in the house; I needed someone to watch my shit while I'm at work. They gave me the low-down on all of the animals they had seen so far, and that's when it became an incredibly educational night for me. I made some off-handed reference to the fact that I had counted a dozen animals in the house and liked to do a count-off every night, just to be sure every one was accounted for and, therefore, not hiding in the floorboards of my room. That's when Adam mentioned that there were many, many more than just a dozen animals. I started listing animals on the first floor when Adam politely stopped me and asked,
"Well, what about the ones in the basement?"
"Excuse me my good sir, there's more lizards in the basement?"
"No, no. Well, not a lizard, per se. You don't know about the crocodile?"
"Bullshit"
"Seriously, there's a crocodile and a snapping turtle. Or, at least, I'm guessing its a snapping turtle because when I saw it, it looked at me and he looked pissed as all hell. Regular turtles never look angry, you know?"
"I don't believe this..."
"You don't believe me? Go in the basement and check for yourself."
"I'm not going into the basement!!! There's a fucking crocodile down there!!!"
Sunday, July 25, 2010
You Said You Lost The "Big Guy"?
So, after reading the other post from today, you may be wondering why the Tegu is called The Puppy. You might be worried about me and thinking, whoa, Chris, that thing might eat a puppy, but it is not, itself, a puppy. This, I would grant, is a very valid point and one I wish you could make, on by behalf, to the Lizard Man. The Lizard Man, you see, is the mastermind behind this whole herpetological clusterfuck that I call my summer living situation. And, from time to time and against my best wishes, he "surprises" me when I get home exhausted from work with another addition to the crazy, Reptilian Adams' Family we got going on. A couple of weeks ago I had just such an experience.
In the Lizard Man's defense, I get up early; 6:30 a.m. I then walk a mile to get a bus and then take another bus to get to work; the process repeats itself in reverse, although most days, I don't wait for the second bus and just walk the 2 miles or so home. It's good exercise and, after sitting at a desk all day, I feel like walking. Unfortunately, I get mad tired. When I get home, I just wanna make my dinner, watch some TV and go to bed. I had successfully begun the first two of those three activities; I was almost home free. While sitting on the couch and enjoying a delicious bowl of Annie's Mac and Cheese and watching Jeopardy, the Lizard Man comes into the room. This, alone, puts me on edge for the previously stated reasons. He calmly wanders around, surveying the entire room, before stopping in front of me. Looking back at the whole thing now, he should not have been that damn calm. I look up to meet his gaze, cause he's starting to creep me out more than usual at this point, and he asks, again very calmly, "Have you seen the big guy?" To which I, very rudely, I know, respond with a mouth full of mac n' cheese, "What?"
"Have you seen a big lizard wandering around in here?" Now, I think it's important to make a side note at this point, given that you, the reader, are not fully aware of all the creatures living in the house. There are turtles that just wander around the house. There are geckos in the bathroom (more on these little perverts later), but they are only about six inches long. The water monitors downstairs, however, are a good foot to two feet in length. You add to that the fact they are related to Komodo dragons, which is to say they have venomous saliva, and frankly they're too damn big for my tastes. So to now the Lizard Man, himself, refer to "a big lizard" in the house, bigger (one has to assume), than any of the other terrors in the house was not exactly what I was hoping to hear. So, still with a mouthful of macaroni, given that I was afraid of swallowing and chocking on the next thing he'd say, I again asked, "What?" Since I wasn't really being very helpful, the Lizard Man kind of gave up on me at this point and again started looking for the "big guy." Unfortunately for me, as he mentioned that the "big guy" likes to hide under the couches, he also started to look under the couch that I was sitting on.
I want to be clear. I do not consider myself in very good physical shape. Those of you who know me, know that I'm skinny like a stick, but that's probably more to do with an overactive metabolism that I should get checked out than it does with any healthy physical activity I do. I can't run very fast and when I try I feel sick; I can jump maybe three inches off the ground. Miraculously, however, upon seeing the Lizard Man look underneath the couch I was on, I not only reacted with surprising agility, but I think I straight-up levitated off the couch. (Look for my upcoming blog on my daily training as a Jedi.) After a quick scan, the Lizard Man was quick to reassure me, though, that the lizard was not underneath my couch. I just gave a very collected, very nonchalant, "Oh, word..." before sitting my terrified ass down. When he looked under the other couch, though, we all got a little lucky and he said, "Oh, sweet, here he is!" "Oh, that's great news," I said. As he proceeded to pull the approximately three foot long and one foot wide, giant-ass (that's a special Herpetological term to describe size) lizard out from under the couch, he said "Meet 'The Puppy!'"
The way in which The Puppy was trying his damnedest to stay underneath the couch and run away from the Lizard Man should have struck me as funny at the time. So too was his reference to the lizard as "The Puppy." For some reason, though, the humor was lost on me. Everyday, I contemplate taking the Lizard Man aside to show him the Google images results for "puppy." Who knows, while studying reptiles and amphibians all the time, maybe the dude has never even seen a dog before. Or maybe he's blind and I should replace all these crazy ass animals with Dachshunds and plastic, rubber snakes. If I see him walk into a single door frame in the next couple weeks, Operation Mr. Magoo will go from the planning phases to full implementation. I'll keep you posted on developments.
In the Lizard Man's defense, I get up early; 6:30 a.m. I then walk a mile to get a bus and then take another bus to get to work; the process repeats itself in reverse, although most days, I don't wait for the second bus and just walk the 2 miles or so home. It's good exercise and, after sitting at a desk all day, I feel like walking. Unfortunately, I get mad tired. When I get home, I just wanna make my dinner, watch some TV and go to bed. I had successfully begun the first two of those three activities; I was almost home free. While sitting on the couch and enjoying a delicious bowl of Annie's Mac and Cheese and watching Jeopardy, the Lizard Man comes into the room. This, alone, puts me on edge for the previously stated reasons. He calmly wanders around, surveying the entire room, before stopping in front of me. Looking back at the whole thing now, he should not have been that damn calm. I look up to meet his gaze, cause he's starting to creep me out more than usual at this point, and he asks, again very calmly, "Have you seen the big guy?" To which I, very rudely, I know, respond with a mouth full of mac n' cheese, "What?"
"Have you seen a big lizard wandering around in here?" Now, I think it's important to make a side note at this point, given that you, the reader, are not fully aware of all the creatures living in the house. There are turtles that just wander around the house. There are geckos in the bathroom (more on these little perverts later), but they are only about six inches long. The water monitors downstairs, however, are a good foot to two feet in length. You add to that the fact they are related to Komodo dragons, which is to say they have venomous saliva, and frankly they're too damn big for my tastes. So to now the Lizard Man, himself, refer to "a big lizard" in the house, bigger (one has to assume), than any of the other terrors in the house was not exactly what I was hoping to hear. So, still with a mouthful of macaroni, given that I was afraid of swallowing and chocking on the next thing he'd say, I again asked, "What?" Since I wasn't really being very helpful, the Lizard Man kind of gave up on me at this point and again started looking for the "big guy." Unfortunately for me, as he mentioned that the "big guy" likes to hide under the couches, he also started to look under the couch that I was sitting on.
I want to be clear. I do not consider myself in very good physical shape. Those of you who know me, know that I'm skinny like a stick, but that's probably more to do with an overactive metabolism that I should get checked out than it does with any healthy physical activity I do. I can't run very fast and when I try I feel sick; I can jump maybe three inches off the ground. Miraculously, however, upon seeing the Lizard Man look underneath the couch I was on, I not only reacted with surprising agility, but I think I straight-up levitated off the couch. (Look for my upcoming blog on my daily training as a Jedi.) After a quick scan, the Lizard Man was quick to reassure me, though, that the lizard was not underneath my couch. I just gave a very collected, very nonchalant, "Oh, word..." before sitting my terrified ass down. When he looked under the other couch, though, we all got a little lucky and he said, "Oh, sweet, here he is!" "Oh, that's great news," I said. As he proceeded to pull the approximately three foot long and one foot wide, giant-ass (that's a special Herpetological term to describe size) lizard out from under the couch, he said "Meet 'The Puppy!'"
The way in which The Puppy was trying his damnedest to stay underneath the couch and run away from the Lizard Man should have struck me as funny at the time. So too was his reference to the lizard as "The Puppy." For some reason, though, the humor was lost on me. Everyday, I contemplate taking the Lizard Man aside to show him the Google images results for "puppy." Who knows, while studying reptiles and amphibians all the time, maybe the dude has never even seen a dog before. Or maybe he's blind and I should replace all these crazy ass animals with Dachshunds and plastic, rubber snakes. If I see him walk into a single door frame in the next couple weeks, Operation Mr. Magoo will go from the planning phases to full implementation. I'll keep you posted on developments.
Do I Need to Show You Pictures of Puppies...?
So, I was hungry yesterday afternoon-ish when I remembered I had a delicious bbq chicken pizza, waiting to be made, in the freezer. As I bounded down the stairs, two at a time, beside myself with hunger and anticipation I thought I heard a weird noise coming from the first floor. There is a bathroom on the first floor, but its broken/too gross to be used, so I couldn't understand why there was a noise that sounded like a running shower coming from the kitchen and living room area. As I flew into kitchen I discovered where the noise was coming from. The Tegu, aka The Puppy, instantly froze upon seeing me, as did I upon seeing him, and for a couple of seconds it looked like he was planning on standing his ground having now claimed dominion over the kitchen and my pizza. Just as I was about to slowly back the hell out of the kitchen and settle for a Lucky Charms dinner up in my room, The Puppy freaked and started, essentially, sliding as fast as he could manage out of the kitchen and away from me. You see, his freakishly long claws, which could probably sever my arm with little effort, aren't well adapted to running on wooden floors. Another reason, if there weren't enough already, why a South American lizard like a Tegu should not be kept in a converted barn in Western Massachusetts.
You know how in school and at zoos you're always told, "Don't worry, even big, scary animals are more scared of you then you are of them." You know how the general reaction we all have to that is usually some version of "You are so full of it"? Well, they do have a point. Cause, although the dude in the picture above is probably a little bigger than The Puppy, he isn't that much bigger; if I had to guesstimate, I would say that The Puppy is a solid 3 or 3 1/2 feet long and at least a foot wide. In other words, he is a big mamma jamma, and yet he ran away from me like I was Rambo, if Rambo had shrunk, suffered some serious weight-loss and was a world-renowned Tegu killer in his free time. Needless to say, I did not see any more of The Puppy for the rest of the day and was left very much in peace to make my California Pizza Kitchen-ey goodness.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Moving In - Chris' Song
So, after much procrastinating and dilly dallying, I've decided it was either this or a screenplay. Since no one would ever get to see the play based on this summer's ridiculousness, I figured this was really the only option.
I have been interning this summer in the great Pioneer Valley and I have to say, despite the heat and lack of A/C, this is a beautiful place. However, it is important that I preface what I mean by "this." I mean the Valley and sure as hell not my house. This blog is, if you don't know me and haven't heard some of the stories by now, my way of documenting the crazy. Everyday I will try to post twice; once with a story from the past few weeks and once with a more recent story, hopefully from the same day. You're probably thinking, "Damn Chris, just how many stories are there?" I said I could write a whole screenplay, dammit.
As we pulled into the driveway I truly had no idea what to expect. I had, after all, resorted to using Craigslist and had not had a chance to see the place properly. I was terrified that upon arrival the tenants would pretend to never had heard of me and turn my ass out on the street, only after having deposited my rent check days prior. In retrospect, I was worrying about the complete wrong thing. Its not until you walk into the house that you realize something might be off, as you are greeted, depending upon where you enter, by rats and snakes or a big ass tortoise named Bob. No matter where you enter, though, you are instantly assailed by an odor that bites the nostrils. Much like a snake would, I imagine, if you tried to sniff him.
By the time I bump into my first housemate I've seen more creatures then the advertised python and two cats. Its The Dude incarnate. He's high and, I didn't realize it at the time, he tries to warn me to get the hell out before its too late. But, I don't listen. Instead, I work my way past the second water monitor and towards my room upstairs. I pass cats, turtles, and geckos. I finally make it to my room and, much to my relief, the room is set up to house only one animal: myself.
When I get back downstairs, I meet the snake oil merchant who got me in this mess. He graciously agrees to show me around the place and introduces me to all the animals. I should sue his ass for conveniently forgetting to show me ALL of the damn animals, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I meet the Argus monitor. Or rather, I meet his housing enclosure; Mr. Snake Oil explains that Argus is very skiddish and doesn't like being seen. Next on the hit parade are the pythons, curiously placed in a loft above a sofa; perhaps to facilitate feeding events. Just sit, doze off, and wake up to Kaa from the Jungle Book giving you a hug. But, again, I'm assured that these are not that big, when it comes to pythons, and very well-mannered. In fact, one of them, the seven foot dude, has been to several parties that Mr. Snake Oil himself has been at. I'm told he's essentially a classroom snake. Every few nights I'm awoken by the same nightmare of the "Bluto" snake picking off kindergartners one by one in a small schoolroom.
Although the tour ended there, it was far from the last of my close encounters with the scaly kind.
I have been interning this summer in the great Pioneer Valley and I have to say, despite the heat and lack of A/C, this is a beautiful place. However, it is important that I preface what I mean by "this." I mean the Valley and sure as hell not my house. This blog is, if you don't know me and haven't heard some of the stories by now, my way of documenting the crazy. Everyday I will try to post twice; once with a story from the past few weeks and once with a more recent story, hopefully from the same day. You're probably thinking, "Damn Chris, just how many stories are there?" I said I could write a whole screenplay, dammit.
As we pulled into the driveway I truly had no idea what to expect. I had, after all, resorted to using Craigslist and had not had a chance to see the place properly. I was terrified that upon arrival the tenants would pretend to never had heard of me and turn my ass out on the street, only after having deposited my rent check days prior. In retrospect, I was worrying about the complete wrong thing. Its not until you walk into the house that you realize something might be off, as you are greeted, depending upon where you enter, by rats and snakes or a big ass tortoise named Bob. No matter where you enter, though, you are instantly assailed by an odor that bites the nostrils. Much like a snake would, I imagine, if you tried to sniff him.
By the time I bump into my first housemate I've seen more creatures then the advertised python and two cats. Its The Dude incarnate. He's high and, I didn't realize it at the time, he tries to warn me to get the hell out before its too late. But, I don't listen. Instead, I work my way past the second water monitor and towards my room upstairs. I pass cats, turtles, and geckos. I finally make it to my room and, much to my relief, the room is set up to house only one animal: myself.
When I get back downstairs, I meet the snake oil merchant who got me in this mess. He graciously agrees to show me around the place and introduces me to all the animals. I should sue his ass for conveniently forgetting to show me ALL of the damn animals, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I meet the Argus monitor. Or rather, I meet his housing enclosure; Mr. Snake Oil explains that Argus is very skiddish and doesn't like being seen. Next on the hit parade are the pythons, curiously placed in a loft above a sofa; perhaps to facilitate feeding events. Just sit, doze off, and wake up to Kaa from the Jungle Book giving you a hug. But, again, I'm assured that these are not that big, when it comes to pythons, and very well-mannered. In fact, one of them, the seven foot dude, has been to several parties that Mr. Snake Oil himself has been at. I'm told he's essentially a classroom snake. Every few nights I'm awoken by the same nightmare of the "Bluto" snake picking off kindergartners one by one in a small schoolroom.
Although the tour ended there, it was far from the last of my close encounters with the scaly kind.
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