Only here will you find the Decemberists used to make Curt Schilling references. The things we do to kill time before the Biggest Game Ever.
A colony of ladybugs has taken up residence on the fire escape outside the Pulse office. No complaints there; the little red beetles are pleasant company on my smoke breaks -- and, as centuries-old folklore has it, they are a sure harbinger of good fortune. Which brings me to my point: this afternoon, as I twitched my way through a cigarette, nine ladybugs alighted on my Red Sox jersey. Another perched on the back of my neck, the eleventh landed on my pants, and ladybug number 12 nestled at the top edge of my beard -- indeed, the selfsame beard that I have not trimmed since this series began.
I can only take this as a good sign.
Posted by mesh at October 20, 2004 05:29 PM | TrackBackThis is what Barry Graham had to say about the same topic, only one day after your post:
Rural living...
A friend had warned me that around here, in the fall, the ladybugs come indoors to die. She wasn't kidding.
As I write this, there are at least a thousand ladybugs in my living room. I've given up on vacuuming them up, because, instantly, more appear to replace them. Apparently there's nothing to be done but wait for it to pass, but it feels like a horror movie - a Biblical plague of ladybugs instead of locusts. I only just got done with the summer battle against the fruit flies...
I tremble to imagine what kind of invasion the winter will bring.
Seriously. The man is relentless.
Posted by: Bill at October 22, 2004 03:00 AM