The NERVOUS STOMACH Series: Ego-Strategy 25 — FORTY-TWO

Posted: August 18, 2013 in The NERVOUS STOMACH Series

Thursday, May 22, 2008

The NERVOUS STOMACH Series: Ego-Strategy 25 — FORTY-TWO
Current mood: Alien
Category: Alien Life

Okay, I turned forty-two this week which, if I were twenty-one, would only be half as much fun.  But I am forty-two, so I head out to have a night on the town.  Cooper, my furry spitz-husky, trails behind as he is known to do, sniffing at the bushes and bags of grass clippings at the curb. 

The lilacs are in full bloom — it’s been just cold enough out that they’ve stayed in bloom for over a week.  Which is great, ’cause they are still around for my birthday, which seemed questionable seven days ago. 

I wander toward the East End — my town’s collegy hot spot.  While I walk, I talk to Cooper about the Web site I want to put up with famous quotes of things that I made up, things like “Gay men are like teenagers with money” and “Sleeping is like roasting on a spit — you just turn over and over until you are good and done.” 

But I only get halfway through my idea when we are stopped in the middle of the planetarium parking lot.  Something is flashing at the top of the dome on the planetarium — the place where every first-grader in my city goes to learn about the stars and see “Little Green Arrow” point out the constellations. 

Tonight, it’s not Little Green Arrow, it’s disco-dancing aliens.  Not figuratively, literally. There are six or seven little green men dancing around on the top of the planetarium dome.  They’re wearing high heels, I note without thinking.  In the background, I hear Irene Cara’s “Flashdance, What a Feeling” booming.

“What the f?” I say to Cooper, curbing my language in front of my puppy-dog.  He begins to bark furiously. 

The six (or seven) little green men, who I now realize are NOT green, they are more like a brownish-beige, all stop dancing and stare at me.  Too late, I recognize that they are not here to celebrate, they are actually using their disco ritual to poke miniscule holes in the roof of the planetarium.  It’s an insidious plot to confuse all of the first graders of my town.  By poking holes in the planetarium’s roof, the stars will appear distorted and malformed for all of the subsequent tours.  Of course, this misinformation to my city’s youth will give these aliens an edge up when they try to dominate earth in the years to come.

With a tremendous cry, I rush at the curved roof of the planetarium, preparing to save my city from this ominous threat.  Cooper, sensing my forty-two year old physical limitations, rushes ahead and knocks various barriers out of my running path — a traffic cone, a discarded banana peel, a crumpled map of the Andromeda Galaxy.  In one daring leap, I clear the grassy knoll at the edge of the parking lot and scramble up the outside of the planitarium’s shell.

The seven (or six) aliens are prepared for my frontal assault — they pull three hefty laser-like guns from beneath their web-like clothing and take aim.  “Cooper, now!” I yell, managing, even with my forty-two year old knees, a quick dive to the right, with a duck and roll.  Cooper, at my command, bites cleanly through the main power cable feeding the entire campus.  Darkness descends like a blanket as laser blasts shoot wildly through the night.

It’s not clear to me later just how I managed to get the six (there were six, actually, not seven — I counted when I shoved them through the portal of their tiny pod-ship) aliens subdued.  It had something to do with their laser shots giving away their location, their natural aversion to pre-1980 disco music (I blasted “Dancing Queen” by Abba from my Palm Treo — it brought them to their knees) and Cooper’s enthusiastic barking, which appeared to disrupt their mental processes (but I’ll cut ’em some slack on that one — Cooper’s continued barking can interrupt MY mental processes if left unchecked). 

Regardless of the exact details, within the hour, all six of them were rocketing back past the outer rings of Saturn, cursing the day they’d ever visited Earth. 

After the planetarium society repaired their roof, after the mayor and state’s democratic senator congratulated both of us (the republican senator refused to attend, saying encouraging such aggressive tactics on public property only led to higher taxes and larger government) I turn to Coop.  “Let’s go get some birthday ice cream, Boy” I say, heading for the blizzard stand on Park   Ave.  “After all, we’re not getting any younger!”

His tail wags in enthusiastic agreement.

    For FUN, I put my stuff at
For SERIOUS, I put my stuff at 
I invite you to visit my stuff.


Currently listening :
  ABBA – Gold:   Greatest Hits
  Release date: 1993-09-21     

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