Rain

Last week I was listening to Blind Melon's No Rain because it was depressingly sunny outside and I wanted the rain to come back. Remember that little girl in the bee costume? I even brought my umbrella to work on a perfectly sunny day; and endured a lot of ridicule for it. Wishful thinking. Well, today I got my wish and right now it's pouring!

I've always loved the rain. I'm sorry that my blog has taken such a sappy direction. Love, nostalgia, etc. But some people are liking it and that's all I've got right now, so we'll see where this goes. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, rain...

I like the way rain sounds from inside a tent. Or against a window. We don't get to hear rain like that, here, though. We just hear cars outside violently swishing through puddles on California Street.

Since it was raining, Kj and I decided to go for a walk. Like I said, I like the rain, but it seems like most people don't. I think you're not supposed to like the rain, or something. You're supposed to dread it like, "Oh man... it's gonna rain!" And everyone around you is supposed to groan in agreement. I think it's related to the "Good, how are you?" effect. Or facing the door in elevators. It's a social norm and it's best to not be a weirdo.

But here I am, defiantly declaring my weirdoness. A friend and I used to go downtown and face the wrong way in elevators too. People do not like that!

You know who has a good reason for hating rain? A turkey. Wait no, that's one of those conventional absurdities. It's not true. Like how eskimos have a thousand words for snow. I bet turkeys actually like the rain. It's a shower. We take showers for granted.

But you know who really has a good reason for hating rain? An earthworm. Those poor things. To them, rain is a catastrophic flood of their otherwise peaceful and quiet subterranean homes. Worms really dread the rain. They say to each other, "Oh worm... It's gonna rain! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!" Do worms run? Slither? Wiggle? I guess they wiggle.

So they wiggle out onto the sidewalk: perhaps the second worst place on earth for an earthworm. How many worms have you squished with your bike tire? You're probably blissfully unaware of 99% of them. And I don't know about you, but I pulled literally dozens of worms apart as a kid. Have you ever baited a fishing hook with a live worm? Of course you have. Everyone has. What a horrible thing to do! You should be ashamed.

Why do they just lie there on the sidewalk? Maybe those are just the dumb ones. Maybe the smart ones are hidden in the grass.

If those dumb ones happen to survive the storm on the pavement -- with its barrage of bicycles, sadistic kids, and baitless fishermen -- they're still totally screwed! Because the sun will come out. And what happens when the sun comes out? They get fried! Right onto the sidewalk! They melt into a 2-dimensional shadow of a worm.

Kjersti pointed out to me on our walk tonight that the one redeeming, enviable quality about a worm is that it can split into two worms. That it can not only survive some of those trials I described, but it can double its own population in the process. Maybe the smart half can wiggle its way to the lawn.

Confession: One time I sent away my hard earned allowance for a Sega Genesis game called Earthworm Jim. It never came. I checked the mail every day, literally for months. To this day I haven't played the game. Don't ever send cash in the mail. Especially to some fly-by-night catalog in the back of a videogame magazine.