I woke up this morning with strange red bruises on my left arm. Normally, I'd shrug it off as bite marks from bed mites, but nothing on the sheets to support that. The next step was tracing my steps over the past 48 hours where I have been hit by anything. Nothing turned up there either. The only conclusion is that intelligent alien beings are trying to communicate with me, or maybe twisting my arms.I'm not ashamed to admit, I'm a big believer of UFOs, witches and vampires. In high school, I gobbled up all the books by Erich Von Daniken, and tried to sharpen razor blades by putting them inside cardboard pyramids (it didn't work). On my trip to Bolivia, I went to Samaipata to check out this rock that is mentioned in Chariot of the Gods. Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures of me and "the rock" because the film was destroyed (magnetic field? hmm).
Vampires put me to sleep when I was around 9-10. My sister just read the Dracula book, and she used to narrate the story every night before we drifted off to sleep. For a long time, I couldn't close the curtains because a vampire might be lurking behind. Now, thanks to a blinking ALICO sign that flashes in red and white
a bit outside my window at home, I have to at least close half the curtain.
Last night, at dinner with Amnesty, I shocked her by revealing that I've seen all 178 episodes of Charmed (thanks to Star World reruns). Yes, there were exciting guest appearances, including my favorite, Julian McMahon (now in Nip/Tuck) to maintain my interest. But time and again, i tried to come up with chants that rhymed, and failed miserably. Here's a case in point:
That burger will go to my tummy/and it will taste yummy/ and the fat will not add to my bummy. (well, maybe it's better sounding in bangla... not)
What is it about the unknown that really captures our imagination? My hypothesis is that when people started going overseas in the 1400s, they were disappointed to find that the search for intelligent life only led to more Al bundy's across the continent who would sit idly in front of a bonfire with his arm slid into his pants. In 100 years, we would travel to areas beyond Proxima Centauri 4.22 light years away, and find that the red dwarf is mostly full of alien shoe salesmen who insist on producing matching tentacle covers sold in ten-packs, and sit idly all day trying to avoid their overbearing mothers. Now that would be a buzz killer, right?
I'll take fantasy over reality any day.
