A Christmas buzz.

I was thinking about Santa the other day. Guess a lot of people do, at this time of year. My thoughts weren't full of anticipation of the gift wrapped delights he might bestow upon me this festive season, however. Santa and I are no longer on speaking terms. Irreconcilable differences. Tis safe to say he won't be making his way down my chimney, or back onto my Christmas card list, anytime soon.

Anyhoo, I was thinking about him cos I was wondering if the jolly old chap ever tires of his attire. If he ever craves a makeover. I know his devotees expects him to wear a red and white ensemble, but sometimes it's good to shake things up a bit. To challenge those stereotypes. Besides, not everyone can wear red.

NB, I'm not saying Santa doesn't suit his suit...I would never be so audacious, I'm merely suggesting a change might do him good. It's nice to have options. And I have the perfect alternative outfit for his wardrobe in mind--a bumble bee costume! Imagine that! A stripey Santa! How cute would that bee...

And of course, Donna and Blitzen, and Rudolph and all the other reindeer whose names I can't quite recall at this point in time...how adorable would they look with matching outfits... Their horns could easily be transformed to look like antennae.

The symbolism would be spot on, cos we all know how hardworking bumblebees are, and the reindeer can fly too, in defiance of the laws of physics...and they give children everywhere a Christmas morning buzz...and they probably deliver a fair few teddy bears...

Can you picture it too? Thought so. That's settled then. I shall write Santa another letter, not requesting presents, or complaining about the duds he has dished out in Christmases past, but one with my well thought out makeover plans.

Best if I send it a.s.a.p., as it will probably take a while to stitch those new costumes. Especially the antennae for the reindeers' horns...I'm guessing they will have to be custom made. Of course, the elves will need matching bumble suits too...since they're a hive of activity and all that...

Curiously enough, the politicians in my country reside in a building called The Beehive, but that's where the resemblance to flying balls of cuteness ends...

On the subject of bumbles, I've had to implement rescue plans for quite a lot of them lately. The most dramatic--a bumble was lying on his back waving his little legs about frantically, in the middle of a driveway...the entrance to the supermarket, would you believe. Yikes. There was no time to dither with that intervention. I'm relieved to say that when my finger appeared in his visual field, bumble features latched on without hesitation and was airlifted to the safety of a nearby garden.

Bugs in love.

Romance is in the air again, in Stick Insect Metropolis. Don't these two just look like they were made for each other...

Yoga for bugs.

My verandah seems to be very popular with the stick insect community. Couldn't help but notice this lass doing a headstand;

When I checked on her the next day she was practicing more advanced poses in her yoga routine. This position doesn't look very comfortable to me; 

Not from this angle either;

Or this one;

Rest assured I kept a close eye on her to make sure she didn't venture into the foot traffic area. Luckily the birds didn't notice her yogic stretches. On the third day I was relieved to see she had moved into a more spine friendly position;

And on the fourth day she did the upside down sticky thing that they do so well;

Climbing the walls.

I'm used to seeing bugs in strange places. All the same, I would've liked to have perused a copy of this sticky's itinerary. Where was he heading? Other than up the wall... Was he planning to go around the bend too? He's right beside my front door, so maybe he just stopped by to say hello...

His side profile is also quite fetching;

That little dark spot on the wall to his right is a moth. Maybe they made the trip together, an insect bonding thing. Or a competition...

Just to give you an idea of how far up the wall Mr Sticky and his winged companion were;

The light is just above my head, so it's quite an epic journey for a bug.

Later on that day, the sun offered another photo opportunity--a bug and his shadow! Yay! 

Btw, that's a bit of garden debris attached to his bottom, just in case you were wondering. It could, of course, also be the insect equivalent of a fashion accessory;

Once again, my subject showed how versatile a bug can be when a photo opportunity presents itself;

Work that camera, sticky;

I was faced with the familiar dilemma I experience whenever I see a bug far from their natural habitat...do I intervene? Provide some assistance? 

I've seen praying mantises climb the walls, presumably to lay eggs, but I do believe this sticky is a boy...and I was concerned about where he might end up, like underfoot. (Don't worry, I wrote myself a note--on a sticky of the other kind, actually--to remind myself to check for wayward stickys before setting foot outside...)

He stayed in this spot for two days, and then, sure enough, my safety concerns were realised when I opened the door the next morning and found him sitting on the actual doorstep. As much as I like to be greeted first thing by an adorable bug, nevertheless, intervention was most definitely required.

I hope sticky approved of the flax bush I put him on...

Raspberry maiden.

Dishes are not my idea of fun...unless while doing them I glance out my window and spy an exquisite creature like this lass. Perfect excuse to swap the dishcloth for an image capturing device instead, of course. How could I resist.

She--assuming I have made an accurate gender diagnosis--is dangling from a raspberry cane, seemingly effortlessly. I don't think I could dangle like that for very long, if at all. 

In fact, I'm going to rebel against the positive thinking brigade and propose that we should focus more on the things we can't do. And celebrate these things, and the creatures who can do them. In the interests of keeping our egos in check. 

Your challenge, should you accept it, is to spend the following week completing this sentence;

I can't ______ like a _______.

But back to more important things, like clever bugs...

This lass did have an admirer--other than me--a much smaller sticky lurking on an adjacent stem who I assume was of the male persuasion. Talk about a cute couple. Just watch out for those prickles, boy sticky. Not only the ones on the raspberry cane.

 Let's admire her spiny bits close up;

And here's another shot of her doing something that I can't, something remarkable;

Oh Sticky, you're-so-fine, you're-so-fine-you-blow-my-mind, Stick-y! Stick-y!

Laughing out loud.

A good night's sleep is not a concept I am familiar with. I struggle to get to sleep, and it's a mission to stay in The Land of Nod too. There's always something that wakes me up.

It might be the wind, or the rain, or their combined effort. Sometimes it's the sounds of suburbia. Other times it's the electricity meter ticking over. That really gets on my wick.

Then there's the overly dramatic double clunk my fridge makes to alert anyone within earshot that it has cooled itself down sufficiently for the time being. What a clever fridge you are.

Last but not least--as if I really need to say this out loud--there are the convoluted inner workings of my own muddled mind. I'm always finding more rabbit holes to fall into in the wee small hours. My Grandad's nickname for me was Alice, would you believe.

I'm pleased to announce that a new sleep deprivation technique has emerged. My subconscious--bless it--finds something in my inner realm so amusing, that laughter ensues. Not just a minor giggle, but a full on laughing fit.

But it's not just a hysterical session in my dreams, it bleeds into the real(ish) world. I laugh myself awake. Intriguing. It appears to be quite hard, or possibly impossible, to laugh and stay asleep at the same time. Kinda like sneezing and keeping your eyes open, I guess.

It's not just annoying because I really need to maximise my sleep molecules, but also because my subconscious has more than once refused to share the joke. Pretty damn rude of it, if you ask me. While onlookers often have no idea why I'm laughing, I usually do. I think it's important to keep oneself in the loop about these things.

I do remember one mischievous morsel from my smorgasbord of dreams though. I thought I'd share it with you today, in case it makes you laugh too.

I was trying to find somewhere else to live during my waking moments, so my subconscious put its own spin on this storyline.

In my dream I went to check out a place by the ocean. Things were looking promising. The flat was nice. The waves were mesmerising. The landlord seemed like a decent chap. Not shifty. Not sleazy. I saw no hint of disapproval in his face. I got my hopes up. I thought I had found my new abode. 

I was following the guy down the hallway. Polite conversation was present. A couple of steps, mid hallway, were present as well. When I reached them, I took the opportunity to bend down and tie my shoelace. At that precise moment the landlord turned around to say something, stepping back towards me as he did so.

I head-butted him in the crotch.

Mortified, I fell down in a disheveled heap on the steps, laughing uncontrollably. He lurched off into an adjacent room, shutting the door behind him. I could hear him sniggering away in the background, which made me laugh even more. So much in fact, that I laughed myself awake.

It's difficult not to choke while laughing when you're lying down, so I had to put myself into the recovery position until the gigglefest was over.

I'm happy to acknowledge that waking up laughing isn't so bad. It's a jovial way to start the day. Unless the day hasn't actually begun because it's still only 5am... I didn't manage to get back to sleep. Action replay issues.

It's by far the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me--in a dream. At least, I think it is. My subconscious might know more about that than I do. Insider information, so to speak.

I didn't get that flat, obviously. I'm house hunting again though, so will keep a look out for any nice rentals by the ocean. And a look out for steps too, of course. Might wear shoes without laces, just to be on the safe side...

Waiting for the worms...

...is a phrase that has a whole new meaning for me now. A few years back I saw a doco about research into the ability of certain parasites to help those with chronic allergies. The little critters release chemicals that suppress the immune system.

Not for altruistic purposes, obviously. They are called parasites for a reason. They want to hide inside you, and do sneaky blood sucking things without your body knowing what mischief they are making.

Sounds a bit icky, doesn't it. I think the activities and agendas of internal parasites are enough to make most people squirm (alert: this post is gonna get a whole lot worse from this point forward--painful puns and appalling attempts at alliteration abound), but researchers believe that infection with Necator americanus, a.k.a. the humble hookworm, can be an advantage for atopic folk.

Being someone who adores nature, but is highly allergic to most of its offerings, I'm game/desperate enough to give it a go. A sneezeless spring sounds surreal. Imagine how many more bug photos I could take if I didn't have to keep putting my camera down to blow my nose. Kinda hard to even just hold the camera still when a nasal convulsion is pending. My camera does not appear to be waterproof.

In summary, I want to get my hooks into some worms, so they can get their hooks into me.

Not as easy as it sounds, however. My cynical jaded self assures me that parasites are abundant in this world, but I've been told that the species I require is rare this far south. Too cold for them. Typical.

I have made inquiries further up country, but no luck there. The conversation I had with one laboratory terminated abruptly as soon as the question, "why do you want to buy worm eggs?" surfaced. Oh well.

Sourcing the wrigglers myself from overseas, field trip style, like this guy did, doesn't look very promising either. Air fares to Africa are not cheap. And my passport expired ages ago.

I also suspect that getting back into the country with my cargo could prove challenging. If I had one of my laughing fits while waiting in the queue at customs, how suspicious would that make me look. I may be instructed to step aside--and share the joke.

As aforementioned, I don't need a reason to giggle, not a legitimate one at least. The jet lag alone would be enough to set me off. I'm not sure the customs officers would understand this personality quirk.

If they asked me if I was concealing anything internally I would probably hesitate to say no, not because I'm a drug smuggler (because I'm not), but because I'm unsure if one has to declare intestinal parasites. Hookworms are technically a living organism, a foreign one, and our bio security laws are quite strict, with good reason. Economy dependent on agriculture and all that.

They might request that I state the purpose of my trip to Africa. Not hard to imagine the looks on their faces. And if I admitted beforehand on the declaration form that I had some worms with me, they might want to know which bag they are in...

But of course, I would be too busy laughing to form coherent sentences anyway...

I have doubts about the postal service offering a cheaper/safer alternative. Those bio security laws again. No doubt they forbid the direct importation of parasites. And of course, I would have to find an international worm dealer first.

I guess that leaves only one option--harvest some homegrown ones. I shall have to relocate to the other end of the country, preferably to an abode that is near a park, so I can spy on doggies out for walkies. Snoop for poop to scoop.

There might be repercussions, of course, if someone reports my suspicious/weird behaviour. Would the authorities believe my reason for collecting dog doo? Or would they assume I was planning to launch turds at someone?

I can't help but wonder if uplifting poo is one of those grey areas--legally speaking, I mean. Allow me to explain myself...

If I put my rubbish out on rubbish day, it's because it's crap I want to get rid of, but if someone other than the rubbish peeps came and took it away, like a stalker, or a private investigator, then I would not be impressed.

Some dog masters might feel the same, especially if they knew why I wanted it. They might expect remuneration. I may have to pay for poo. 

I confess I find that mildly amusing. I can see the headlines already; "feces theft sparks shit storm," or "stool stealer in deep doo doo."

And of course, it's possible the dogs themselves may object to me coveting their turds. I probably wouldn't stalk pit bulls. Or Pomeranians.

There would be technical issues to consider as well. No doubt costly ones. I'd need a microscope and some textbooks with very accurate pictures of Necator americanus. Performing a positive ID would be paramount.

I'd also need gloves, tweezers and preferably a gas mask... and a flat with a private courtyard where the neighbours can't see--or smell--what I'm doing. One with a bit of soil where I can dig a hole to...you know...bury the bits I don't want to keep...

Uh oh. Getting complicated, again, isn't it...

It's not just the potential health benefits that intrigue me. If everything went according to plan, the worms could generate an income for their host. All I'd have to do is keep harvesting their offspring. I just wouldn't need to forage through dog doo anymore, if you get my drift...

Not  a pleasant process admittedly, but hey, if it helped my allergic disposition then I would want to share the benefits, spread the word...and spread the worms...

And if we put the ick factor aside for a moment, it is the perfect cottage industry, really. Low overheads. No "product" storage costs. Work from home. Portable manufacturing plant/incubator that doesn't need to be plugged into anything (apart from the internet for checking emails and blog stats every now and then.)

Self-sufficient livestock/employees too, very little husbandry required. No need for training programmes either. Their job description is inbuilt. They just do what comes naturally. And I doubt they need sick days. Not sure what the ACC levies would be like...

Sounds suspiciously symbiotic to me.

Plus I like the idea of calling myself a worm farmer. Intensive farming practices are usually incompatible with my world view, but this is one instance where I think it would be okay. Hookworms thrive in a small confined environment. Sunlight is not their friend.

Would make an interesting conversation starter when that, "And what do you do?" question surfaces. Guess it could be a conversation killer also, depending on the disposition of the person doing the asking.

Oh wait...a name for my new enterprise just popped into my head--Book-a-worm.com. I wonder if that url is already taken... I could put a flyer promoting my ebooks in with each egg order, letting my customers know that I'm not just a farmer, but a writer as well......I do like word play...

Guess I'd have to actually publish some of my books first though...darn...I guess I could get busy with that while I'm...you know...waiting for the worms...

I reckon worm farming has the added bonus of also being a patriotic thing to do. Agriculture is our main industry here in little ole NZ. I'd like to do my bit for the economy.

Who knows, maybe in the future instead of being renowned for our surplus of sheep, people will say, "oh yeah, NZ...that's the little country that's crawling with parasites." There's more to us than sheeps, peeps.

If you're wondering why in a post about worms, there are only photos of plants and bugs that are not worms, it's because I don't have any pictures of wrigglers to show you. Yet. And I thought that if talk of worms makes you squirm, you could just ignore my waffle and look at the pictures instead.

Okay, so I must remind myself that parasites are no laughing matter. They're a major health issue for many people around the world. Let's not pretend otherwise.

Some schools of thought suggest that worms make allergy problems worse. Once upon a time I did look into doing a cleanse of the herbal variety, as you do, in case any little lurkers were residing within.

This lead to a very uncomfortable conversation with a woman in a health food shop. I wanted to understand how the concoction she recommended actually worked. She said it didn't kill the worms, it just made them sick...so they would want to leave...kinda like giving them a hangover...

An awkward silence followed.

I wanted soooo much to ask her to elaborate, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I couldn't transform my disturbing thoughts into words. The look on her face, and the carefully positioned pauses in her sentence, clearly indicated that she didn't want me to ask...

I didn't go ahead with the cleanse, btw. Those unanswered questions still bother me though. You don't mind if I them ask out loud, here, in the privacy of my own blog, do you? Be honest with yourself, you need clarification too, don't you...

We know the herbs make the woozy worms want out...but...well...we need a little bit more information than that...like, you know, when....as in, when do they exit the building? When you are ready to open the gates, so to speak...or do they run to their own schedule? Taking advantage of that element of surprise?

Not that worms exactly run, of course, I guess it would be more of a wriggle...which sounds even worse, doesn't it...

I'm afraid I have a thirst for even more details. Do they evacuate one by one, each worm adopting the guise of the lone prisoner who burrows to freedom through the prison sewers, (oh I sooo love that movie, although I may have just permanently soiled my memory of it, oh dear), or is it more the shit hitting the fan scenario, the equivalent of a prison riot, where the rebels use brute force and homemade weapons to break through the barricades?

Are these metaphors working for you? Have I gone too far?

Would you believe it's actually against my religion to resort to toilet humour. Thou shalt not make poo jokes. What have I done... I must repent... If only a wormhole would open up right about now so I could travel back in time and resist the temptation to hit the publish button...