Pond damsel, Argia translata, the exquisitely purple Dusky Dancer, eatin’ a gnat. Photographed by Twisty in North South Austin yesterday afternoon.
Yes, the life of the postmodern boulevardier is glamorous and stimulating, but a gal can sing songs about snot, vibrators, and
for just so long before menopause starts poking her in the ovaries, tapping its foot and looking at its watch impatiently. “Repair to the countryside, old bat,” is its constant refrain. “Recline by a babbling brook with a margarita and a complete set of Proust. Tempus fugit!”
Tempus isn’t the only thing that fugits. Since the day I retired from my triple career of rocksuperstardom, tavernal aviation, and restaurant-criticking, my geek flag has been fugitting like a herd of migrating Mary Poppinses. I don’t just mean that I own a complete boxed set of Star Trek DVDs. It’s much worse than that.
In fact, I have become an amateur odonatist.
I mean, one desires pure idleness and absolute torpor in one’s declining years, but one doesn’t want to fester. Occasionally the brain must be stimulated–although certainly no more frequently than once a month–if for no other reason than to keep people from sticking feeding tubes into it. Plus, if your Proust is going to last out the decade, it had better be punctuated with plenty of quality dilly-dallying. As something of an expert in the field, you can take it from me: the best way to dilly-dally is to follow damselflies around and watch them eat gnats.