Subject: We are the Possessed
Great news, everyone. The hairworm is a parasite that seeks at all costs to be consumed by a cricket. It takes a circuitous route—first, a hairworm larva ideally lets itself get eaten by a mayfly larva, which then, if fortune smiles kindly, reaches adulthood, makes it onto land, and promptly gets ingested by a cricket. To complete its lifecycle, the hairworm has to make it back to water, so it starts mind-controlling its cricket. The infected cricket becomes obsessed with water, in spite of being unable to swim, and can do little else but seek out ponds and puddles.
It’s far from the only parasite that can have these kind of behavior-altering effects. There’s a type of flatworm that make snails climb out onto bare branches and waggle their antenna at passing birds. Toxoplasma gondii causes rats to seek out cats. And, although it has been classified as mostly harmless to humans unless pregnant or immune-compromised, Toxoplasma gondii can infect us and generally remains present in a human’s system for the rest of their life. In fact, at least 30% of people worldwide are infected.
Sure, rigorous scientific studies on the subject have shown that the parasite is not associated with behavioral changes in humans. The scientists involved know vastly more about every aspect of this than I do, but that’s not going to stop me. In the face of overwhelming scientific data, nevertheless I am persisting. What if, just putting this out there, what if no one can observe any behavior differences in those infected with T. gondii because the parasite’s effects have already become thorougly embedded in our culture? Laying in bed, looking at strangers’ cats online for hours is considered normal behavior.
I present the following evidence. When Tita, my loving partner, wakes me up in the morning, my standard response is to grumble and roll over. On the other hand, should my cat Stevie wake me, more often than not by putting all of her 14 pounds directly into one of my nipples, I wake immediately. “Good morning, perfect angel, love of my life,” I coo into her furry face. In spite of searing discomfort, I do my best to remain completely still, so as not to disturb her from settling her chonk into my chest and suffocating me lightly, perfectly.
Although I can’t recall getting any of my friends birthday presents this year, I knew exactly what I wanted to do for Stevie’s birthday weeks in advance. I skipped doing anything for Halloween so that I could make her salmon ice cream. Sometimes I find myself gazing at her thinking, she looks just like Beyonce. Other times, wow, if Emma Watson and I had a child, she would look just like this. I am not sure if you are aware of this, but my cat looks 0% like Beyonce or any other human celebrity, because she is a cat.
Looking at anonymous cats online brings me a pleasure that is at least as great as, if not greater than, spending time with my loved ones, engaging in hobbies I enjoy, succeeding at my job, or doing anything that is legitimately fun or enriching. I know I’m not alone in this, because the cat videos I’m watching have millions of likes. I’m not saying we’re all possessed by a parasite, but how would we tell?
Before I got Stevie, thoughts of cats did not dominate my conscious mind. As you may recall from last month’s newsletter, I used to have many rich interests such as lizards, eco-terrorism, and The Sea. Which conveniently brings me to my next segue. As promised, I will continue my forray into the past, excavating the journals of my elder teen years for your enjoyment.
The Past: More Recent than Before
2004
Here we have a journal made and given to me by an old family friend, who was at various times to me a babysitter, art teacher, and an ally, now tragically deceased as of a few years ago. What did I, a sensitive teen, choose to do with this thoughtful and precious gift? Ah yes, I filled it entirely with erotica, some autobiographical, some wishful thinking, starring me and my girlfriend. Unlike many porn films, I don’t even bother with an intro here. Flat out first page, I launch into describing my first sexual experience.
I could use any number of euphemisms to convey what happened last night — I was deflowered, she took my innocence, home run, I became a woman, whatever. I prefer to say she fucked me, and fucked me well she did. I don’t really feel any different. Well, except for the burning in my crotch that I should get checked out by a gynecologist.
Wow, 17-year-old me. Sometimes I watch teen shows that feature brooding protoganists who journal at the audience in voiceover, and I’m annoyed with how unrealistic the narration is and how out of touch the screenwriters must be. Then I read this shit, written by me, a former teen, and I realize that it is I who is both vastly under- and over-estimating the teenage worldview.
Reading this journal now, I oscillate between being impressed with my emotional maturity in certain paragraphs, and being filled with the cringiest sort of shame during the other 95% of it. I start to get optimistic when I read about teen me recognizing that I can’t rescue anyone else and that I can’t make decisions on behalf of my gf. That optimism is quickly squashed, when I read a scenario in which I describe having sex in a lacrosse uniform as “a scrumptious day” and use the horrifyingly trite phrase, “waves of pleasure.”
2005/2006
This is the first of many such unassuming, 3-subject notebooks that contain everything: creative writing, partial letters, to-do lists, class notes, and comics. Chronology in this notebook in unclear beyond the fact that I am now in college. Nearly half of the pages in it are missing, completely torn out and expunged from the record. I have to assume that this was my doing at a similar juncture, when I was going through the past and realizing just how much incriminating material I have floating around.
Whichever me it was that had the wisdom to destroy the evidence must have already been old enough to understand it wasn’t past me that needed to be feared, but future me—who was, and continues to be, capable of any amount of emotional exhibitionism for a scrap of validation.
The beginning of this notebook (which was, in fact, once somewhere in the middle, an in medias res situation that pretentious 19-year-old Humanities-loving Nome would have appreciated) gives us several mysteries to work with. In large all-caps HIPSTER, followed smaller by “Achtung Baby”, which is the name of a U2 album. The greatest mystery here is that in spite of this damning evidence, I have not ever, to my knowledge, intentionally listened to a U2 album. The other gem is a draft of a note I ended up sending, the mystery of which is why did I think this was a good idea?
Dear 9th Street Video Girl (with hat),
Would you like to come get some go out for cereal with me?
That parenthetical (with hat) really gets me. I love that it didn’t occur to me to ask her name before asking her out, and I love that this was, in my mind, her most salient feature. I must shamefully admit that I wrote this note in chalk outside her place of work, along with my phone number. Somehow, miraculously, she took me up on the offer, and we awkwardly ate cereal together in the back of the video store and then never spoke again.
What follows are a lot of class notes, musings on art and gender, drawings of rats drinking PBR, an exposition on the delights of partying, sketches of tattoo ideas, and this chain of logic that could not be any more obviously written by a college student:
Modesty causes cancer → Corollary: Awesomeness prevents cancer → Corollary: smoking, like the rest of life, is all about looking cool → Corollary: who needs college when you have booze and cigarettes?
But the absolute winner of this entire notebook is a three page spread of a bdsm negotiation form that I created with a friend who is a subscriber to this very newsletter. I’m honestly not even sure what’s the best part. Is it the complete earnestness with which I rated my interest in activities I had never tried, giving a strong yes to blood sports and a hard no to anal? Is it our nerdy desire to list out every possible sexual activity we could imagine, oftentimes with awkward phrasing such as “dildo using” and “porn watching”?
All of that is great, but my favorite part is around the bottom of page 2, when we start to run out of obvious sexual activities and try getting creative. There’s some heavy editing here, and about half the entries are crossed out. “Chanting”, “Having Animals Watch”, and “Romance” are all goners, “Genital Torture” is followed by a large question mark, but “Cuddling”, “Fire Play”, and “Hair Shaving” make the cut. I can’t even feel embarrassed by any of this, because our naive enthusiasm is honestly charming as fuck.
🤠Aw heck! We didn't even make it to 2007. Guess you're gonna have to stay subscribed to this newsletter if you want another sweet taste of public humiliation ⏳👅💋
Ask a Gecko some Cats RICARDO THE RACCOON!!!
For the last three nights, Ricardo the raccoon has been coming to our bedroom window to say hello. This is a dream come true for Tita and I, obviously, but it was clear that Ricardo also had a dream. When I placed my hand against the window, and he stood on his hind legs and placed his very hand-like paw on the other side of the glass, I immediately understood that he wanted to be a guest columnist for the newsletter. How long has he been trying to get our attention? The large pile of feces on the edge of the roof suggests that he's been cold-calling regularly, and dedicated to getting his shot at fame.
Dear Gecko and/ or Some Cats,
I have recently fallen pregnant! I have been thinking a lot about what to name this baby growing inside me once it arrives in May. How do you suggest I go about picking a name for them?
Thanks for the help.
With anticipation,
"Nameless in Oakland"
Dear NO,
You've come to the right raccoon. Ricardo has a time-tested method for answering all difficult questions, and he suggests you try it for yourself.
- Eat a lot of grapes. As many grapes as possibly can. More grapes than you ever thought possible.
- Lay down outside on a soft blanket, and take a nap beneath the stars.
- As soon as you wake up, take a shit on someone else's roof. (optional but recommended)
- Now, relax and hopefully a name will come to you. If not, consider eating more grapes.
After all that, if you still haven't thought of a good name, Ricardo notes that Ricardo is an excellent name. Otherwise, a numbering scheme is an excellent way to keep track of your litter.
Want to ask some creature in my vicinity for advice? 🙏🏼 Have an exciting link you want to share with the world my 16 23 other subscribers? 👉Send a letter to the editor: nome@nome.land