The Illustrated Encyclopedia of an Imaginary Universe

Watched The Mist today. Seemed appropriate for such a gray and rainy day. Honestly, I was mostly disappointed in it. It was a story that didn’t seem to translate well to the screen and the lead actor was well-fit to be in a Star Wars prequel and not much else. Then, I randomly came across someone on the Internet claiming that Frank Darabont, the director, had meant the movie to be shown in black and white. Intrigued, I completely desaturated my television and watched the final half in black and white. It made the difference. An unbelievable difference.

And the final fifteen minutes of the film? Well, they speak for themselves, don’t they? Easily the best ending of a movie that I’ve seen in a long, long time. And, I’m glad I saw it in black and white. It wouldn’t have been the same in color. Funny how that works.

Overall, it’s not a great movie but the ending saves all the missteps that come before it. Just make sure to watch it in black and white.

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When our house was repainted recently, our painter informed us of a nest of Vespula yellow jackets in the narrow strip of yard between our house and the next door neighbor’s. Today, I spent an unusual amount of time watching them from one of the dining room windows. Five would arrive, spiralling swiftly to an area of earth just out of my vision blocked by the undergrowth there, and three more would erupt. This happened constantly, busier than any airport. It was a nonstop procession down into the hidden kingdom and back out again.

I’m not sure why I found it so fascinating but, thoughout the day, I returned to the window again and again to watch their ceaseless business. I wanted one of them to pause momentarily so I could get a better look at them; or, better yet, to alight briefly on the window itself. I even briefly, dumbly, considered going outside and standing nearby so I could have a better look at their lair. I did not do this, of course, but I really wanted to. Even though only maybe five feet or so separated me from the spinchter of their waspish capital, it didn’t seem like I was close enough. I wanted to see more.

I didn’t, of course. Else I wouldn’t be writing so casually about them and would be writing much more smartly about their swift and unforgiving waves of defense and the weeping casualties it would have most certainly left across my skin.

I know that I need to pressure the owner to do something about it. I know from experience that yellow jacket nests do not resolve themselves; they do not get bored and move on. Once rooted, they will stay unless they suffer predation of some sort and, in this case, that predation needs to come in the form of a professional. I, certainly, have no plans to wander out there bravely with a long-range can of Raid with any expectation of positive results. I’m not crazy.

But, for now, I will occasionally stop at the window and watch them and their earnest and thoughtless industry with great curiosity.