Dear Miss Manners,

I’m wondering what the proper etiquette is for interacting with the homeless guy who picks through my garbage every morning. Should I separate my waste into categories – rotten fruit, credit card receipts, housewares – for easier scavenging? Should I skirt past that “I’m 90% sure you’re the guy who stole my bike last week” issue in order to make small talk? Should I wait until he’s gone to take out the trash? What if he’s set up shop and has been inventorying the contents of the dumpster for the past hour and I really want to take the kitchen garbage out because it’s stinky?

Please advise.

as andy points out, the creepy-crawly of last night’s adventure was likely actually a millipede, rather than a centipede, and therefore not poisonous, and didn’t look nearly so fearsome once his legs were curled up in a death pose. anyway. as far as i’m concerned, the more legs it’s got, the more creepy it is.

my heart is still pounding from the sheer terror of having tracked and killed the largest centipede that any one has ever found in their house outside of a south american jungle. zeke was instrumental in the tracking portion, but it was essential to keep him from actually catching and eating his prey, since aren’t those things poisonous? ugg. is this what passes for summer in chicago? the weather is mild and giant insects invade our apartments? all those wiggly legs, just racing to and fro on my dining room floor. the carcass is now trapped underneath a glass (just in case the swift blow from a rolled copy of The Reader wasn’t enough) so that disposal can be handled by the third member of this household upon his return from rehearsal. zeke has the radiator under careful surveillance, just in case the creepy-crawly or any of his creepy-crawly friends should make another appearance tonight.

the new and improved blogger informs me that i have posted 483 messages to slithy tove since taking blogger on. my goodness. 483 snide little essays. right now (and i mean the past 9 months or so) we are fighting sheer exhaustion and have had very little time to post, but the internal critic hasn’t been put to rest.

lately when i’m out in public and feeling crowded and grouchy, nasty critical thougths about strangers’ fashion sense ring through my head. like, to the woman whose ankles are rolling on her 4″ pointy-toed shoes: “your feet hate you.” or, “whoever told you that that orange lipstick looks great on you is not your friend.” or, “hmm. yeah. those mirrored sunglasses? they don’t hide the double chin.” but let’s be honest: i have ZERO fashion sense, so it’s not like i’m exempt from this game, as i look down at my feet on the train and discover that i wore the black socks with the white sneakers again. “what’s up, seinfield?”

i’m in idaho! it’s 64 degrees outside at 2 in the morning! the night air smells of summer – of wet grass and warm earth and fields of sage and mint. which is an improvement over the chilly smell of urine and industrial disinfectant of the el platforms.

may day dawned cold, drizzly, and grey in Chicago this morning. i have borne the chicago winter thus far, but now i’d like to file a formal complaint. i mean, i was prepared for, and endured, 6 full months of winter, but now that it’s may, c’mon, let the other seasons have a turn. the trees and teenage girls seem equally determined: fragile blossoms and baby leaves are blown this way and that, mini skirts and flip-flops adorn bare legs red with the cold. myself, i find something absurd about wearing polar fleece and my winter hat out in may. did i move to chicago, or iceland?

in protest i am spending four days in idaho next week, where spring has arrived. desert sunshine, i miss you so.

everywhere i went today i was confronted by people hassled by their children: single mothers whose attention-starved kids are making her toothache worse, babies that cry because even babies know that there’s something inhuman about the roar of subway tunnels, shy kids that tug at mom’s coat sleeves when she’s trying to pay the dentist.

as i escaped the noisy, chaotic street for the tranquility of my apartment, i breathed a sigh of relief: thank god i don’t have any children. as if in response, zeke gulped down his dinner and promptly projectile vomited it all over the window. and then headed back to the food dish to see if he could have another snack.

disgusting creature.

let this day go down in history as the first time during a tech that I actually got to take my dinner break, instead of spending the hour frantically re-writing paperwork or repairing props or something.

to be honest, i wasn’t really sure what to do with myself. i ate my usual Tupperware Special for dinner, tried to nap but the dressing room settee was too short and made my neck ache, tried to read a novel but kept feeling like there was something i should be doing, so i killed half a hour chatting with my intern and now i’m posting to my blog. it figures. i finally get an hour off and the freedom simply perplexes me.

zeke started out the day with the breakfast of champions: my birthday roses. later today he threw up bits of the roses in every room in the apartment.

4 days without hot water will cause one to sing hallelujah when the water heater finally gets repaired. the building manager was kind enough offer us showers courtesy of the Abbot Hotel next door, however, given the choice between having a cold shower & bad hair and setting (naked) foot inside the dodgy transient hotel, i opted for the former. i’ve seen enough youth hostel showers for a lifetime.