Alas: Destiny
This is the Chicken of Destiny.
This is the Chicken of Destiny at another angle.
His arse.
Making friends with the Chinatownchicken. It's love!
How do I know it is him? I just do. Here's the story:
I finally went on EBay though I had not one stitch of confidence that I could ever find the Grand Chicken of Dreams there. After all, you enter the word "Rooster" and eight thousand listings pop up. Well, EBay has gotten a LOT better since I last used it (to sell my wedding dress)--they now break it down into different categories.
I clicked "ceramics and pottery" and began searching through the 700+ possibilities. I think there were 16 pages total...on page 11 (or so) I saw something that seemed like a possibility. I clicked it. Scrolled down to the enlarged pictures, three at different angles. It was him.
After I fell back to earth, I shook off the shiny-shiny joy and got down to business. Was it expensive? Probably. Did I have a confirmed address? OhGodohGodohGod. No. I emailed my girlfriends, who I will refer to by their superhero names (because they ARE, they ARE): Snarkygirl and Adairdevil. The title of my email was "Now Everybody Just Calm Down," which someone needed to do and it was not my girlfriends. They talked me off the ledge and Adairdevil, being the wonderful, giving, understanding soul that she is, offered to be my EBay go-between as she did, indeed, have the fabled "confirmed address." So we ordered him. And waited.
We got the notice that he was waiting for us at the post office yesterday. Adairdevil, Snarkygirl, and I travelled out to Adairdevil's 'hood on the Godforsaken F Train (heretofore known as the Vomit Express for it was very crowded and I am not quite ready to rub elbows with the masses stacked on masses yet). As we were waiting for him, I watched the bored Post Office employee blithely plop the box down for scanning and felt my inner monkey bare its teeth. But then we opened the little security window and the box was safely in my arms. Alas!
We took a stroll over to the local watering hole (owned and operated by John, other John, and other John's brother, Chuck) and ordered up a round of drinks. I then proceeded to open the box with Adairdevil's keys--it took awhile because the guy had taped the hell out of it. Finally, inside that box was another box--a box made just for my rooster with custom fit styrofoam and everything. We took him out, placed him on the bar, and proceeded to coo at him like he was an infant. The Chicken of Destiny!!
Needless to say, he is now safe at home, well-loved and adored. But the question is: Now that destiny has been fulfilled, what is my purpose? There are no more chickens left to conquer!
This is the Chicken of Destiny at another angle.
His arse.
Making friends with the Chinatownchicken. It's love!
How do I know it is him? I just do. Here's the story:
I finally went on EBay though I had not one stitch of confidence that I could ever find the Grand Chicken of Dreams there. After all, you enter the word "Rooster" and eight thousand listings pop up. Well, EBay has gotten a LOT better since I last used it (to sell my wedding dress)--they now break it down into different categories.
I clicked "ceramics and pottery" and began searching through the 700+ possibilities. I think there were 16 pages total...on page 11 (or so) I saw something that seemed like a possibility. I clicked it. Scrolled down to the enlarged pictures, three at different angles. It was him.
After I fell back to earth, I shook off the shiny-shiny joy and got down to business. Was it expensive? Probably. Did I have a confirmed address? OhGodohGodohGod. No. I emailed my girlfriends, who I will refer to by their superhero names (because they ARE, they ARE): Snarkygirl and Adairdevil. The title of my email was "Now Everybody Just Calm Down," which someone needed to do and it was not my girlfriends. They talked me off the ledge and Adairdevil, being the wonderful, giving, understanding soul that she is, offered to be my EBay go-between as she did, indeed, have the fabled "confirmed address." So we ordered him. And waited.
We got the notice that he was waiting for us at the post office yesterday. Adairdevil, Snarkygirl, and I travelled out to Adairdevil's 'hood on the Godforsaken F Train (heretofore known as the Vomit Express for it was very crowded and I am not quite ready to rub elbows with the masses stacked on masses yet). As we were waiting for him, I watched the bored Post Office employee blithely plop the box down for scanning and felt my inner monkey bare its teeth. But then we opened the little security window and the box was safely in my arms. Alas!
We took a stroll over to the local watering hole (owned and operated by John, other John, and other John's brother, Chuck) and ordered up a round of drinks. I then proceeded to open the box with Adairdevil's keys--it took awhile because the guy had taped the hell out of it. Finally, inside that box was another box--a box made just for my rooster with custom fit styrofoam and everything. We took him out, placed him on the bar, and proceeded to coo at him like he was an infant. The Chicken of Destiny!!
Needless to say, he is now safe at home, well-loved and adored. But the question is: Now that destiny has been fulfilled, what is my purpose? There are no more chickens left to conquer!
posted by Shiny at 9:44 AM
2 Comments:
Two things:
1. I am not a superhero, but I am so glad I was able to help out!
2. Your "what'll I do now?" tone chaps my ass just a tad. You know who I hate? Tennyson's version of Ulysses: an asshole who struggles for so long that when faced with happiness, he has to flee back into the mess and chaos. Fuck him. What do you do when you have achieved your quest? You enjoy your happiness. You realize that achieving your goal is not an end, but a beginning. In Ulysses' case, that would have meant actually enjoying the wife and child who suffered while he went out to recover the fleeing child bride he and a bunch of other assholes made a war pact over. In your case, that means getting to know your chicken--letting him reveal his name to you, seeing what becomes of his friendship with the Chinatownchicken, and generally regarding your rooster-filled future with expectancy rather than fear. "To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield" sounds righteous and vigorous, but it's really just short-sighted, self-defeating dickery.
Meet Adairdevil, Mayor of Crazytown.
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