more than the sum of my parts

I’ve recently been reminded of a couple of unpleasant incidents from 20+ years ago — deeply creepy encounters that caused me to step back and reexamine the degree to which certain people will take advantage of another human in a vulnerable condition.

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This weekend I learned a disturbing new term: first-person shooter.

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Recently, I did several things I've never done before:

• Put my own worms on a fishhook
• Removed from the fishhook the fish that I caught
• Tied a new lure and hook onto the fishing line
• Filleted multiple fish

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the good

If you live anywhere near New Albany and you have pets, then your veterinarian should be Dr. Hesse at Ridgeview Animal Clinic. Period. End of discussion.

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In Spaceballs, Mel Brooks' spoof of Star Wars, one scene finds the vain and arrogant Princess Vespa running for her life from enemy soldiers. As she approaches the safety of Lone Starr's flying Winnebago, a laser blast zips past her ear. She spins around, hand to her head, eyes flashing, and exclaims, "My hair! He shot my hair! Son of a bitch…" Seizing the nearest weapon, she proceeds to mow down the opposing forces with a ferocity that Barf (Lone Starr's sidekick) admits is "Not bad—for a girl."

This scene came instantly to mind today as I prowled the dark corridors of the laser-tag maze at Renaissance Fun Park, and the first laser shot hit me. "You've been hit!" a robotic voice said. And I was ticked.

I've never played laser tag before—only watched. But in honor of my son's 11th birthday, I took to the smoky arena, phaser in hand, using the alias Catwoman. I started out a little uncertain, sticking close to my daughter's side; but once I'd been hit by some stranger's laser shot, I was armed and dangerous. Aim, shoot, duck, run, spin, hide… I had a great time.

Hey, can we go again soon?