A Guide for Flies and Spiders
Weaving the Web of the Future to Catch the Joy of Every Present Moment
Today we are pleased to share the voice of a Fresh and Modern Prude, Sonja Marmalade. Each summer, Sonja arrives in our somber midst to work at Rubella’s coffee shop, blowing in like a tropical breeze, and bringing with her sunshine, flowers and the occasional typhoon. (Most recently, she introduced Charlotte Collins to “Cranford,” from which trauma our beloved Prude is still recovering.) Though she remains unconvinced as to the value of writing essays, she was persuaded to lend her youthful perspective to the Prudes, for which we are eternally grateful.
Then he came out his door again, and merrily did sing, Come hither, hither pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing; Your robes are green and purple--there's a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, while mine are dull as lead.
If you have ever remembered an old rhyme from childhood and thought, “what aromatic plant was this guy smoking when he thought this up?” you are on your way to purging the past so the future doesn’t leave you behind. I only wish I could have written the following article to my younger self so that I never would have wasted so much time, money, and energy on painstakingly learning written stuff that in a few short years has become, let’s face it guys, simply irrelevant.
The psychedelically induced lines quoted above were recently drilling through my head as I was going about my morning barista shift, casually making two fantastic 12 oz. hazelnut lattes with almond milk and an extra shot of espresso. Working in a small coffee shop leaves me no choice but to reflect on my surroundings amidst the one-man job of prepping, brewing, and cleaning. This shop is the purveyor of such outdated amenities as homemade pastries and polite conversation with customers, but these off-putting quirks are not irreversible and I continuously strive to bring myself and it up to date. I am currently practicing my customer service script with ChatGPT. (It is wearing enough when people you know think they have something worth saying, but complete strangers?!)
In summer, the shop also becomes the site of an endless war between humans and insects, the bugs determined to breach every aperture in order to steal the sugary wares of the barista on duty. It was the sight of these insects which brought the above mentioned rhyme to mind, and I found myself wishing I had some way to forget what now in the light of mature adulthood sounds so plainly idiotic.
Humanity has clearly progressed beyond the mere written word. In our enlightened age of Prime movies, Netflix and chill, and the emergence of a new class of elites named the “gamers,” it is clear that America's youth no longer have need for older forms of entertainment. Who needs Jane Austen's witty turn of phrase when you have Kiera Knightley’s face? Who needs the charm of L.M. Montgomery when you have the melodrama of Netflix's Anne with an E? Who needs to recite the poignant language of a Hopkins' poem when you have the scripted lines of Skyrim? Those who argue that capturing the drama of nature through language is “true art,” are clearly behind the times.
It isn’t always easy to shake the structures of the past, but with hard work, it is possible. Even I—amidst the more silent hours in my day—sometimes desire to write down a whimsical poem describing some small detail of my world. If you find yourself in this situation, do not give up! To quell this disturbing urge, simply remember that no one cares about a small-town barista waxing poetic about the flies and the spiders when he can watch a nature video on his pocket YouTube that delivers the same drama in three seconds. No one who is popular, young, and fun wants to read about the wasp’s feisty personality as he darts toward the sweetest product in sight with the staunch purpose of a scout leader, or about how he is far superior to the flies who drift from ripened fruit to dirty dishwater in an aimless frenzy to feast. Nor would they have any interest in hearing how the crafty, relentless spiders rebuilding their webs outside the window each morning position their trap so perfectly, that any fly seeking to indulge will be instantly caught in its flight…
So if you find yourself itching for a pen and paper, stay strong, reach for your phone, and capture the moment on your digital camera. Make sure to post it on Facebook with a catchy caption such as “#peaceloveandnature,” to make the moment last forever.
Which brings us back to the above quoted “classic,” The Spider and the Fly. Sage elders of a bygone generation may try to persuade you of its value, but as I’ve proven, we have better things to care about. The older generations can be pushy about their stodgy moral code, however, and sometimes sterner measures are necessary. So, if your aging 28-year-old Auntie attempts to pry you from the technology that you know is your birthright in this era of the youth, simply jam your air-pods further into your skull and turn the volume up. If she warns you not to be “taken in by flattery and seduced by the pleasures of comfort offered by the insidious spiders of the world,” simply yell along even louder to the latest pop hit ringing in your ears to cancel out her bigoted Historical narrative. When she persistently insists that Howitt's poem—fraught with danger, suspense, violence, gore, trickery—is a fair rival to even the most alluring interactive story imagined by video game makers, simply don your VR headset and whack her with flailing arms screaming "One point for ridding Helyria of its last invasive alien!”
If the counsel offered here fails to bring you up-to-date and into the exciting realm of youthful progress that your poor auntie seems never able to appreciate, there is one more escape route sure to succeed:
When, alone at last, the finest company you’ve found, From your pantry’s store that with delicious snacks abounds, Grab a piece of wonder bread—precut, no need to slice! And lather with Nutella, so sugary, smooth, and nice. Run up your winding staircase; jump into your little bed, Cozy in the sheets so fine and thin, and on the pillow rest your head, Draw the pretty curtains, then sit—and scroll on instagram. There you’ll read the comments from your friends and from the fam, Who'll prove their warm affection by comments like, "SLAY QUEEN!", And “where did you get that outfit, all purple, blue, and green?”, “What pretty hair you have!”, and you know it must be true, For to the whole wide world they've shared their unique love for you.
—S.M.