HUMAN HAMSTERS

The other day I rambled something about human barnacles -- you know, those people who hitch their wagons to someone else's star and end up stuck when the star fades.

Today's rant is about human hamsters.

First, I've nothing against the little rodents, think they are pretty cute. I'm fond of how they use their wee hamster hands to stuff nuts and other goodies into their cheek pouches until their faces look as if they might explode.

But when they are done looking uber adorable, they start running on those wheels and that's when I'm completely turned off.

The wheels squeak and squeak and squeak, and there's nothing you can do about it. But the hamsters are impervious to the noise, though nowhere near as impervious to the tedium of constantly running on a puny wheel in a puny cage.

I've met a few people like that, folks who thrive on ritual and freak when something new comes along. I wish I could understand what drives them to enjoy the sensation of one foot in front of another day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.

I know, I know, to each his own. And yes, it takes all kinds to make the world go round. But I doubt that at there's a hamster at the center of the earth. At least, I hope not.

Amen, and pass the pellets.