On the way out to run errands this weekend, I was walking down the back stairs to the garage when I saw the largest spider web I had ever seen. And square in the middle of it was a big spider. Not camel spider big, but definitely a healthy fellow in the prime of his life who had accomplished that greatest of feats in the spider world – not being eaten by a bigger spider or a housecat.
Anyway, I paused for a moment to admire "his" work (I know, it could have been a female, but given the size of this web I suspect he may have been compensating for something, so I’m assuming it’s a guy...just go with me on this). He had run silk from the second landing of the stairs all the way down to the bottom of the railing where the stairs met the ground – a distance of at least 15 feet. Then he ran another support strand from about midway through this strand up to the top of the railing, and started making the spiral. Thus, the web itself was probably 2’x3’ at a minimum, and the lord of the web sat in the middle, where he had just finished snacking on a small fly looking very smug and self-satisfied.
I pictured him in much the same way that one pictures the one-hit wonder pop stars on MTV’s “Cribs”. Not the truly famous ones, but rather the flash-in the pan type who walk you through from room to room, saying trite clichés like “And this is where the magic happens” when showing you the master bedroom. Because you know that in a few years, this guy is going to be flat broke and playing county fairs in the middle of North Dakota trying desperately to preserve his one-hit wonder cultural relevance. I felt the same way about this spider. First because his web was sooo big that it would probably not survive a rainstorm, and secondly because he had placed it right next to the stairs where anyone living in my building would see it, be freaked out and take a broom to it. Of course there was no telling Mr. Spider this. He was confident that he was right, that he had built his dream home in a perfect location, confident that it would stand the test of time against all that nature and mankind could throw at it.
We sat there for a while, him looking at me and me looking at him. Then I figured I’d leave him alone for now and let him enjoy his dream – his magnum opus, per se – for just a little while longer. I knew he was going to lose his house anyway, but as Nietzche said “It is nobler to declare oneself wrong than to insist on being right - especially when one is right.” By the time I returned, I saw that the rain had washed his house away and the spider itself was nowhere to be found.
This got me thinking about architectural hubris – of both man and spider. We’ve seen so many instances in the last month where our best efforts to beat nature get bitch-slapped (spider or man). The difference is that with man, we insist on going back and building the exact same web in the exact same place, and getting someone else to pay for it. The spider, on the other hand, moves someplace less likely to be destroyed and gets on with his life. Who’s the one with the tiny brain again?
Anyway, I paused for a moment to admire "his" work (I know, it could have been a female, but given the size of this web I suspect he may have been compensating for something, so I’m assuming it’s a guy...just go with me on this). He had run silk from the second landing of the stairs all the way down to the bottom of the railing where the stairs met the ground – a distance of at least 15 feet. Then he ran another support strand from about midway through this strand up to the top of the railing, and started making the spiral. Thus, the web itself was probably 2’x3’ at a minimum, and the lord of the web sat in the middle, where he had just finished snacking on a small fly looking very smug and self-satisfied.
I pictured him in much the same way that one pictures the one-hit wonder pop stars on MTV’s “Cribs”. Not the truly famous ones, but rather the flash-in the pan type who walk you through from room to room, saying trite clichés like “And this is where the magic happens” when showing you the master bedroom. Because you know that in a few years, this guy is going to be flat broke and playing county fairs in the middle of North Dakota trying desperately to preserve his one-hit wonder cultural relevance. I felt the same way about this spider. First because his web was sooo big that it would probably not survive a rainstorm, and secondly because he had placed it right next to the stairs where anyone living in my building would see it, be freaked out and take a broom to it. Of course there was no telling Mr. Spider this. He was confident that he was right, that he had built his dream home in a perfect location, confident that it would stand the test of time against all that nature and mankind could throw at it.
We sat there for a while, him looking at me and me looking at him. Then I figured I’d leave him alone for now and let him enjoy his dream – his magnum opus, per se – for just a little while longer. I knew he was going to lose his house anyway, but as Nietzche said “It is nobler to declare oneself wrong than to insist on being right - especially when one is right.” By the time I returned, I saw that the rain had washed his house away and the spider itself was nowhere to be found.
This got me thinking about architectural hubris – of both man and spider. We’ve seen so many instances in the last month where our best efforts to beat nature get bitch-slapped (spider or man). The difference is that with man, we insist on going back and building the exact same web in the exact same place, and getting someone else to pay for it. The spider, on the other hand, moves someplace less likely to be destroyed and gets on with his life. Who’s the one with the tiny brain again?
Comments
Who am I kidding. He's probably already built an even bigger web right outside the Smurf Village. I hope he gets Brainy first - smurfilicious!