The Gentlest Meteorite

Oh man, have I been ill.

There I was, big plans for some creepy Halloween stories, until after a short vacation, I was struck with a rather insidious lung infection. It’s only this week that I finally, more-or-less, feel back to normal, which is good, but I’ve not had the energy to be creatively productive, which is bad. Even now, my eyes are attempting to force themselves into an off position, and my brain is telling me to go back and re-read each of the sentences that are crawling out onto the page, because they likely don’t make a lick of sense.

That said, apologies if this is all a bunch of poorly edited nonsense.

In the spirit of attempting to get back into things, here’s a bit of musing about an odd photo I found:

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My job often requires that I seek out some stock photography to compliment a bit of text. While fun, it’s often difficult to focus on finding the right image because when setting out to find something, I already have an idea of what I want in my noggin. Unfortunately, the search engine on the photo website I subscribe to doesn’t have a direct line to my imagination, which usually means ending up frustrated and settling on something in the vicinity of what I’m looking for. It also means that I end up rummaging through enough content that I come across the odd thing that makes me stop and go, “Huh…” and also, “Why…?”

A while ago I was looking for an image of a wrecking ball and the search engine had no idea what I was after and kept spitting up the wrong thing, like a cat bringing home the corpses of small animals as gifts – they both mean well, but you’re not really going to have much of a use for what they bring you.

While looking for something I was never going to find, I came across an image of a wrecking ball Miley Cyrus-ing its way into a woman’s living room. (Miley Cyrus is being used here as a verb, meaning “To be obnoxiously intrusive”, as a Miley Cyrus song might, were it to come on the radio during your drive-time commute with little to no warning. It goes without saying that it’s also a reference to her hit song, “We Can’t Stop”).

The image struck me as amusing, as the woman is wearing a fancy dress and seems to be mildly surprised by the appearance of a brand new hole in her wall followed by hundreds of pounds of swinging metal. She has an expression that seems to be saying, “Now who put that there?” There was an option within the image for “More in this series” and I clicked to find this, which I bought for the purposes of this bit of stock-image commentary:

This image is nearly identical to the one of the wrecking ball, down to the same pose and expression on the model. The major difference, as you can see, is that the wrecking ball has been replaced by a meteorite.

There are a few things wrong with this picture.

First of all, it’s not moving. The wrecking ball in the alternate version of the image wasn’t moving either, but that makes sense – a wrecking ball works off of inertia, meaning it’s going to do that whole pendulum thing, slowing down as it reaches the maximum height of the swing. Naturally, it’s going to slow down even more as comes into contact with a brick wall, so the slow-to-no movement works for the image.

But a meteorite? Uh… less… that.

If the image were more in line with how a meteorite might enter a home, it would look more like a smoking pile of rubble – for one that size at least – which would make for a less playful image, to be sure. 

There aren’t even any motion lines, or signs of any sort of speedy travel. It’s as though a lovesick, socially awkward giant tossed the thing into the poor woman’s living room, hoping to woo her with the promise of rare earth metals. Maybe it’s not the first time he’s done it either, which would explain her demeanor.

Then again, maybe it’s not a meteor at all. Perhaps it’s nothing more than a Kool-Aid man that’s let himself go, stumbling through the wall because he was dissatisfied with the woman’s beverage of choice, which, if I had to guess, would be a Cosmopolitan, hold the juice powder. If that’s the case, I’d strongly recommend she not partake of whatever beverage he has ruined the wall to offer up. Dude needs help.

Whatever the story, it made me wonder how a slow moving meteor came to bring a mild surprise to this countess-type, lounging on her fainting couch in fancy dress, one step away from ringing a bell to summon an elderly butler who will simply sigh and then put his spine out of whack attempting to shove the thing back outside whilst cursing in an adorably old-timey fashion. 

And now, back to sleep...