April 27, 2004

The War of the Roses

The War of the Roses, a series of medieval English civil wars fought between the House of York and the House of Lancaster between 1455 and 1487, is worthy of passing note in almost any survey of modern European history as a pivotal event in the formation of the House of Tudor. Perhaps the 2004 analog of this war, involving the House of Rohit is comparable neither in its relevance nor its impact on modern Europe, but I would assert that it sure is a hell of a lot more awesome.

Let's start off in the beginning, in a disenchanted land known to those who live there only as Berkeley. The dilapidated kingdom, ruled by transients, crazies, and communists, and dominated by the meter-maid secret state police (Mestapo), had recently emerged from a six month period of delirium, despondency, and dreary, overcast days, referred to as the Dark Time by those who lived through it. Gone were the rain clouds, cold winds, and barren trees, replaced by bright sunshine, warm breezes, and flower blossoms. Spring had arrived in all its glory, and with it, the conditions for an all out war.

Day 1, April 26, 2004. I was walking to work in the late afternoon, enjoying the weather and the sunshine. Things were going well. I was almost done with class for the day and the workload for the week was looking manageable. As I walked by the new construction site at Channing & Bowditch, a pretty smell pervaded my nose. That's right. The smell of flowers. More precisely, the smell of roses. Before I could even think about enjoying the break from the traditional smell of urine in Berkeley, however, I immediately felt the need to violently sneeze. This was followed by fifteen successive sneezes. An allergy bomb equipped with every type of pollen known to man could not have worked better than this one passing sniff of a floral scent. By the time I got to work, my eyes were watering, my nose was running, and I was feeling miserable. A few more hours, and I had a terrible sinus headache, all because of that one rose! What had seemed to be a period of prosperity and happiness was just the calm before the storm. The War of the Roses, 2004, was about to begin.

Day 2, April 27, 2004. I woke up today after a relatively miserable evening, feeling much better, but still infuriated at the flower that caused me all the grief. I don't even have very strong allergies. I rarely ever experience any problems, even at the height of spring. Clearly, the sinister flower that started the war was no ordinary flower. As I had no class this morning, I set out on a search-and-destroy mission. I retraced my steps back along the path to where it all started. The smell of roses once again filled the air. Fighting back tears (war is hell), I closed in on the smell and found the source. It was a set of flowers, thrown aside, still wrapped in plastic (guess whoever received them wasn't too appreciative). I kicked the evil package and then stomped on it, over and over, cursing silently. It must have been quite a sight—some random guy jumping up and down in the bushes by the parking lot, in near tears. In any case, once I had crushed the package sufficiently, I then covered it with dirt so that it would never cause any problems again. The roses had drawn first blood, but I had won the battle.

Perhaps I misspoke in the beginning of this entry. While the title War of the Roses does seem catchy, this really is more of a War on Roses. The first battle was mine, but the war continues. I encourage you to join the House of Rohit in the war against all these despicable, deceptively pretty, good-for-nothing roses! With your help, maybe in 32 years we can welcome a new era, free of allergies and anachronistic symbols of sentiment intended to replace the love that does not really exist. (You didn't think I could end this post without making fun of love, did you?)