On a recent jaunt through the Kama Sutra, I stumbled on a passage titled “Twining of a Creeper.” I fell in love with the name immediately. It brought my sister to mind. She often refers to people as ‘creepers.’ “Ew, he did what? What a creeper!” Or, “Check out that creeper lurking on the corner over there.” Or, “God, Mia, you’re looking at his Facebook page again? You’re such a creeper.”
But I also like the title because of the images it forms in my mind. I think first of my sister’s corner creeper. He stands on the corner of San Francisco and Sandoval—or rather, he’s not standing, but entwined around a pole. Our jaws drop as we stare at him from across the street; Creeper has somehow maneuvered himself into an upside-down position and begins to softly (I can hardly hear him over the sound of traffic) make the sut-sut sound described in the Sutra. The next thing I know, a vine begins to grow, Jumanji- or Where the Wild Things Are-style. It winds itself around Creeper, strangling and engulfing him and carrying him away toward Alameda, where, I assume, it will dump him in the river—which is, anyway, Santa Fe’s premier creeper hangout.
I’m eating Cheetos as I write this, but thinking about creepers has my mind elsewhere, and I don’t realize that I’ve nearly shoveled the whole bag into my mouth. Enrique walks by, “You’re really going at it,” he says. Fitting, I think to myself, going at it, how very Love & Sex of him. I ask Enrique what the words “twining of a creeper” bring to his mind. “Christmas,” he says, and describes what he sees: A creeper covered in Christmas twine (for some reason, I picture tinsel when he says this). “And then you send him off and then you light him on fire, Zozobra-style. It happens, always, on a Thursday.”
Lasagna Robert looks at me very seriously when I ask him what he thinks of. He nods as he speaks—like, “Duh, isn’t this what everyone thinks of?” It’s clear to Robert; he imagines a creeper with rope. I like this image. The active creeper. The creeper ready to entwine. A naked creeper holding a long line, waiting. It’s perfect in its absolute creepiness.
“A peeping Tom, you know, jerking it,” Joey says. But all I can think of is his hand motion as he tells me this.
I didn’t ask Alexa what she thinks of, because her theme, “The Sending in of the Probe,” says it all: She is the creeper. Our very own creeper in residence. (Come to think of it, everyone seems a little creepy right now.)
Justin just looks at me. “I don’t know—twine?” Forget it.
As for the other editorial residents: Mitt Romney’s head stares at me from our office Christmas tree on a daily basis. I realize now that all of these images of the twining of a creeper—tinsel, twine, Christmas, creeps, vegetation—can be captured in our Christmas tree. Symbolism! The parallels are incredible, the options endless. I’ll not even go into them; your imagination can do that for you. But I’m realizing now that everything can be—is?—entwined. And that’s just creepy.
News HomeCover StoriesLocal News7 DaysLetters to the EditorOverheardBlue CornSEXedSchool ReformedThe Yawp BarbaricStreet View40th AnniversaryMother Tongue
Guides HomeBest of Santa Fe VotingBest of Santa Fe 2013Santa Fe ManualRestaurant GuideLocal Directory