Jonny Numb

The day began (more or less) and ended (more or less) with house centipedes.

Not to be confused with “regular centipedes” or even “human centipedes.”

For years, I simply called these creatures with the flexible torsos “thousand-leggers.”

The parsonage where I spent most of my youth was – quite literally – crawling with these buggers, usually along the sloped ceiling above the basement staircase.

And they still make periodic appearances in the basement where my “man cave” is headquartered.

Yet another reason to hate the hot, humid summer months.

Yet another reason to come on over and hang out with me sometime, friend!

But I digress.

On the morning of Wednesday, August 28, I had completed my commute into the city and was making my way down the stairwell of the parking garage when, right as I was about to exit to the street, something scurried around my foot.

It took a moment to register, but it was a house centipede, albeit of a sort I’d never seen before – this one was a urine-yellow color instead of the more incognito grayish-green bodies of those I’d seen during my youth and beyond.

I was less grossed-out than contemplating what the creature was doing so far from the suburbs.

In the city – even one as marginal as Harrisburg, PA – you grow accustomed to anomalies: of nature; of humanity. “Nothing’s shocking,” as Jane’s Addiction sang. I flashed back the times roaches the size of fifty-cent pieces skittered past me in a DC train station and an NYC sidewalk. Nothing’s shocking.

After that encounter, I continued with my weekly routine of walking to the office.

Flash forward to later that evening:

I’d driven down to Baltimore to see UK Goth Royalty The March Violets play at the Metro Gallery (one of my favorite venues).

Rosegarden Funeral Party were the main opening act, and while I witnessed the last 2 songs of their set at 2023’s Dark Force Fest, I was unprepared for just how great their performance would be. They got me wriggling and moving at my preferred spot in front of the sound- and light-board, shrouded somewhat from the huddled Gothy masses.

For my part, I was wearing a Solemn Shapes T-shirt. (Unfortunately, I was unable to catch them during their fall tour with The Russian White. #sadface)

The soundboard is parallel to one side of the club, where thick floor-to-ceiling windows are covered by blackout curtains. In front of the curtains is an elbow-height shelf where patrons can set their beverage or just lean against. And each large panel is balanced with an inverted “pillar” that creates the equivalent of an ankle-height “stoop” (only inside instead of outside).

In any event: as The March Violets marched through their excellent, highly energetic set, I noticed a girl in front of me who placed her plastic drink-cup on the shelf. As she did this, preoccupied with what was happening onstage, my Bug-Sense twitched as, through the lighting and the noise, I saw a small yet not insignificant mass crawl across the pillar, in the direction of the curtain.

Apparently, even Baltimore has house-centipedes that take vacations in the city. (Shoot, it was creeping up on Labor Day weekend, after all.)

Now, I am not a merciful god [sic] when it comes three types of creepy-crawlies: spiders, thousand-leggers, and ants (the latter mostly because they invade every summer and swarm our cats’ food bowls).

But some of this comes down to size – yes, ladies, size does matter – because, when the spider and thousand-legger torsos get to be a certain diameter – say, big enough to notice from halfway across a room, my fight-or-flight reflex kicks into overdrive and the not-insignificant hairs on my arms stand on end.

I’d been leaning my right side against the rear of the shelf while my back rested against the front-facing wooden panel of the soundboard. When I saw the thousand-legger disappear behind the curtain, I separated myself from both surfaces and went back to watching the band.

I didn’t see the thousand-legger again – nor did I feel anything crawling up my legs or arms – but found myself contorting like one that had been flipped on its back when the Violets went into the final song of the night – the first song I ever heard by them – the bring-down-the-house butt-wiggler that was the fixture of many a ‘90s Goth compilation: “Snake Dance.”

(Header photograph by Alienation Photography)