Ah, the age-old cry of the bored and restless: "Find me something to do!"
This week, I was noodling around online, doing a little research for a completely different project (believe it or not, a serious one), when I remembered some of the weird hobbies we discussed in February.
I know there are more, lots more, of remarkably strange and unconventional things people do to keep themselves from going mad with boredom, but, apart from dog-hair collecting, most of my own hobbies have been fairly normal, or as normal as I ever get: Art, gardening, playing music, dog training, even community theatre.
So I wondered if maybe I ought to expand my horizons.
Here’s what I came up with:
Competitive worm charming: In this hobby, participants use various methods to lure earthworms out of the ground and into a designated area within a set amount of time, using various techniques, such as vibrations, sounds and smells to coax the worms out of the ground. People have also tried grunting, fiddling, vibrating the ground by sticking implements into it, playing music, or patting the soil. The person who can attract the most worms within the time limit wins. Competitors are not allowed to dig up the worms.
But I have several questions. How much autonomy do the worms have? Are they aware that it’s a competition? What kind of prize do they win? Do they get to go back to their little worm-holes when the competition’s over or is it a lose/lose for them, ending up in some fisherman’s refrigerator before being offered as a sacrifice to the local fish population? And, besides a handful of worms, what prize does the winning competitor get? Everybody else’s worms?
The world championship for worm charming is held annually in the UK.
Of course it is!
Competitive eating: A so-called “sport” where participants compete to see who can eat the most food in a set amount of time, often in a competition setting. This is commonly held at fairgrounds and special summer events — pie-eating contests, the most hotdogs, or the most ears of corn in the shortest amount of time.
In many cases, the only thing the victor wins is bragging rights. You have to wonder about someone who’d even want bragging rights. One can only hope that he doesn’t attempt to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl immediately after the competition. The results could be — shall we say — colourful?
Nose hair extension: This involves taking fake eyelashes and applying them to one's nose hairs to create long, flowing nostril hair. OMG! Seriously? WHY, forgodsakes?
Normal people go to great lengths (no pun intended) to remove overlong nose hairs. They tickle. (And, incidentally, for those who are paying attention, may be what causes nose-whistles.) I remember one teacher in high school, nearly sixty years ago…
But I digress.
Toe wrestling: This bizarre sport involves two people locking toes and attempting to pin the other person's foot to the ground. I’d think it would take a certain degree of self-confidence to engage in this sport, or at least, blind faith, each participant naÏvely trusting that the other doesn’t suffer from a wicked case of athlete’s foot.
Dumpster diving: This involves searching through dumpsters and trash bins for discarded items that can be reused or repurposed. Not unlike yard saling or garage saling, this hobby goes a little deeper (pun intended).
While yard sale items have (usually) been tidied up to look their best, dumpster discards have not. In addition, they may have come into contact with substances that render them somewhat less than captivating. It takes a truly hardy soul to engage in this particular sport. Or one who’s desperate. That said, however, I did once find a rather nice jacket at the dump.
Competitive bog snorkelling: This is a sport that involves swimming through a bog or swamp using only snorkelling gear. The world championships are held annually in Wales, and participants compete for the fastest time.
Coincidentally, in the same bog on the same weekend, the Association of Welsh Leeches hold their “Most Tasty Human” world championships.
Competitive Dog Grooming: Dog owners participate in competitions where they style and groom their pooches in creative and extravagant ways — a kind of canine cosplay. There are even entire television shows dedicated to this madness.
But I can’t help but wonder what the dog thinks of all this. His dog-park friends could go one of two ways; either they shun him as a self-indulgent fashionista, or they can’t wait to emulate him, even going so far as to roll in dead toads in a desperate attempt at canine one-upmanship.
And I shudder to think of the result if our next hobbyist, a taxidermist, crossed paths with the groomer’s prize poodle.
Taxidermy: This is the practice of preserving, stuffing and mounting the skins of animals to create lifelike displays. Preserving animal remains for decorative purposes has to be one of the most macabre “hobbies” ever invented. Not only does it demean the animal, but makes a murderer of the practitioner. Or at the very least, accessory after the fact.
That said, mounted on the wall by the fireplace in the family room, is the head of a white-tail buck killed and stuffed nearly 80 years ago by my grandfather. Every Christmas we put a red nose on him and call him Rudolph. (The deer, not my grandfather.)
Which, I suppose, makes me not only an accessory after the fact, but a hypocrite.
Bev Hanna is a writer and published author. A recovering artist, she now teaches senior writers how to craft compelling stories and memoirs, and manages the Let’s Write group at the Askennonia Senior Centre.
