Well, not man-eating exactly and a giant only in relative terms, but this 4.7 inch spider is definitely more Shelob than Charlotte’s Web. This BBC story tells the whole ghastly tale; my appetite for nighttime bush walks in Maputaland and Madagascar has suddenly diminished.
I’m less surprised by the discovery of some new creepy crawly creature of the bush, though, than by something else in the story. The spider’s discoverer named it after his best friend, who recently died in an accident. (The BBC is curiously mum on what kind of accident.)
In the unlikely chance that there’s anybody out there thinking of memorializing me after I’ve gone on to the Great Broadband Network in the Sky, there are at least two forms of memorial that I don’t want.
One, do not name a giant spider after me. Or a new species of cockroach – or in general, any animal that does not have vertebrae and is not cute enough to play the lead in a Disney animated children’s film.
Two, do not name a rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike in my ‘honor’. I envy and admire Walt Whitman for many accomplishments, but I am sure that like Walt, Clara Barton, Grover Cleveland, Woodrow Wilson and James Fenimore Cooper all wish that the Garden State had found some other way to express its admiration. About Vince Lombardi and Joyce Kilmer I am not so sure.