23 November 2011

My Cat (Whiskers of Satan II)

I suppose it's time I wrote a long post about my cat, most blogs seem to be about cats these days and I can't afford to miss another hot trend, as hot trends drive internet traffic and make bloggers rich, which is after all what blogs are for.  I don't know what kind of cat I would own if I had one but let's imagine it's a red tabby with fiery green eyes, whiskers of average length, a tail, and a purr like a '65 Mustang.  She likes to jump in my lap when I'm watching telly, she tolerates no barky barky from my rottweiler Tony, sends him away howling with a cuff on the schnozz any time he comes at her all frisky-like, she's around when I want her and disappears when I don't, a catch and release hunter who doesn't spray behind the sofa, in short, she's all that and a bag of cat litter (snap).

My cat is so funny the way she plays with things, like strings.  She can play with a string upwards of twenty minutes.  No I don't mean she plays the guitar, silly, or the bass fiddle for that matter, I mean she will chase around a piece of string until she catches it and winds herself in it and wrassles with it all crazy like.  When she figures out it's dead she walks away, but two seconds later you tug the string and she's forgotten, she's after that thing like it's a real live piece of string.

Make no mistake, having a cat is a big responsibility, financially and emotionally.  You have to find someone to look after it while you are watching TV.  Its food is super expensive, and you can't just feed it eggs or walnuts.  Taking it surfing is right out.  So what do you do all day with a cat?  It's difficult to predict.  But if you are there for your cat emotionally then it will be there for you when you need it most.  It's about the best investment you can make.*

Here's a long story about my cat that is so boring and pointless I wouldn't even tell it to my grandma if we were on a long car trip and had run out of things to talk about a hundred miles ago.  But in my view, that's what blogs are for.  So hold onto your britches and keep on reading, it is after all free, and you may derive a perverse pleasure from my personal inanity.  Go ahead and shit on me in the Comments section, if you're one of the haters.  I don't mind the humiliation if it will drive some traffic.  That is after all what blogs are for.  Anyway it was my birthday and I wanted to dress up my cat like the bride of Chucky so first I took her to the kitty parlor to get her hair frayed and her ears frazzled, and she did not like that one bit, she was hissing up a shitstorm and she slashed up the poor pedicurist (who had, foolishly perhaps, just sharpened her claws) something awful, that cost me half a small fortune in medical bills, but fine, it was worth it, we got the look we wanted.  So I get her home and all dolled up with the makeup and the fake stitching, she looks almost exactly like the real bride of Chucky and we head out to the party.  But what I had forgotten to account for – what?  Oh.  Well my producer is signaling that we're out of time for tonight, I'll have to pick up that story next week.

Good night and god bless cats, which are the most amazing animals, I mean sometimes I wonder what my cat is thinking, it seems so zen about most stuff and shows none of the neuroses of inbred poodles or the brooding mastodon, etc. etc.  [Fade as credits roll]

*Not intended or offered as actual investment advice, standard disclaimers may or may not apply, if you invest in a cat and lose your shirt don't come crying to blog, and so on and so forth.

14 November 2011

Reflective Post

In which we ponder the meaning of Narcissism, and go from there.

[Please imagine that we have inserted here a picture of sunlight gleaming off a maple leaf.]

This is a very special November for me, because I'm still alive and I have not died yet.  And so it's a very precious November for me and I'm trying to acknowledge that and celebrate it by cleaning the altar, hosing down the proverbial saddlebags and riding my Harley dangerously close to the nub of life's wild essence.

I used to spend as much time as possible mired in my typically ridiculous narcissism. Because that's really what it was all along, for me as it may be for many of you out there: at the bottom of the pond you’re staring into, if you could see past your reflection for a minute there Mr. Narcissus and look deeply in, to the bottom of the pool, (because despite your delusions of unfathomable depth, your personal pond is in reality roughly 3 feet deep), you'd see it sitting right there on the bottom, there's your narcissism, staring you right back in the face.  But you're just too shallow to see it.

Life is to be cherished, not a thing to be frittered away one afternoon at a time scanning the internet looking for something entertaining to post on your new tumblr.  Instant gratification is never instant.  There is always some time lapse between the desire and the gratification.  This time can be used to tidy up a bit, to pursue exciting career opportunities in the field of whale watching, and once a year to perform action x.  Think for a minute about the word lifetime, really break it down.  Life and time, the time of life, the time of your life, your life's time.  Now do the same thing with hubbub and lollipop.

The elimination of the ego is the key to all things, blog and otherwise.  It cannot be coincidence that there is no I in blog, just as there is one I but two yous in furniture, one pee (and 'I am pure') in a urine sample, no tea in a hamburger, no sea in Sargasso, no gee in willikers, and no L in Christmas; there is, however, a bee in your bonnet.  [Crowd erupts, bows for all as roses rain at feet.]  Thank you, thank you very much.  [Continues bowing as tomatoes follow, accepts most with grace and dignity, though one that fails to splat is hurled back.]  Thank you!  Thank you!  [Exits in defensive semicrouch, big smile, waving.]