balding angrily

So, it’s been a few weeks!  How ARE you?!

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Oh, you know me. Always going and doing.

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Skiing? Yeah. Yeah, that was fun.  Actually, it was snowboarding, but you know, you say tomato…

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Did I TELL you?! I busted my head WIDE open. Brains everywhere.

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No, not really, but a bearded, skiing hippy named Scott dragged me down the mountain in rickshaw/coffin situation.

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And I had to remember the number 13. Look, Scott! I still remember it!  And I had to walk on my tiptoes forward and on my heels back.  Then the doctor tickled different parts of my body, like the arch of my foot and the webbing of my fingers. Very sexual and inappropriate for a doctor. But he was cute, so…you know.

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I DID get caught in the airport on the way back.  WHO are you getting your information from?! Have you been talking to my niece? She IS a tattletale, that one.

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Well, I’m just going to ignore the story of international intrigue that you just told, so I can tell mine.

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I knew you’d understand.  You’re good people that way.

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Twenty-six hours from the time we arrived at the airport until the time we left.

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No, it was actually kind of fun.  We got to know our fellow passengers.

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Well, no, we didn’t really.  We pretty much just talked about them and made snarky observations about them.  But it FELT like we got to know them.

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The airline set us up.  I didn’t think they did that anymore.  I thought that was a relic of 70s, but apparently they still set stranded passengers up.  We stayed the night in a hotel on the airline…that is, the airline paid for our room.  Wouldn’t a hotel on an airline be funny?

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I know. I KNOW! I AM funny.

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ANYway, yeah. They set us up.  I ate nachos.  And sat in a bar full of tough-looking men. It was a bit like the bar scene in The Accused.  Jerry and I were afraid to look at each other sideways for fear of getting our asses kicked.

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Oh, well. Okay. Go talk to Sandra. Nice talking to you.  Or should I say AT you. Ha Ha!

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Yes, Yes. I am VERY funny.

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Bye!

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Now where IS that deLICious crab dip everyone’s talking about?

While I’m ripping-off more successful bloggers, I thought I’d rip-off the Grand Poobah, The Big Cheese, The Blogger Before There Were Blogs - Lore Sjöberg.  And I’m not just going to steal his format, I’m going to steal his CONTENT.  Take that, intellectual property laws!

• ass-in-face - Nothing says, “Love me unconditionally” like a winking brown-eye centimeters from your nose.  Like most cat behaviors, this one comes from your cat’s realization that you are not, at that moment, paying full attention to her.  You may be watching TV.  You may be doing a crossword puzzle.  You may be reading an article about the future of genetic science, wondering if someone’s going to invent a virus that will give you the ability to pee Mountain Dew, ‘cuz that would be really cool AND useful.  Whatever you’re doing, your cat will come to you, all affectionate-like and purring.  And you’ll think, “Aww, how sweet; she just wants a little rub.”  And she’ll nuzzle your face with her nose.  And you’ll scratch her back.  And she’ll arch her back and purr louder.  And it’ll be just adorable.  And then she’ll turn around with her tail proudly erect so that you’re involuntarily giving her a rectal exam. D
• pouncing - J & I found out last weekend that we probably have American Shorthairs.  According to Animal Planet, American Shorthairs are descendants of European Shorthairs that were brought over with the Pilgrims to rid the boats of mice.  American Shorthairs are supposedly excellent mousers.  All I know is that when I lay in the center of our bed and scratch the covers from underneath, one of our cats will LEAP over me to get to the scratching noise.  She’s like a mini-Michael Jordon with her hang-time.  Hopefully, as she gets older, she’ll start letting her tongue hang out.  And then I can set up a mini-basketball hoop on one side of the bed.  And I can buy her little kitty basketball shorts.  And she can have her own line of Nike shoes.  B+
• double eyelids - When I was I kid I used to stare at my cat for hours waiting for him to blink.  If I got to him when he was really drowsy, he would blink VERY slowly, so I could watch the inner eyelid slowly close before the outer eyelid.  It’s become a retread to say science fiction promised us rocket packs, flying cars, and teleportation by now.  You know what? They also promised us oculus doorways in spaceships.  Cats’ double eyelids are the closest we’ll get to oculus doorways, and that makes them awesome. A+
• curling in the lap - Again, you’re watching TV or writing on your blog, and your cat leaps into your lap, proceeding to knead your thigh like dough.  You stir your coffee, take a sip, and you’re just content to have a source of warmth and vibration close to your wang.  Then she curls up in a circle, and you stroke her back.  And you feel like a Don.  A+
• rum tum tugger - When I was in high school, I thought I had to love every musical, Cats included.  I bought the soundtrack and played it over-and-over, just like all my other musicals, but I did it begrudgingly.  After a few weeks of forcing myself to listen to both CDs from start to finish, I finally put “Memory” on repeat and ignored the rest.  Then my dad saw the touring show, and he said that I just HAD to see it.  That’s high praise from an ex-Marine.  Then this video started playing on VH1, and I honestly, well …  As a 15 year-old proto-gay living in Southern California, my conceptions of masculinity and femininity were wack.  I remember thinking, “Look, he’s getting all the chicks.  And he’s pretty tough.  If you offer him pheasant, he’d rather have grouse.  That’s straight-up gangsta.”  So, I started singing “The Rum Tum Tugger” around the house, and in another show of my mom’s complete obliviousness, she did nothing about it.  It wasn’t until 1995 when I saw Jeffrey that I realized that maybe, just maybe, “Cats” wasn’t all that.  Bryan Batt plays a singer/dancer who was in Cats because it was the only job he could get.  In the end - SPOILER ALERT! - his character dies; I read that as indictment of bad theater.  D

Oh. And to see a better piece on cats, go here.

…in general, and London specifically.

J & I will be going to London in February, and I’m preparing by reading The Unofficial Guide to London. Usually I don’t prepare for a trip, leaving it to Jerry. But our NYC trip turned out to be such a trial on my nerves that my doctor, after prescribing a delightful anti-anxiety medication, suggested I plan better.

• “Don’t tell anyone that their accent is “cute.” It is you who has the accent, and it is not considered remotely cute by the British.” What if I talk like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins the whole time? What if I openly mock them and accompany anything I say with a chimney-sweeping jig? Will they find that cute?
• Queen Elizabeth I had her cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots executed and buried. After Elizabeth’s reign, Mary’s body was exhumed and placed in Westminster Abbey, not far from the body of Elizabeth. No this is not REALLY interesting unless you picture Mary, Queen of Scots as a fourteen-foot tall puppet with gangly arms. My knowledge of British history is tainted by Monty Python, and their Pantomime Queen is one of the more enduring images in my head.
• Along the slow transfer of power from the monarchy to parliament in British government is an episode where “monarchist Cavaliers were defeated by Puritan Roundheads.” I’ve never understood why political parties choose for themselves unflattering images: Roundheads, donkeys, elephants, know-nothings. Or if they didn’t choose the image for themselves, why did they stick with the images someone else gave them? But then again, I despise politics, so maybe I’m not meant to know.
• “Don’t expect people to introduce you to others. One can spend an entire evening with a group of people who introduce neither themselves nor their friends to you. This is not bad manners; rather, it has something to do with the don’t-be-pushy rule that prevails at most gatherings. Introductions can only be undertaken by the correct factotum, and nobody will know who that might be, so they keep quiet (as may the correct factotum, not wanting to look self-important).” It’s no wonder Yanks are perceived as elephantine bores if introducing oneself is considered presumptuous. We must look like mountain men with puffed-up chests to them. That’s why I want to be as slender and aerodynamic as I can when we go to London. I want to be wispy, starved like a sliver of soap.
• Knightsbridge is “famous for having the most consonants in a row in any English word.” I did not know that. And because I did not know that I assume that The Unofficial Guide is lying to me.
• In order to quickly adjust to the time change, travelers are advised, “On the plane, drink lots and lots of water, but no alcohol, and eat sparingly. Sleeping on the plane is not always an option, but do try.” Well, that makes sense. Sleeping’s not an option because you’re running to the bathroom to void your bladder AND you’re clawing at your empty belly like a Dickensian waif.

Stealing from a fellow blogger because I’m too lazy to come up with anything original: Recent Tweets.

• Standing on principal; she’s kinda lumpy. <– If Larry Hagman was a snarky tweeter.
• I’d like some Cafe Press-er to design a T that says, “If you fart near me, I’ll point at you and scream like a body snatcher.”
• Trying to think of an occasion to use “guvnah” outside of my usual chimney sweeping duties.
• Craving a happiness that can only come from electronic consumer goods.
• In “I can’t believe people actually think I’m a grown-up” news, the AIA is flying me to Salt Lake City for a meeting. Suckers.
• I wonder if they’d still be sending me if they knew I was listening to the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack while tweeting.
• Chilly figertips and gloomy, Dallas skies are asking me to skip the gym for an evening of watching HGTV in footie pajamas.
• Suzanne Whang does not hold my best interests to her bosom.
• Ever dwelled on hating someone while playing Tetris? Turns out you can’t bludgeon blocks into ill-fitting holes.
• Hangnails: Nature’s gift to the world’s meeting-trapped masochists.
• Bowel movements are fun!
• I must have a sign on my back that says, “Please fart near me.” Or elliptical trainers somehow activate the fart gland.
• Given the hue of the faces of local TV personalities as seen through HD, I propose that Jeff Koons create a sculpture called “Neon Tangerine Newscaster.”

If you don’t know what Twitter or tweeting is, I can’t help you.