About an hour ago, I was just about to take a fistful of prescription drugs, plug in my cell phone and climb into bed when I saw Fred do something he hasn't down since he was a kitten. Back in my Miami apartment, I had a little dressing area with a sink that opened into my bedroom, where I had a giant picture window. I hung some JCPenney curtains opposite said window so I could brush my teeth in my underwear in the morning without sending out a Pervert Alert. Fred's favorite game, when he weighed five pounds, was to leap off the bed onto the curtain, pulling it down (but never while I was changing, so thanks for that, buddy.)
A mere 30 minutes ago, I saw the now substantially larger Fred ready to fling himself onto the curtain, which was odd.. I figured there might be a little moth or something on the venetian blind, although sometimes he's taunted by invisible things, so..... When I tried to shoo him off, the curtain rustled, and the biggest, blackest, giant fucked up scary ass butterfly flew out.
Of course, on closer inspection, (when the big black scary ass butterfly brushed the
hair *by my ear*) I realized it was a bat. It was a fucking bat! Okay, so now I'm screaming, thinking about the rabid otter we did this story about, which brings a barking Bella running into the bedroom. My pudgy, uncoordinated cat has suddenly started channeling the eye-paw coordination of an Olympic judo master, and the bat is looking much more like a hysterical, fluttering frog. (Yeah, I know, it's a mammal. It really just looked like... a frog. With wings.)
Anyway, one sharp shout of "CRATE!" and Bella the WonderDog beat a retreat to her favorite spot. (Love her). Meanwhile, Fred is flipping out and leaping around the bedroom like he's in the dolphin show at SeaWorld. I just washed my bedspread yesterday; I am NOT about to let my cat kill something on it.
Thank God for the deliciousness of Whiska Lickin's. I know the packet says, "Cats will do anything for the yummy taste of Purina Brand Moist Whiska Lickin's! Now even tastier!" but I had no idea. All I had to do was rattle the treat jar and toss a handful of Whiska Lickin's in the bathroom, and Fred abandoned his pursuit. So now it's just me and the bat, with Stephen issuing instructions (he had a bat in company housing back in July) over the phone while simultaneously playing Five Card Stud.
The bat finally landed on the curtain, and I managed to gently press a pillowcase over him, gather the material around him, pull down the curtain, and release the whole bundle onto the fire escape. The bat made the saddest little clicking noise when I did it, too, but hopefully he's flying around out there, eating mosquitos.
In case you were wondering, this was way, way, way scarier than the time Fred found a chameleon, and Bella stepped on its tail, and the tail fell off. The really frightening part is I have no idea HOW it got in here. All my windows have screens, and none of them have been open lately. The window the bat was hiding it has an air conditioner permanently installed in it. It hasn't been open in more than a year.
Shudder.
Sweet Flying-Mammal-Free Dreams, everybody. I know I'll be sleeping with one eye open tonight.
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Holy St. Francis of A-Freakin'-sissi, Batman!
About an hour ago, I was just about to take a fistful of prescription drugs, plug in my cell phone and climb into bed when I saw Fred do something he hasn't down since he was a kitten. Back in my Miami apartment, I had a little dressing area with a sink that opened into my bedroom, where I had a giant picture window. I hung some JCPenney curtains opposite said window so I could brush my teeth in my underwear in the morning without sending out a Pervert Alert. Fred's favorite game, when he weighed five pounds, was to leap off the bed onto the curtain, pulling it down (but never while I was changing, so thanks for that, buddy.)
A mere 30 minutes ago, I saw the now substantially larger Fred ready to fling himself onto the curtain, which was odd.. I figured there might be a little moth or something on the venetian blind, although sometimes he's taunted by invisible things, so..... When I tried to shoo him off, the curtain rustled, and the biggest, blackest, giant fucked up scary ass butterfly flew out.
Of course, on closer inspection, (when the big black scary ass butterfly brushed the
hair *by my ear*) I realized it was a bat. It was a fucking bat! Okay, so now I'm screaming, thinking about the rabid otter we did this story about, which brings a barking Bella running into the bedroom. My pudgy, uncoordinated cat has suddenly started channeling the eye-paw coordination of an Olympic judo master, and the bat is looking much more like a hysterical, fluttering frog. (Yeah, I know, it's a mammal. It really just looked like... a frog. With wings.)
Anyway, one sharp shout of "CRATE!" and Bella the WonderDog beat a retreat to her favorite spot. (Love her). Meanwhile, Fred is flipping out and leaping around the bedroom like he's in the dolphin show at SeaWorld. I just washed my bedspread yesterday; I am NOT about to let my cat kill something on it.
Thank God for the deliciousness of Whiska Lickin's. I know the packet says, "Cats will do anything for the yummy taste of Purina Brand Moist Whiska Lickin's! Now even tastier!" but I had no idea. All I had to do was rattle the treat jar and toss a handful of Whiska Lickin's in the bathroom, and Fred abandoned his pursuit. So now it's just me and the bat, with Stephen issuing instructions (he had a bat in company housing back in July) over the phone while simultaneously playing Five Card Stud.
The bat finally landed on the curtain, and I managed to gently press a pillowcase over him, gather the material around him, pull down the curtain, and release the whole bundle onto the fire escape. The bat made the saddest little clicking noise when I did it, too, but hopefully he's flying around out there, eating mosquitos.
In case you were wondering, this was way, way, way scarier than the time Fred found a chameleon, and Bella stepped on its tail, and the tail fell off. The really frightening part is I have no idea HOW it got in here. All my windows have screens, and none of them have been open lately. The window the bat was hiding it has an air conditioner permanently installed in it. It hasn't been open in more than a year.
Shudder.
Sweet Flying-Mammal-Free Dreams, everybody. I know I'll be sleeping with one eye open tonight.
A mere 30 minutes ago, I saw the now substantially larger Fred ready to fling himself onto the curtain, which was odd.. I figured there might be a little moth or something on the venetian blind, although sometimes he's taunted by invisible things, so..... When I tried to shoo him off, the curtain rustled, and the biggest, blackest, giant fucked up scary ass butterfly flew out.
Of course, on closer inspection, (when the big black scary ass butterfly brushed the
hair *by my ear*) I realized it was a bat. It was a fucking bat! Okay, so now I'm screaming, thinking about the rabid otter we did this story about, which brings a barking Bella running into the bedroom. My pudgy, uncoordinated cat has suddenly started channeling the eye-paw coordination of an Olympic judo master, and the bat is looking much more like a hysterical, fluttering frog. (Yeah, I know, it's a mammal. It really just looked like... a frog. With wings.)
Anyway, one sharp shout of "CRATE!" and Bella the WonderDog beat a retreat to her favorite spot. (Love her). Meanwhile, Fred is flipping out and leaping around the bedroom like he's in the dolphin show at SeaWorld. I just washed my bedspread yesterday; I am NOT about to let my cat kill something on it.
Thank God for the deliciousness of Whiska Lickin's. I know the packet says, "Cats will do anything for the yummy taste of Purina Brand Moist Whiska Lickin's! Now even tastier!" but I had no idea. All I had to do was rattle the treat jar and toss a handful of Whiska Lickin's in the bathroom, and Fred abandoned his pursuit. So now it's just me and the bat, with Stephen issuing instructions (he had a bat in company housing back in July) over the phone while simultaneously playing Five Card Stud.
The bat finally landed on the curtain, and I managed to gently press a pillowcase over him, gather the material around him, pull down the curtain, and release the whole bundle onto the fire escape. The bat made the saddest little clicking noise when I did it, too, but hopefully he's flying around out there, eating mosquitos.
In case you were wondering, this was way, way, way scarier than the time Fred found a chameleon, and Bella stepped on its tail, and the tail fell off. The really frightening part is I have no idea HOW it got in here. All my windows have screens, and none of them have been open lately. The window the bat was hiding it has an air conditioner permanently installed in it. It hasn't been open in more than a year.
Shudder.
Sweet Flying-Mammal-Free Dreams, everybody. I know I'll be sleeping with one eye open tonight.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Esta noche! Telemundo presenta...¡Los Partidos Olimpicos!
Okay, WHAT is up with the NBC Oylmpic commentators this time around? Sheesh. Have they always been this obnoxious? The commentary is just annoying. They act like a silver medal is a tragedy for the U.S. They say things like, "this athlete's Olympic dreams of seven gold medals just faded away, like dust on an Athenian street." What?
True, the competition is fierce. America doesn't have a lock on everything, which makes it exciting. For men's swimming, in particular, swimmers from Australia, America and abroad are setting new world records. In the next heat, their primary competitors break them. Thorpe get a gold; Phelps get a silver. The next day, Phelps get a gold and Thorpe gets a silver. It's a real contest.
The athletes break an Olympic record, or an American record, or a world record (or a combination of all 3), they get their best time, they win a silver medal by hundredths of a second, and the commentators are like, "There will be a lot of heartbreak in the Olympic Village tonight." I've actually taken to watching the Olympics on Telemundo.
I've written a commentary analyzing the sexist double standard Alissa mentioned, but I've posted it Up On My Soapbox. I haven't posted anything there since I moved to leafygreen six months ago, so here we go! Michael Phelps is the male Amanda Beard...
True, the competition is fierce. America doesn't have a lock on everything, which makes it exciting. For men's swimming, in particular, swimmers from Australia, America and abroad are setting new world records. In the next heat, their primary competitors break them. Thorpe get a gold; Phelps get a silver. The next day, Phelps get a gold and Thorpe gets a silver. It's a real contest.
The athletes break an Olympic record, or an American record, or a world record (or a combination of all 3), they get their best time, they win a silver medal by hundredths of a second, and the commentators are like, "There will be a lot of heartbreak in the Olympic Village tonight." I've actually taken to watching the Olympics on Telemundo.
I've written a commentary analyzing the sexist double standard Alissa mentioned, but I've posted it Up On My Soapbox. I haven't posted anything there since I moved to leafygreen six months ago, so here we go! Michael Phelps is the male Amanda Beard...
Esta noche! Telemundo presenta...¡Los Partidos Olimpicos!
Okay, WHAT is up with the NBC Oylmpic commentators this time around? Sheesh. Have they always been this obnoxious? The commentary is just annoying. They act like a silver medal is a tragedy for the U.S. They say things like, "this athlete's Olympic dreams of seven gold medals just faded away, like dust on an Athenian street." What?
True, the competition is fierce. America doesn't have a lock on everything, which makes it exciting. For men's swimming, in particular, swimmers from Australia, America and abroad are setting new world records. In the next heat, their primary competitors break them. Thorpe get a gold; Phelps get a silver. The next day, Phelps get a gold and Thorpe gets a silver. It's a real contest.
The athletes break an Olympic record, or an American record, or a world record (or a combination of all 3), they get their best time, they win a silver medal by hundredths of a second, and the commentators are like, "There will be a lot of heartbreak in the Olympic Village tonight." I've actually taken to watching the Olympics on Telemundo.
I've written a commentary analyzing the sexist double standard Alissa mentioned, but I've posted it Up On My Soapbox. I haven't posted anything there since I moved to leafygreen six months ago, so here we go! Michael Phelps is the male Amanda Beard...
True, the competition is fierce. America doesn't have a lock on everything, which makes it exciting. For men's swimming, in particular, swimmers from Australia, America and abroad are setting new world records. In the next heat, their primary competitors break them. Thorpe get a gold; Phelps get a silver. The next day, Phelps get a gold and Thorpe gets a silver. It's a real contest.
The athletes break an Olympic record, or an American record, or a world record (or a combination of all 3), they get their best time, they win a silver medal by hundredths of a second, and the commentators are like, "There will be a lot of heartbreak in the Olympic Village tonight." I've actually taken to watching the Olympics on Telemundo.
I've written a commentary analyzing the sexist double standard Alissa mentioned, but I've posted it Up On My Soapbox. I haven't posted anything there since I moved to leafygreen six months ago, so here we go! Michael Phelps is the male Amanda Beard...
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Playing Catch Up
Oh, my poor, poor neglected blog...
First up, photos from the beach, including the hefk head pictures are right here. The whole business of taking a friend's head along on a trip amuses me probably more than it should, but I think they're very funny. Sorry for the long delay! :)
I went to see Stephen's shows up in Lenox, Mass. I was completely blown away. He- I don't even know- His skills are so different. It's always hard, when working in a creative field, to hear how much you've improved without feeling like you full-on sucked before. With that disclaimer, I couldn't believe how much stronger his skills are. His stage combat sequences are so good they're scary. (A little kid behind me started to cry during the Capulet Family Smackdown.)
We went to Six Flags, which was very fun, except that I always forget about the Annoying People Factor. We had plenty of interactions with Teenage Boys Who Think Spitting Is Cool and Scantily Clad Teenage Girls In Bikini Tops and Shorts That Say "Angel" On their Butts. Of course, these two categories frequently get stuck together and form Couples for Whom PDA Is Undeterred by Oppressive Humidity, which eventually produces Kids who Bounce Prize Basketballs in Line with No Regard for How Annoying that Sound Is (and No Sense of How Much Other People Want to Take the Balls and Hurl Them When They Continually Bounce into One's Ankles, Etc.)
We had a blast- love the lovely rollercoasters- except for the part where a kid spat on my foot. All in all, it was great to see Stephen and meet his castmates. Anyway, I need to hop in the shower. No more blogging hiatuses, I swear!
First up, photos from the beach, including the hefk head pictures are right here. The whole business of taking a friend's head along on a trip amuses me probably more than it should, but I think they're very funny. Sorry for the long delay! :)
I went to see Stephen's shows up in Lenox, Mass. I was completely blown away. He- I don't even know- His skills are so different. It's always hard, when working in a creative field, to hear how much you've improved without feeling like you full-on sucked before. With that disclaimer, I couldn't believe how much stronger his skills are. His stage combat sequences are so good they're scary. (A little kid behind me started to cry during the Capulet Family Smackdown.)
We went to Six Flags, which was very fun, except that I always forget about the Annoying People Factor. We had plenty of interactions with Teenage Boys Who Think Spitting Is Cool and Scantily Clad Teenage Girls In Bikini Tops and Shorts That Say "Angel" On their Butts. Of course, these two categories frequently get stuck together and form Couples for Whom PDA Is Undeterred by Oppressive Humidity, which eventually produces Kids who Bounce Prize Basketballs in Line with No Regard for How Annoying that Sound Is (and No Sense of How Much Other People Want to Take the Balls and Hurl Them When They Continually Bounce into One's Ankles, Etc.)
We had a blast- love the lovely rollercoasters- except for the part where a kid spat on my foot. All in all, it was great to see Stephen and meet his castmates. Anyway, I need to hop in the shower. No more blogging hiatuses, I swear!
Playing Catch Up
Oh, my poor, poor neglected blog...
First up, photos from the beach, including the hefk head pictures are right here. The whole business of taking a friend's head along on a trip amuses me probably more than it should, but I think they're very funny. Sorry for the long delay! :)
I went to see Stephen's shows up in Lenox, Mass. I was completely blown away. He- I don't even know- His skills are so different. It's always hard, when working in a creative field, to hear how much you've improved without feeling like you full-on sucked before. With that disclaimer, I couldn't believe how much stronger his skills are. His stage combat sequences are so good they're scary. (A little kid behind me started to cry during the Capulet Family Smackdown.)
We went to Six Flags, which was very fun, except that I always forget about the Annoying People Factor. We had plenty of interactions with Teenage Boys Who Think Spitting Is Cool and Scantily Clad Teenage Girls In Bikini Tops and Shorts That Say "Angel" On their Butts. Of course, these two categories frequently get stuck together and form Couples for Whom PDA Is Undeterred by Oppressive Humidity, which eventually produces Kids who Bounce Prize Basketballs in Line with No Regard for How Annoying that Sound Is (and No Sense of How Much Other People Want to Take the Balls and Hurl Them When They Continually Bounce into One's Ankles, Etc.)
We had a blast- love the lovely rollercoasters- except for the part where a kid spat on my foot. All in all, it was great to see Stephen and meet his castmates. Anyway, I need to hop in the shower. No more blogging hiatuses, I swear!
First up, photos from the beach, including the hefk head pictures are right here. The whole business of taking a friend's head along on a trip amuses me probably more than it should, but I think they're very funny. Sorry for the long delay! :)
I went to see Stephen's shows up in Lenox, Mass. I was completely blown away. He- I don't even know- His skills are so different. It's always hard, when working in a creative field, to hear how much you've improved without feeling like you full-on sucked before. With that disclaimer, I couldn't believe how much stronger his skills are. His stage combat sequences are so good they're scary. (A little kid behind me started to cry during the Capulet Family Smackdown.)
We went to Six Flags, which was very fun, except that I always forget about the Annoying People Factor. We had plenty of interactions with Teenage Boys Who Think Spitting Is Cool and Scantily Clad Teenage Girls In Bikini Tops and Shorts That Say "Angel" On their Butts. Of course, these two categories frequently get stuck together and form Couples for Whom PDA Is Undeterred by Oppressive Humidity, which eventually produces Kids who Bounce Prize Basketballs in Line with No Regard for How Annoying that Sound Is (and No Sense of How Much Other People Want to Take the Balls and Hurl Them When They Continually Bounce into One's Ankles, Etc.)
We had a blast- love the lovely rollercoasters- except for the part where a kid spat on my foot. All in all, it was great to see Stephen and meet his castmates. Anyway, I need to hop in the shower. No more blogging hiatuses, I swear!
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