friday cat blogging, camo edition.

CatCat tries out her incognito skillz. on a clean pile of laundry.



a strong first attempt, i'd say. the outstretched paw and unflattened ear give her away, though - she'll have to work on that.

your wednesday one-liner.

amen for honesty, courtesy of Overheard of New York:

Hoochie on cell: Look, I love you -- you're my best friend -- but if I don't hang up this phone, I'm going to tell you what I really think, and you'll be pissed.

--Penn Station

hoochies: they know what's up.

don't get me started about the crayon factory, really.

i was reading jezebel the other day when i came across this post about how different seasame street was back in the day. now, i haven't watched seasame street in over ten years (i went through the obligatory retro-nostalgia phase in high school where my friends and i would amuse ourselves in the afternoon by watching seasame street on pbs - i also wore ring pops then, but that's another story altogether), but i am not surprised to hear that it's turned into a sanitized elmo-land of happy muppets and the distinct aroma of stifling safeness. now, the stuff that ruled about seasame street back then is the stuff that's considered somehow "too risky" for preschool minds to try to process. for instance,

The producers cite an array of reasons [for vintage seasame street episodes being deemed potentially unsuitable for today's toddlers] including but not nearly limited to Cookie Monster, who was not only a pathological binge eater but also the Muppet who played the character Alistair Cookie, who, explains the New York Times Magazine "used to appear with a pipe, which he later gobbled. According to Parente, 'That modeled the wrong behavior' -- smoking, eating pipes -- 'so we reshot those scenes without the pipe, and then we dropped the parody altogether.'"

remember alistair cookie? monsterpiece theater?? the minute i read about the pipe, i could clearly picture him eating it - and i laughed out loud. because that shit is funny. it was funny then to my pint-sized self, and it's funny now twenty years later - how often can you say that about something?

sigh. kids these days - they really don't know what they're missing.

for your own retro-nostalgia moment, here's a classic monsterpiece theater, including the offending pipe-eating finale:



and here's an amazing one that my sister found for me, monsterpiece theater: twin beaks:

scenery, changed.

pass mountain overlook, shenandoah national park

from the peak of stony man mountain, shenandoah national park

honestly, i have never been that high up, with my feet on the ground, in my whole life. when you can see that it's cloudy in one town and sunny in another, you know you've found something different. it was a nice antidote to the claustrophobia of city life.

that, some crab cakes and caesar salad for thanksgiving dinner (first vegetarian t-day, a delicious success!), and a seat next to the fire watching a mountain sunset have definitely done me some good. now the christmas tree is up, i'm in my flannel pajama pants, and i've got a glass of wine and CatCat curled up on the couch with me - if that doesn't help me keep the good going for the next month, then hell, nothing will.

change of scenery.

thanksgiving, here again - all sudden bluster and orange leaves and god, how did this year begin to die already - and i am utterly worn out. i don't quite know whether this is a good thing, a bad thing, or just a thing. all i know is that i am tired. i see the reflection of my eyelids in the metro windows and i am a bit shocked, really, at the obvious weight. the evident drag around the edges. my body screams at me for more sleep - it wants more, no matter how much i give it, sleeping in until almost noon on the weekends like i haven't done (regularly, at least) since grad school. it's like my blood is thick, slow moving, and ultimately unable to keep up with the basic, day-to-day things that i demand of it.

will this pass? i hope so. for a generally high-strung person like me, this level of lethargy shifts from soporifically enjoyable into gratingly discordant in a very short amount of time, and then trying to force the square pegs of my type-a impulses into these little round holes of apathetic behavior is akin to repeatedly attempting to use a moving turntable for a pillow.

in other words, i am not quite myself.

i'm hoping this coming holiday offers a bit of a respite and a chance for me to figure out what needs adjusting. we'll be off in the blue ridge mountains with BoyCat's family for awhile - i think the change of scenery can only help things. i'm going to put on a fleece and a winter hat, hike up a trail, read a book, drink some wine, and try to kick start this mysterious little motor that is my head. see you next week.

you know what's frustrating?

that i can't tell the difference between ridiculous allergies and a head cold. especially in late november. there's sneezing, and a stuffy - then runny - then itchy nose (lather rinse repeat), and a headache.

i guess if it's still here in the morning, it's probably a head cold, right?

given the number of deadlines i have in the next two weeks compared to the number of days i have in which to meet them, i'm really hoping it's not. here in the morning, that is. either way.

sniffle.

friday cat blogging, SisterCat edition.

as i'm sure you all know, since you've undoubtedly had this date marked on your calendars for weeks, today is SisterCat's birthday. regular readers of this blog know that i must take this opportunity to catalogue the imposing and wondrous greatness that is SisterCat. the problem is, i'm so exhausted from the insanity of this week that i'm a little fuzzy on the details of SisterCat's myriad accomplishments of the past year.

so, here is a list of things i think that SisterCat may have done in the past 365 days:

- brokered a nuclear disarmament agreement with north korea
- invaded north korea
- bought a pair of red, patent leather, four-inch peep-toe heels
- had a full-on conversation, including voiceovers, with her cat
- brought the stock market to its knees
- bravely pursued a new career
- bravely ditched a lot of other things that weren't working
- drank an entire bottle of wine herself
- convinced britney that performing at the VMAs was a great idea
- insulted someone who deserved it
- overextended herself for someone who deserved it
- purchased the Boston Celtics
- won a Pulitzer for investigative reporting
- broke glass
- laughed til she nearly choked
- coordinated a hostile takeover of a Fortune 500 company
- wrote Hillary's health care plan
- made someone miserable
- made someone's day
- made tough decisions
- made me proud

i think that about covers it. happy birthday, SisterCat!

your wednesday one-liner.

courtesy of Overheard in New York, one question and one follow-up:

Woman: Okay, should we start a Facebook group for people with great cleavage? Or is that déclassé?

--Bedford & 7th, Williamsburg

in sum - no, and yes. but points for using "déclassé" in a sentence, and extra points for using it self-referentially. that's truly impressive.

if i were a typewriter.

i'd type in the morning. i'd type in evening. all over this land.

or something.

as you can see, i'm heavily involved in a) typing, and b) being delusional. i just thought i'd let you know.

also, chai tea is delicious and good editing fuel.

along the potomac.

lately i've been having these dreams about old friends. the friends you just don't see anymore. they are surprisingly languid dreams - hemingway dreams where nothing really happens - we are just, suddenly, there. together. one invites me to a party at a log cabin in the town where we went to college. another gives me a necklace that starts out as the clockface from a pocketwatch and turns into a carving of a saint.

in these dreams, i am always conscious of the passage of time - that somehow, we are not supposed to be interacting in the present, but in the past, where we really belong.

***

i am driving down 395 south, away from virginia and into the district. it is dusk. the sun is sinking to the west, the sunset beyond the sprawling angles of the pentagon a dull, diffuse rose - the east is all deep gray and the winking lights of the pentagon city office buildings and hotels.

there is thick traffic. not quite enough to impede me - just enough to surround me on all sides. i move continuously into the stream of red tail lights ahead of me. the negative image, blurred and blurring headlights, wheel past on my left, moving, slowing, moving again. everywhere there are these small bits of light, traveling in concert without any need of one another - i notice it, how we move like this - being funneled, funneling ourselves.

a plane approaches national airport, sideways across my view, descending into the darkness that keeps feeling its way along the potomac. the whole city, spread out in front of me from this vantage point, is sanguine. low-slung. waiting, and unperturbed.

***

usually, i don't remember my dreams. my subconscious, like my conscious, is not very clear with itself. my dreams are often at best half-remembered things - a sense of what the dream was like, but not what it was. details elude me. meaning escapes me. i am usually only left, at best, with feelings - unreliable things that they are.

***

i am struck, in my little oasis of a car, with an overwhelming sense of trepidation. i don't grip the wheel any harder, i don't veer out of my lane - i am simply struck. i am afraid that there is nothing to me.

i am afraid that, deep down, i am not good person or a bad person or an enviable person or a pitiable person. i am afraid that there is no essential truth about myself, no center that will right me if i could just learn to balance on it. maybe - maybe there is nothing there.

maybe i am like a baseball, and if you managed to hit me hard enough to knock the covering off, i would simply unravel.

***

last year, i had one of those dreams where you dream that you've woken up, but you really haven't. i'm dreaming that i'm in our bedroom, awake, but that something is not right. i lay still. after a few moments, i realize that i hear sounds from the bathroom. i lift myself up on one elbow and peer through the darkness towards the bathroom door. it is a stark black space, surrounded cleanly on all four sides by the light streaming out from behind it.

someone is in there.

i creep around the bed and towards the door, adrenaline starting to seep into my chest. i am afraid only in that dream-like way - not acutely, as in the face of danger, but absolutely, as in the face of the unknown. i push open the door, and the light tumbles forward, half-blinding me.

the man inside, who had been looking in the mirror, turns to look at me. he smiles. "oh," he says, "it's me. don't be afraid - it's just me."

it is my uncle, my father's brother. he has been dead for twelve years. i try desperately to focus. i realize, as i tip backwards inside myself while standing perfectly still, that i am dreaming.

don't be afraid - it's just me.

i wake up in an instant, and i am really awake. but the darkness - that all seems the same.

two quick questions.

over the past week, i have noticed a spike in people finding my blog by searching on two particular subjects. i am hoping that you, the internets, can figure out why there is a sudden interest in googling these two topics. so tell me if you've heard anything, or seen anything, or even have a vague sense of what the hell is going on. because i don't, and dammit i'm curious.

Search #1 is around the tori amos lyric i used as the title of my post about insomnia - "you're just an empty cage, girl, if you kill the bird." i've had more people find my blog by searching on some component of that line in the last week than in all my previous time blogging combined. was it featured somewhere? i don't watch enough tv anymore - i don't know these things.

Search #2 is regarding the wearing black with brown issue. now, i'm not going to complain about people finding my post about this unfortunate fashion phenomenon (i don't care what macy's marshall field's or anyone else thinks about it, it's wrong,wrong i say!), but it must've been brought up somewhere in the media ether. given that one search also threw the phrase "stacy london" into the mix, i have a sneaking suspicion this is something the what not to wear mavens addressed on a recent episode. and now i'd love to know what she said about it.

because if she endorsed it, seriously, i will cut her.

a singular enmity, reinflamed.

i hate pantyhose. i hate them so much. i had to wear them for a big work thing this week, and it is only on the rare occasions in which i am forced, by the combination of my choice of outfit, social convention, and plunging temperatures to wear them that i am reminded how much i loathe them. truly. more than most nearly anything that i can think of at the moment.

for instance, i hate pantyhose more than:

1. tracksuits

2. ruthless dictators

3. that gillette commercial where the european tennis guy says, "i never zink about yestaday"

4. french country decor

5. chris matthews

6. people who microwave fish dishes for lunch

7. my car payment

8. anita shreve

9. jumpers

10. jumpers with jelly shoes

11. the state of indiana

12. my sinuses

13. jello with the little bits of fruit inside

14. white wicker furniture

15. global warming, poverty, and every pandemic that ever happened all rolled into one


really, human kind is overrated. pantyhose, however, remain the unacknowledged work of the devil. in which case, you can see there really is no contest.

i mean, god, what kind of company name is "Leggs" anyway?

and we turn him into an anecdote.

something that i read today reminded me of one of my favorite movies, Six Degrees of Separation. i really fucking love that movie - it's actually kind of a crime that i don't own it on dvd.

so then i went looking for a very brief scene from the movie on youtube, which they didn't have, but i did find a clip of the final scene, which is amazing. stockard channing has been great in many things, and this is no exception. if you haven't seen the movie, for god's sake don't watch this because you'll ruin it! put the movie on the top of your netflix queue and see the whole thing.

however, if you have seen the movie and loved it like i did, by all means take five minutes to revisit this little dual tour de force from channing and donald sutherland. (the french subtitles? - i have no idea what they're about, and they are slightly distracting. but oh well i still kinda want to hug the person who posted it anyway.)

DC art this fall: there's more.

ok, DC peoples.

there is this really cool-sounding museum exhibit that you should go see. yes, on top of all of these.

i just read about it today, and it's called Kate: A Centennial Celebration, and it runs from now through June 1, 2008 at the National Portrait Gallery. which kate, you ask? well, the kate, of course.



katharine hepburn.

seriously, no woman has ever been able to rock the trousers like she did. not one.

DCist - where I learned about the exhibit today - give the overview:

Katharine Hepburn, one of the most iconic actresses of the 20th century, is the latest person to be featured in the National Portrait Gallery’s “One Life” gallery. Kate: A Centennial Celebration, which opened today, presents a multi-media approach to Hepburn’s life — photographs, video clips, her four Best Actress Oscar statuettes, a Brooks Brothers red turtleneck sweater, and a studio contract are all on display.

The four statuettes, which Hepburn won for Morning Glory, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, The Lion in Winter and On Golden Pond, were never displayed before, and here they’re a testament to an acting career that spanned decades. Nine film clips are available to watch in the video kiosk, with scenes from Little Women, The Philadelphia Story, and The African Queen, among others. Also on display is a portrait of Hepburn wearing a straw hat, painted by Everett Raymond Kinstler in 1982, which Hepburn called her “favorite.”

so, go check it. i know that i will.

little relationship truth #2,347.

after a really long stretch of of togetherness, you might start to think that you know most everything there is to know about your partner. the good, the bad, the ugly - all that and more. i know i kinda did. but every now and again, a little something happens to remind you that it's never even close to possible.

for instance, at the end of a random phone conversation the other day, i discovered that BoyCat does a very serviceable jimmy stewart. so good and so ridiculous of a caricature that it actually made me laugh out loud when i heard it.

i love that i spent a grand total of 61 months not knowing that about him, and now i do. i love that he's been making me laugh in so many ways for over five years, and all that time there was another one hidden up his sleeve.

i love that i have the chance to keep learning more.

friday cat blogging, go cry emo kid edition.

poor CatCat. she's had a tough month. first a surgical procedure that left her with half of her teeth, and then a mysterious lip-related ailment that took two trips to the vet and a multitude of pill-down-the-throat episodes in order to even diagnose the actual problem.

which is rodent ulcer.

that's right! my cat has an ailment named after a rat. (my vet informed me yesterday that it has this colloquial name because people used to think that cats got it by...you guessed it...eating rodents. but, luckily for us, this is not the case.) so now there's another week long pill-shoving regimen, at the end of which her lip should be back to normal for an unspecified amount of time. we apparently then just wait to see when, if ever, it flares up again.

CatCat says, great. just great.



poor kitteh.