The French do a lot of weird things, but sometimes they are just made out of pure awesome. You just have to admire a country that wholly embraces a soccer player who headbutts someone on an international stage, in a sport where honor, dignity and not fighting people in weird ways are still big things. Your admiration can only increase when a French band then makes up a song about the incident with a kicky, Venga-Boys-esque beat to it, and that the French then love the crap out of that song so much that it ends up number one on the charts. And the lyrics? FanTAStic.
Some folks may know about Flyboy's Headbutt of Love. He's very into expressing affection by smashing his furry little noggin into you. He tends to aim for your head, but he'll settle for your arm, leg, neck, knee, stomach, whatever, if the head is not available. It's pretty cute and actually has gotten a bit dangerous as he's gotten older and bigger...both Rich and I have taken sudden, unexpected hits and nose shots that have been a little painful. My point is that all I really want out of life right now is a picture of Flyboy photoshopped into a Zidane jersey with that headbuttin' look in his beady little eye. The ideal, of course, would be VIDEO of him headbutting various people, set to the dulcet tones of "Coupe de Boule," perhaps interspersed with footage of the Zidane headbutt itself.
So, I had my first workout with Ma's personal trainer, whom we shall call Mr. Goodbody, per Speed's nickname for him. My legs are KILLING me today, but only during the sit-to-stand transition, which is good. My arms kind of feel pissy if I poke them. Speed STILL holds the tomato pizza that Mr. Goodbody brought to last year's Christmas party against him - it's a damn thin crust pizza without eighteen pounds of grease and a whole cow on it! LEARN TO DEAL. I think almost nine months is a BIT long to hold a grudge over pizza. Heh. (Yes, I know you're kidding, DEAR.) It feels muy awesome to be working out again and such. I'll even take the sore stuff for it!
Grandad is back to standard after a brief but exciting disaster when they injected him with the radiation stuff for the brain scan. I think his body probably was just too exhausted by everything to put up with it. They had to bring in an emergency crew and everything to get him stable again, but he seems to be okay now.
I leave you with....un coup de boule. (The translation might be a little off because I'm a little rusty but I think the general effect is there.)
Attention c'est la dance du coup de boule! (Coup de boule, coup de boule!)
Watch out, it's the headbutt dance!
Coup de boule a droite! (Coup de boule, coup de boule!)
Headbutt to the right!
Coup de boule a gauche! (Coup de boule, coup de boule!)
Headbutt to the left!
Allez les bleus allez!
Go Blues, go!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Le rital il a eu mal, Zidane il l'a frappe;
The guido was hurt, Zidane hit [him];
L'italien ne va pas bien, Zidane il l'a tape;
The Italian's not doing well, Zidane slapped [him];
L'arbitre l'a vu a la tele, Zidane il 'a frappe...
The ref saw it on TV, Zidane hit him;
Mais la coupe on l'a rate, on a quand meme bien rigole!
But we lost the Cup, but we had a good time anyway!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Trezeguet n'a pas joue quand il a joue, il a rate;
Trezeguet didn't play, and when he played he sucked;
Il a tout fait capoter, la coupe on l'a rate;
He screwed up everything, we lost the World Cup;
Barthez n'a rien arrete, c'est pourtant pas complique;
Barthez didn't stop a thing, it's not complicated;
Les sponsors sont tous faches mais Chirac a bien parle...
The sponsors all were pissed, but Chirac spoke well...
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Attention c'est la danse du coup de boule!
Watch out, it's the headbutt dance!
Coup de boule a droite! (Coup de boule, coup de boule!)
Headbutt to the right!
Coup de boule a gauche! (Coup de boule, coup de boule!)
Headbutt to the left!
Coup de boule a avant! (Coup de boule, coup de boule!)
Headbutt to the front!
Coup de boule a arriere! (Coup de boule, coup de boule!)
Headbutt to the back!
Et maintenant penalty, attention il va tirer...
And now it's the penalty, pay attention, he's going to shoot...
Un, deux, troiiiiiiiis...c'est rateeeeeeee!
One, two, threeeeee....he missed!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
Zidane il a frappe, Zidane il a tape! (coup de boule!)
Zidane hit [him], Zidane slapped [him]!
On a quand meme bien rigole, Zidane et Trezeguet!
We had a good time anyway, Zidane and Trezeguet!
La coupe on l'a rate, Zidane et Trezequet!
We lost the World Cup, Zidane et Trezequet!
On a quand meme bien rigole, Zidane et Trezeguet!
We had a good time anyway, Zidane and Trezeguet!
La coupe on l'a rate, Zidane et Trezequet!
We lost the World Cup, Zidane et Trezeguet!
Et Trezequet et Trezequet et Trezequet!
And Trezeguet, and Trezeguet, and Trezeguet!
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
Words Are Not Toys
9 minutes and 39 seconds for the 15x15 grid crossword on MSNBC published on 8/23/06.
9 minutes and 31 seconds for the 15x15 grid crossword on MSNBC published on 8/24/06.
I don't really like the MSNBC puzzles, but I am more or less used to not liking puzzles that are not in the Washington Post or New York Times. I'm not sure if it's that the puzzlers and editors of the Post and Times puzzles just think about language and words in a similar way to the way I do or what, but something with those crosswords feel like I'm getting a good brain workout for all the right reasons. When I talked with my old friend The SG, it felt like doing a good crossword - we were both fairly evenly matched, intelligence-wise, both expressed ourselves well and on the same level of vocabulary, and we didn't always agree, so it was like working to express yourself the way you wanted to in a way that would translate for people.
With the MSNBC puzzle (and these are online, by the way) I have found at least a handful of words where I couldn't get the words figured out not because I didn't know the word, but because the word straight up did not mean what the clue said. Neither of the two puzzles I gave you the times of above had any mistakes like that, but I'll keep an eye out and give a good example. Complaints about the MSNBC puzzle aside, I DO like that it times you while you work, because I'm a competitive sum-bitch and I like to know the times. I am out of practice, since I was spoiled by AU's providing the Post, Times and USA Today (whose puzzle I disliked for the same reason as the MSNBC puzzle) free every weekday. I can still generally do the Sunday Boston Globe puzzle in somewhere between 15 and 30 minutes. The last two years that I did the Post puzzle every day, it didn't ever take me over 15 minutes to complete a weekday puzzle (unless I was double-teaming said puzzle with Fellow Puzzle Fiend the Statesman, in which case there would be lots of yakking interspersed with arguing over whether one should cross out just the number when you got a clue [the Statesman] or the whole clue [me].), and the Saturday and Sunday puzzles usually fell in the 15-30 range.
The local paper's crosswords are bought from a syndicated puke-out-a-puzzle company and are intensely aggravating because they are poorly constructed. It is bad news.
Now, the NYT is a whole other ballgame. I love the Times puzzle and I love that "Wordplay" exists (Jon Stewart, Bill Clinton, Mike Mussina, Will Shortz and lots of dorks who kick crossword butt...perfect storm of AWESOME if you ask me.), but holy CRAP is that thing hard. I can usually finish the weekday editions, but it usually takes me between 20 and 30 minutes. I have finished a grand total of 29 Sunday Times puzzles over maybe four years of serious puzzling. THOSE were completed in anywhere from 20 minutes (I nearly fell off my chair when I discovered I had finished so fast) to two days. I used to carry those bad boys around in my wallet so I could bust them out on Metro rides and in boring classes.
Language is not a toy. It IS an issue when you use the wrong word. It IS an issue when you can't communicate effectively. And it IS an issue when you cost me precious seconds trying to think of a crossword answer that has nothing to do with the clue. Chumps.
In other news, sometimes doctors confuse the crap out of me.
So, Grandad has been in the hospital for a couple days - he went in with fluid in his lungs and an infection, apparently, but it seemed to be manageable for the time being and they started working on getting that fluid out and getting the infection under control. Fine. But the other day he was really shaky and had what the docs initally thought looked stroke-y. They were going to do a brain scan on him last night. It didn't get done, not sure why, but in any case, this morning not only was he doing better and concious and talking, but he didn't remember the whole episode the day before. Now, call me crazy, but if someone has something that looks like a stroke but you're not sure, and then the next day he doesn't remember anything about it, wouldn't that make you MORE determined to get the scan done to see what, if anything, had happened? Apparently not. I just don't get it.
Now here's the thing - Grandma is a ninja. There's a certain amount of Don't Ask Don't Tell in the day-to-day relationship there, which I think is inevitable. I mean, you ask Grandad how he feels, he's going to say he's fine, because he doesn't feel any crappier than usual. He's an old guy who has been smoking a pipe since he was 12 and he's been sick a long time. Being sick stinks, period the end. But then you get Grandma in the hospital, and seriously...knowledge kung-fu. She is SO up on all the options and what's going on and all that stuff. Between her and the Aunt and Uncle Troops On The Ground, there is major ass-kicking going on. Good hands all around. I'll be praying for Grandad.
One more thing on the Grandad Front is that I always ask Dad how HE is doing when we talk about this stuff. I usually get some variant of "eh, I'm fine" but last night we had a slightly more in depth chat about it. His thoughts were that while he obviously wouldn't be thrilled if Grandad passed away tomorrow, he also wouldn't feel like there were still major State of the Relationship discussions that had been un-had or anything like that. That's a great way to be - I try to keep tabs with as much of the fam as I can for that reason. Well, and because they're neat.
9 minutes and 31 seconds for the 15x15 grid crossword on MSNBC published on 8/24/06.
I don't really like the MSNBC puzzles, but I am more or less used to not liking puzzles that are not in the Washington Post or New York Times. I'm not sure if it's that the puzzlers and editors of the Post and Times puzzles just think about language and words in a similar way to the way I do or what, but something with those crosswords feel like I'm getting a good brain workout for all the right reasons. When I talked with my old friend The SG, it felt like doing a good crossword - we were both fairly evenly matched, intelligence-wise, both expressed ourselves well and on the same level of vocabulary, and we didn't always agree, so it was like working to express yourself the way you wanted to in a way that would translate for people.
With the MSNBC puzzle (and these are online, by the way) I have found at least a handful of words where I couldn't get the words figured out not because I didn't know the word, but because the word straight up did not mean what the clue said. Neither of the two puzzles I gave you the times of above had any mistakes like that, but I'll keep an eye out and give a good example. Complaints about the MSNBC puzzle aside, I DO like that it times you while you work, because I'm a competitive sum-bitch and I like to know the times. I am out of practice, since I was spoiled by AU's providing the Post, Times and USA Today (whose puzzle I disliked for the same reason as the MSNBC puzzle) free every weekday. I can still generally do the Sunday Boston Globe puzzle in somewhere between 15 and 30 minutes. The last two years that I did the Post puzzle every day, it didn't ever take me over 15 minutes to complete a weekday puzzle (unless I was double-teaming said puzzle with Fellow Puzzle Fiend the Statesman, in which case there would be lots of yakking interspersed with arguing over whether one should cross out just the number when you got a clue [the Statesman] or the whole clue [me].), and the Saturday and Sunday puzzles usually fell in the 15-30 range.
The local paper's crosswords are bought from a syndicated puke-out-a-puzzle company and are intensely aggravating because they are poorly constructed. It is bad news.
Now, the NYT is a whole other ballgame. I love the Times puzzle and I love that "Wordplay" exists (Jon Stewart, Bill Clinton, Mike Mussina, Will Shortz and lots of dorks who kick crossword butt...perfect storm of AWESOME if you ask me.), but holy CRAP is that thing hard. I can usually finish the weekday editions, but it usually takes me between 20 and 30 minutes. I have finished a grand total of 29 Sunday Times puzzles over maybe four years of serious puzzling. THOSE were completed in anywhere from 20 minutes (I nearly fell off my chair when I discovered I had finished so fast) to two days. I used to carry those bad boys around in my wallet so I could bust them out on Metro rides and in boring classes.
Language is not a toy. It IS an issue when you use the wrong word. It IS an issue when you can't communicate effectively. And it IS an issue when you cost me precious seconds trying to think of a crossword answer that has nothing to do with the clue. Chumps.
In other news, sometimes doctors confuse the crap out of me.
So, Grandad has been in the hospital for a couple days - he went in with fluid in his lungs and an infection, apparently, but it seemed to be manageable for the time being and they started working on getting that fluid out and getting the infection under control. Fine. But the other day he was really shaky and had what the docs initally thought looked stroke-y. They were going to do a brain scan on him last night. It didn't get done, not sure why, but in any case, this morning not only was he doing better and concious and talking, but he didn't remember the whole episode the day before. Now, call me crazy, but if someone has something that looks like a stroke but you're not sure, and then the next day he doesn't remember anything about it, wouldn't that make you MORE determined to get the scan done to see what, if anything, had happened? Apparently not. I just don't get it.
Now here's the thing - Grandma is a ninja. There's a certain amount of Don't Ask Don't Tell in the day-to-day relationship there, which I think is inevitable. I mean, you ask Grandad how he feels, he's going to say he's fine, because he doesn't feel any crappier than usual. He's an old guy who has been smoking a pipe since he was 12 and he's been sick a long time. Being sick stinks, period the end. But then you get Grandma in the hospital, and seriously...knowledge kung-fu. She is SO up on all the options and what's going on and all that stuff. Between her and the Aunt and Uncle Troops On The Ground, there is major ass-kicking going on. Good hands all around. I'll be praying for Grandad.
One more thing on the Grandad Front is that I always ask Dad how HE is doing when we talk about this stuff. I usually get some variant of "eh, I'm fine" but last night we had a slightly more in depth chat about it. His thoughts were that while he obviously wouldn't be thrilled if Grandad passed away tomorrow, he also wouldn't feel like there were still major State of the Relationship discussions that had been un-had or anything like that. That's a great way to be - I try to keep tabs with as much of the fam as I can for that reason. Well, and because they're neat.
Shut Up, Kids.
Okay, can I talk to you guys for just a sec about kids?
I am down with kids, more or less, although I am in no particular rush to have my own. I think that's more a function of my life being hectic and busy right now than actual biological clock issues...it's hard to imagine adding kids into the mix. However good or bad a parent I may be when I get around to that milestone, though, I plan on doing one very important thing, which is PAYING ATTENTION TO WHERE IT'S APPROPRIATE TO BRING MY GODDAMN KID.
There are two little beasts in the office right now who have been stampeding around all day. They belong to the same woman (I think) who has been bringing her mid-teenaged daughter in on and off (more on) over the course of maybe a month, apparently so the girl can go on MySpace and pass the time. Does Mid-Teen Daughter bother me? No, not really, although I do think it's slightly odd that she would want to hang at her mom's work. She doesn't bug me because she is QUIET and NOT DISRUPTIVE. THREE TIMES I have had to shut my door just in order to HEAR PEOPLE on the other end of the phone. TWICE, these children have come into my office for various reasons, all annoying. All I can hear, above everything, is shrieking and giggling. SOMEONE PLEASE KILL ME.
It's the same thing that bugs me about Meeting sometimes. I just outright don't like having kids in adult Meeting, while Ma is down with kids being there for 20 minutes or so and then being shooed out to Sunday school. I can live with the 20 minute concept, I guess, but the thing is...well, do you remember playing "the Quiet Game" when you were little, where someone would arbitrarily decide a start point and then everyone would be "quiet" as long as they could? Remember how your group, no matter what size, could only be "quiet" for about 5 minutes, tops, except that one kid who grew up to read depressing French literature and could be actually be quiet, and proceeded to do so for the next three hours? And remember how "quiet" actually meant "squirming around in your seat and messing with the seatbelt and flicking your brother in the head while making any noise that could not be constitutionally declared an actual word, i.e. humming, snorting, and other assorted noises"?
Yeah.
Kids don't do an hour's worth of not talking. They squirm, kick their seats, pester their parents, etc. It's supposed to be silent reflection, okay? Not "mostly everyone not talking except that kid who is fidgeting and talking about Cheez-its." Amongst other things kids don't do? Eight hour workdays. I don't do eight hour workdays, and I actually have a job to do when I am here. I am old enough to vote for the President, and I get all kinds of ADD and boredom and irritation and whatever, and AGAIN...I have a reason for being here. Love my job, totally love it, but yo, sometimes being here eight hours straight is not really my thing. And you want a kid - and we ARE talking kids, these gals can't be breaking 8 - to amuse itself (not a slam on kids, I just don't think themself is an actual word) for eight hours? AUGH. Not! Appropriate! This is not a babysitting agency. Get a sitter. Christ.
I cannot WAIT for this day to end and to be rid of these children.
I am starting with Ma's personal trainer tomorrow - I am psyched but also nervous. But hooray for being less fat! HOO, HOO, HOO, HOO!
I am down with kids, more or less, although I am in no particular rush to have my own. I think that's more a function of my life being hectic and busy right now than actual biological clock issues...it's hard to imagine adding kids into the mix. However good or bad a parent I may be when I get around to that milestone, though, I plan on doing one very important thing, which is PAYING ATTENTION TO WHERE IT'S APPROPRIATE TO BRING MY GODDAMN KID.
There are two little beasts in the office right now who have been stampeding around all day. They belong to the same woman (I think) who has been bringing her mid-teenaged daughter in on and off (more on) over the course of maybe a month, apparently so the girl can go on MySpace and pass the time. Does Mid-Teen Daughter bother me? No, not really, although I do think it's slightly odd that she would want to hang at her mom's work. She doesn't bug me because she is QUIET and NOT DISRUPTIVE. THREE TIMES I have had to shut my door just in order to HEAR PEOPLE on the other end of the phone. TWICE, these children have come into my office for various reasons, all annoying. All I can hear, above everything, is shrieking and giggling. SOMEONE PLEASE KILL ME.
It's the same thing that bugs me about Meeting sometimes. I just outright don't like having kids in adult Meeting, while Ma is down with kids being there for 20 minutes or so and then being shooed out to Sunday school. I can live with the 20 minute concept, I guess, but the thing is...well, do you remember playing "the Quiet Game" when you were little, where someone would arbitrarily decide a start point and then everyone would be "quiet" as long as they could? Remember how your group, no matter what size, could only be "quiet" for about 5 minutes, tops, except that one kid who grew up to read depressing French literature and could be actually be quiet, and proceeded to do so for the next three hours? And remember how "quiet" actually meant "squirming around in your seat and messing with the seatbelt and flicking your brother in the head while making any noise that could not be constitutionally declared an actual word, i.e. humming, snorting, and other assorted noises"?
Yeah.
Kids don't do an hour's worth of not talking. They squirm, kick their seats, pester their parents, etc. It's supposed to be silent reflection, okay? Not "mostly everyone not talking except that kid who is fidgeting and talking about Cheez-its." Amongst other things kids don't do? Eight hour workdays. I don't do eight hour workdays, and I actually have a job to do when I am here. I am old enough to vote for the President, and I get all kinds of ADD and boredom and irritation and whatever, and AGAIN...I have a reason for being here. Love my job, totally love it, but yo, sometimes being here eight hours straight is not really my thing. And you want a kid - and we ARE talking kids, these gals can't be breaking 8 - to amuse itself (not a slam on kids, I just don't think themself is an actual word) for eight hours? AUGH. Not! Appropriate! This is not a babysitting agency. Get a sitter. Christ.
I cannot WAIT for this day to end and to be rid of these children.
I am starting with Ma's personal trainer tomorrow - I am psyched but also nervous. But hooray for being less fat! HOO, HOO, HOO, HOO!
Thursday, August 24, 2006
If You Wake Up in the Morning and All You Want to Do is Write...
Okay, seriously now, this book attempt is killing me.
Also, why do cats love laptop computers so much? Flyboy always wants to lie right against my stomach, on top of the touchpad and first two rows of keys. And he does not just sit there. Oh no. He luxuriates. Very weird cat. Thought it was jealousy. But now Sweetheart, the family cat who lives at the parents', is loving the HELL out of the side of the screen. So maybe Flyboy ISN'T weird.
Yeah, no. Did I tell you about the time the other day when I had to put him into the basement after he dove headfirst into the glass slider trying to catch moths? Right.
So the book attempt. I can never remember who knows this and who doesn't, but for a little over a year, I've been trying to wrestle a full size novel out of a series I started on the website I used to post on a lot. As of right now, it is the longest thing I have ever written, coming in at 47 pages and 27,796 words. For whatever reason, I've latched onto the ballpark of 50,000 words for my ideal length, but really it's a matter of getting all the concepts that are in my head onto paper, which is proving difficult. In my noggin, it's all done. I know who is going to do what when and where, but getting it in compelling prose is...jesus, it's AGGRAVATING, is what it is.
I hate it. I like the story, I like the writing, I like my word choice and I like my characters...but when I read back over what I've written, I convince myself that it's a juvenile, pedantic story with no interest, shitty dialogue, and crap writing. Does everyone go through this? How I am going to edit it, I have no idea, since I'll just hate it all and rewrite everything whether I should or not.
I guess it's probably a part of the whole process, but I wish I could somehow puke the whole story onto the page and then fine tune...but no. Le sigh. In time, I guess.
Also, why do cats love laptop computers so much? Flyboy always wants to lie right against my stomach, on top of the touchpad and first two rows of keys. And he does not just sit there. Oh no. He luxuriates. Very weird cat. Thought it was jealousy. But now Sweetheart, the family cat who lives at the parents', is loving the HELL out of the side of the screen. So maybe Flyboy ISN'T weird.
Yeah, no. Did I tell you about the time the other day when I had to put him into the basement after he dove headfirst into the glass slider trying to catch moths? Right.
So the book attempt. I can never remember who knows this and who doesn't, but for a little over a year, I've been trying to wrestle a full size novel out of a series I started on the website I used to post on a lot. As of right now, it is the longest thing I have ever written, coming in at 47 pages and 27,796 words. For whatever reason, I've latched onto the ballpark of 50,000 words for my ideal length, but really it's a matter of getting all the concepts that are in my head onto paper, which is proving difficult. In my noggin, it's all done. I know who is going to do what when and where, but getting it in compelling prose is...jesus, it's AGGRAVATING, is what it is.
I hate it. I like the story, I like the writing, I like my word choice and I like my characters...but when I read back over what I've written, I convince myself that it's a juvenile, pedantic story with no interest, shitty dialogue, and crap writing. Does everyone go through this? How I am going to edit it, I have no idea, since I'll just hate it all and rewrite everything whether I should or not.
I guess it's probably a part of the whole process, but I wish I could somehow puke the whole story onto the page and then fine tune...but no. Le sigh. In time, I guess.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Meownos: The Paws of Fate
Once upon a time, there was a dark mystery, settled like a crow on the roof of our home in the quiet town of Holden.
No, it was actually dark, as in, the cat's paws were black, y'all.
One morning when we were getting ready for work, Flyboy came bopping in, looking very satisfied with himself. He hopped up on the counter, and I saw that his paws were FILTHY, covered with black soot of some kind, and he had a crown of spiderwebs on. I didn't really have time to discuss it with him, but when Speed and I got home that night, he was STILL totally gross, and remained so through a couple of washings.
We figured that Flyboy - however improbably - had somehow developed enough grace to have jumped the fireplace screen without knocking it over, and to then hop out again after having a nice, satisfying romp in the grate. Now, if you're a cat owner, you know how cats are - one moment, full of lissome movements and impossible, invisible, silent escapes and attacks, the next second, managing to knock over an entire bookcase and its contents, your TV, and following it all up with a dash directly into a door or similar solid object. We chalked it up to the former, mostly because we had no other option. Speed turned the screen around so it was flush with the bricks of the mantle, and we figured we were good.
Well, he appeared a few more times, looking dirty again and bedecked in spider webs. Since he didn't present anything as impressive as his first performance, we assumed he was just nosing into dark and spider infested corners of the basement or something.
So tonight I was switching the laundry, and I noticed some dirty pawprints on top of the dryer. And then I looked up the wall, and saw dirty pawprints THERE. What Flyboy had been doing was hopping up on the pipes along the wall over the washer, and using that access route to get into the ceiling space and then to the boiler room. This also made clear another cat incident, wherein Speed came home to hear mewing in the basement, and upon checking it out, found Cady stuck in the boiler room.
Le sigh.
No, it was actually dark, as in, the cat's paws were black, y'all.
One morning when we were getting ready for work, Flyboy came bopping in, looking very satisfied with himself. He hopped up on the counter, and I saw that his paws were FILTHY, covered with black soot of some kind, and he had a crown of spiderwebs on. I didn't really have time to discuss it with him, but when Speed and I got home that night, he was STILL totally gross, and remained so through a couple of washings.
We figured that Flyboy - however improbably - had somehow developed enough grace to have jumped the fireplace screen without knocking it over, and to then hop out again after having a nice, satisfying romp in the grate. Now, if you're a cat owner, you know how cats are - one moment, full of lissome movements and impossible, invisible, silent escapes and attacks, the next second, managing to knock over an entire bookcase and its contents, your TV, and following it all up with a dash directly into a door or similar solid object. We chalked it up to the former, mostly because we had no other option. Speed turned the screen around so it was flush with the bricks of the mantle, and we figured we were good.
Well, he appeared a few more times, looking dirty again and bedecked in spider webs. Since he didn't present anything as impressive as his first performance, we assumed he was just nosing into dark and spider infested corners of the basement or something.
So tonight I was switching the laundry, and I noticed some dirty pawprints on top of the dryer. And then I looked up the wall, and saw dirty pawprints THERE. What Flyboy had been doing was hopping up on the pipes along the wall over the washer, and using that access route to get into the ceiling space and then to the boiler room. This also made clear another cat incident, wherein Speed came home to hear mewing in the basement, and upon checking it out, found Cady stuck in the boiler room.
Le sigh.
Monday, August 7, 2006
I Want You On My Team/So Does Everybody Else
I.
Am.
The ADMINISTRAAAAAYTOOOOORRRRR!
I am the only person in the department until the 16th, which is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, I am doing everything...phones, paperwork, calling people, etc. On the other, the Insta-Panic mode that Podnah brings to the department is blessedly missing, which is a huge relief. You can see where the Insta-Panic evolved from - she's had a bunch of jobs where it was either a really cutthroat atmosphere or her bosses treated her like dirt, so she's constantly afraid of being...fired, I guess. She KNOWS her shit, but she's not confident enough in the ability to make independent decisions, so it becomes this period of anywhere from 5 minutes to a full day of agonizing over whether or not something is the right decision. And then she does the thing I HATE, which is to ask me what she should do, and then obviously not pay attention and say she's going to do something else. You know what? If you aren't going to LISTEN? Don't ask! Just. Don't. Ask. I'm not one of those people who can't deal with it if you don't do what they suggest when you ask advice. But if you're taking the time from my day for me to think about it and then respond to you, then at least have the courtesy to liiiiiiisssssten. Criminy.
So, Uncle Alligator passed away yesterday. He was another one of those relatives - I had this issue with my grandfather on Dad's side - who was terrifying until you were about 12 or so, at which point you were old enough to appreciate the humor and you were big enough to not be intimidated by their size. Grandad was just tall and spindly, same way Dad is built, but Uncle Alligator was built like the the metaphorical brick shithouse, with a big booming voice and a deep barrel laugh. He was so funny, and just a loving, thoughtful person. It's really sad to see him go, but there were two silverish linings - first, he'd been sick and the family had had some time to prepare, and second, Aunt Alligator's two daughters were down there with them when he passed. Hopefully I will make it to the funeral, but all I've heard is Friday, in which case I would not be able to make it. Fingers crossed. Spiritus sancti.
Am.
The ADMINISTRAAAAAYTOOOOORRRRR!
I am the only person in the department until the 16th, which is a mixed blessing. On the one hand, I am doing everything...phones, paperwork, calling people, etc. On the other, the Insta-Panic mode that Podnah brings to the department is blessedly missing, which is a huge relief. You can see where the Insta-Panic evolved from - she's had a bunch of jobs where it was either a really cutthroat atmosphere or her bosses treated her like dirt, so she's constantly afraid of being...fired, I guess. She KNOWS her shit, but she's not confident enough in the ability to make independent decisions, so it becomes this period of anywhere from 5 minutes to a full day of agonizing over whether or not something is the right decision. And then she does the thing I HATE, which is to ask me what she should do, and then obviously not pay attention and say she's going to do something else. You know what? If you aren't going to LISTEN? Don't ask! Just. Don't. Ask. I'm not one of those people who can't deal with it if you don't do what they suggest when you ask advice. But if you're taking the time from my day for me to think about it and then respond to you, then at least have the courtesy to liiiiiiisssssten. Criminy.
So, Uncle Alligator passed away yesterday. He was another one of those relatives - I had this issue with my grandfather on Dad's side - who was terrifying until you were about 12 or so, at which point you were old enough to appreciate the humor and you were big enough to not be intimidated by their size. Grandad was just tall and spindly, same way Dad is built, but Uncle Alligator was built like the the metaphorical brick shithouse, with a big booming voice and a deep barrel laugh. He was so funny, and just a loving, thoughtful person. It's really sad to see him go, but there were two silverish linings - first, he'd been sick and the family had had some time to prepare, and second, Aunt Alligator's two daughters were down there with them when he passed. Hopefully I will make it to the funeral, but all I've heard is Friday, in which case I would not be able to make it. Fingers crossed. Spiritus sancti.
Wednesday, August 2, 2006
The Cat Chronicles: Volume Oh For God's Sake Already
Cats are amazing creatures, aren't they? Faster than an escaping tail attached to their own butt, more powerful than a beta the size of a quarter, able to leap tall pieces of furniture in a single bound and then continue over the other side and into a box of something very small and scattery, all that jazz.
Amazing.
Have I mentioned lately that Cady's favorite food group is "things that are not cat food"? It's true. Carpenter ants, little pieces of paper, gnawed cardboard, dust. And you know what's great for dessert? Did you guess YARN? Because let me tell you, yarn is fantastic.
Cady ate some yarn maybe 4 months ago, and pooed it out, which was QUITE the extravaganza and [after the fact] very amusing. So we put all the yarn into a bureau inside of a closet, and there we go. Last Sunday we woke up and found that greatest of cat owner gifts, puke on the carpet. Thanks, cat! This was the beginning of a two day vomit spree as conducted by Miss Cady, while Flyboy alternately caused trouble and stayed the hell out of it. We took her to the vet on Monday and did the x-ray thing, and though we could see something in there, it didn't seem like enough of a problem item to be causing the problems we were seeing. Awesome Vet and Cady Love Interest Dr. Campbell and I decided to keep an eye on the situation, and I went home with some more easily digestible cat food to try, none of which she ate. The next day, still puking, so after work I took her to Tufts.
Well, hooray for Tufts. We went to the emergency room and after a relatively short wait, went in to see Awesome Vet and Classmate of AVaCLI Dr. Campbell Dr. Roble and the student assisting, whose name I believe was Sarah and who took a very good and complete medical history before the Doc got in. It bears mentioning that NEITHER of these people either yelled at Cady or called her an idiot when they were unable to listen to her heart because she was purring her fool head off. Dr. Roble was very suspicious of the feel of her tummy (as had been Dr. Campbell), and wanted to get her in for an ultrasound. He suspected a "linear body," i.e. yarn is a delicious treat for girls and boys, and if that was the case, he wanted to go into surgery that night. He quoted us - now would be a good time to sit down, if you're not already - $3,500. Cady is lucky that she and her brother are our kid substitutes. So, I plunked down half of that, took the carrier, and headed home, sobbing most of the way there and composing myself long enough to drive through Holden and then burst into tears again when I saw Speed back at the house. We got the "oh yeah, something troublesome is cookin' in there" call around 11:30, and Cady went in for surgery, getting out around 1:15 am or so.
Let me take a brief Flyboy interlude now...he was PISSED. It was like he was trying to interrogate Cady's position out of us. Meowing, sulking, glaring...the works. And of course, since there was no Cat Wrestling Federation to fill his nighttime hours, he was bored, so he entertained himself by meowing pitifully outside our door. Being the sucker that I am, I thought he was making a ruckus because he was lonely and wanted someone to snuggle with, so I went out to sleep on the couch, where I discovered that what he REALLY wanted was to continue the interrogation by way of Feline Stomping Torture, in which he spent a lot of time headbutting me and walking over my head. Thanks, cat.
So, the next day, Speed and I went to visit Cady at Tufts. She looked like a little war veteran. Both front legs had little 1.5" shaved cuffs above her paws, and on her left front leg, she had a little IV dock wrapped in a big blue bandage. Her whole tummy was shaved and she had 14 stitches in there. She started purring pretty much the second she saw Speed and I, and didn't stop until we left almost an hour and a half later. Come to think of it, we didn't hear her stop, so she may have just continued on. She spent time being patted and curling up against us and zonking out, and she looked GREAT. Very perky, obivously feeling better. The report from the student assigned to the case, Jen, was that she was being VERY affectionate with everyone, and behaving herself very well (even though she'd gotten a little bitey and scratchy on her way into surgery - I think, and the surgeon agreed, that she was just totally freaked out.). Apparently Jen had been trying to feed her by putting some wet food on her finger and holding it out to her, and Cady just mashed her face into it and kept rubbing her face on Jen's hand. Oh, Cady. It's a good thing we got you the surgery, because obviously you will be the cat who cures cancer.
She came home on Thursday instead of Friday as planned, which meant that it "only" cost $2,005. What a steal. She had some light pain meds for three days, and seemed to not even need them - there was no whining or hurty cat behavior as we got closer to time for a dose, etc. For the first couple days, she was hesitant to hop up even onto the couch, but since then she's even made it up to the top of the fridge (the better vantage point from which to observe her domain!) and is having no problems. For several days, she smelled so strongly of vet that Flyboy wouldn't have anything to do with her, but the smell has worn off and they are back to messing with each other. The stitches come out on the 8th, and if she ever pulls a stunt like this again, we're selling her to gypsies.
Crazy weather last night - Holden Street looks like a tornado went down it. Whole trees knocked over, ginormous branches, etc. Brief but tough storm. A very large branch went down on our street, landing squarely in our neighbors' driveway and snapping a power or phone line (we did not lose power). Madness.
Amazing.
Have I mentioned lately that Cady's favorite food group is "things that are not cat food"? It's true. Carpenter ants, little pieces of paper, gnawed cardboard, dust. And you know what's great for dessert? Did you guess YARN? Because let me tell you, yarn is fantastic.
Cady ate some yarn maybe 4 months ago, and pooed it out, which was QUITE the extravaganza and [after the fact] very amusing. So we put all the yarn into a bureau inside of a closet, and there we go. Last Sunday we woke up and found that greatest of cat owner gifts, puke on the carpet. Thanks, cat! This was the beginning of a two day vomit spree as conducted by Miss Cady, while Flyboy alternately caused trouble and stayed the hell out of it. We took her to the vet on Monday and did the x-ray thing, and though we could see something in there, it didn't seem like enough of a problem item to be causing the problems we were seeing. Awesome Vet and Cady Love Interest Dr. Campbell and I decided to keep an eye on the situation, and I went home with some more easily digestible cat food to try, none of which she ate. The next day, still puking, so after work I took her to Tufts.
Well, hooray for Tufts. We went to the emergency room and after a relatively short wait, went in to see Awesome Vet and Classmate of AVaCLI Dr. Campbell Dr. Roble and the student assisting, whose name I believe was Sarah and who took a very good and complete medical history before the Doc got in. It bears mentioning that NEITHER of these people either yelled at Cady or called her an idiot when they were unable to listen to her heart because she was purring her fool head off. Dr. Roble was very suspicious of the feel of her tummy (as had been Dr. Campbell), and wanted to get her in for an ultrasound. He suspected a "linear body," i.e. yarn is a delicious treat for girls and boys, and if that was the case, he wanted to go into surgery that night. He quoted us - now would be a good time to sit down, if you're not already - $3,500. Cady is lucky that she and her brother are our kid substitutes. So, I plunked down half of that, took the carrier, and headed home, sobbing most of the way there and composing myself long enough to drive through Holden and then burst into tears again when I saw Speed back at the house. We got the "oh yeah, something troublesome is cookin' in there" call around 11:30, and Cady went in for surgery, getting out around 1:15 am or so.
Let me take a brief Flyboy interlude now...he was PISSED. It was like he was trying to interrogate Cady's position out of us. Meowing, sulking, glaring...the works. And of course, since there was no Cat Wrestling Federation to fill his nighttime hours, he was bored, so he entertained himself by meowing pitifully outside our door. Being the sucker that I am, I thought he was making a ruckus because he was lonely and wanted someone to snuggle with, so I went out to sleep on the couch, where I discovered that what he REALLY wanted was to continue the interrogation by way of Feline Stomping Torture, in which he spent a lot of time headbutting me and walking over my head. Thanks, cat.
So, the next day, Speed and I went to visit Cady at Tufts. She looked like a little war veteran. Both front legs had little 1.5" shaved cuffs above her paws, and on her left front leg, she had a little IV dock wrapped in a big blue bandage. Her whole tummy was shaved and she had 14 stitches in there. She started purring pretty much the second she saw Speed and I, and didn't stop until we left almost an hour and a half later. Come to think of it, we didn't hear her stop, so she may have just continued on. She spent time being patted and curling up against us and zonking out, and she looked GREAT. Very perky, obivously feeling better. The report from the student assigned to the case, Jen, was that she was being VERY affectionate with everyone, and behaving herself very well (even though she'd gotten a little bitey and scratchy on her way into surgery - I think, and the surgeon agreed, that she was just totally freaked out.). Apparently Jen had been trying to feed her by putting some wet food on her finger and holding it out to her, and Cady just mashed her face into it and kept rubbing her face on Jen's hand. Oh, Cady. It's a good thing we got you the surgery, because obviously you will be the cat who cures cancer.
She came home on Thursday instead of Friday as planned, which meant that it "only" cost $2,005. What a steal. She had some light pain meds for three days, and seemed to not even need them - there was no whining or hurty cat behavior as we got closer to time for a dose, etc. For the first couple days, she was hesitant to hop up even onto the couch, but since then she's even made it up to the top of the fridge (the better vantage point from which to observe her domain!) and is having no problems. For several days, she smelled so strongly of vet that Flyboy wouldn't have anything to do with her, but the smell has worn off and they are back to messing with each other. The stitches come out on the 8th, and if she ever pulls a stunt like this again, we're selling her to gypsies.
Crazy weather last night - Holden Street looks like a tornado went down it. Whole trees knocked over, ginormous branches, etc. Brief but tough storm. A very large branch went down on our street, landing squarely in our neighbors' driveway and snapping a power or phone line (we did not lose power). Madness.
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