A Letter from My Cat: The Lamp

Dear Human Female,

I hate your lamp.  It's in my way.

 

Sincerely,

Bogo


UPDATE:  This is Bogo after he finally succeeded in "accidentally" knocking the lamp off the shelf last night, forcing me to find it a new home.  Look at that smug face.

Ahhh.  That's better.

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The Rats in New York City Love to Dance

Ari and I were watching the Weather Channel late last night to find out exactly how screwed we'd be this week.  As we waited for our local forecast, we were vaguely aware a news story was playing about New York City's handling of the massive snow storm that occurred there last week, but we weren't really paying attention until the news anchor wrapped up by saying, "Hopefully city officials will get to it before the rats."

That's when we knew we'd missed something crucial at the beginning of that newscast.

Ari and I are both reasonably sane--at least, neither of us has ever been known to hear crazy, nonsensical things for no reason--and we concluded we both heard the news anchor on the Weather Channel say something involving New York City officials and "before the rats."

What snow-related shenanigans could rats possibly get into?  Building tiny rat igloos all over the city streets?  Ari suggested the city officials, if they waited too long to clear the snow, might arrive to discover the rats had formed kick lines across the roads and were blaring vaudeville music while doing the can-can.  Then they'd curse their sluggishness and exclaim, "No!  We're too late!"  Ari actually explained this by acting it all out, including the can-can.  Unfortunately, my puny words cannot accurately convey the humor of this.

So instead, I drew a picture.  Then I started adding captions.  Then I started using the captions to make fun of my picture, because it definitely isn't my best work.  I can draw certain things well, but can-can dancing rats and snow plows aren't among those things.  Still, perhaps you can reap some enjoyment from my rudimentary illustrations.

Lately I've been wanting to incorporate drawings into my blog.  I like blogs that have drawings, and I like to draw, and I have a blog.  I face the slight complication of not actually having software on my Mac to draw with, but I'm not above making pen-and-ink drawings and scanning them, or finding free software to download.  Still, before I posted this today, I showed it to Ari, who laughed.  Encouraged, I said, "So you think people will think it's funny?"  Then he shrugged and said, "I dunno," and I was engulfed in a sea of doubt.  People are either going to think, "Hey, that drawing's funny, in a badly-drawn kind of way!  Yay!" or "Wow, this girl cannot draw.  I feel sorry for her.  I'm going to leave a mean comment."  But as you can see, curiosity got the better of me, and I published this post anyway.

By the way:  I shrank the picture so it would fit in this ridiculously narrow template that I am too inept to edit.  If you can't read my sloppy handwriting, clicking the image should make it appear its actual size, which is pretty big. 

UPDATE:  In case any of you were wondering, we found out what city officials needed to get to "before the rats":  trash.  Tons of uncollected trash that had been piled under the snow.  I suppose that's a perfectly feasible explanation for the mysterious rat statement.  Nevertheless, our minds skipped right over it and went straight to the can-can.

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Maybe I'll Never Take Anything Seriously

(but Ari loves me anyway) <--- Ari typed that.  Then he said, "I'm helping.  It's better already."  It was originally in the title bar, but I moved it down here.

Lately I've wondered if I'll ever take anything seriously.  I've had an Etsy store for almost a year now, and I've realized most people take their Etsy really, really seriously.  I thought I'd start taking mine more seriously once I was doing it full-time, but no.  Most sellers know just how to make their products and general life philosophies sound enticing.  I'm more like, "Eh, I sell soap. Buy some if you want." Maybe because as a customer, that's really all I expect. As a matter of fact, if someone were honest enough to say that, I'd applaud their honesty and buy soap from them immediately, if I had any money (which I don't, but that's beside the point). I guess that's the difference between me and the rest of the world.  I just can't manage to take things seriously.

There's certainly a dark side to taking things seriously.  I'm not using that as an excuse--I never took things seriously even before I discovered the dark side.  But when you work in retail and witness a middle-aged woman have a meltdown because your store doesn't have a box to hold her three-foot-tall Santa Claus figurine, you start to think, "Wow.  I'm really glad I don't take things that seriously."

That's probably why I never excelled as a retail clerk.  As a sales clerk, you're supposed to bombard the customer with cheer and goodwill the moment they walk in the door.  "Good morning/evening, sir/ma'am.  How are you?  May I help you find anything today?"  And if they show any interest whatsoever in talking to you, you're supposed to keep the small talk going.  "What brings you to Asheville?  Are you enjoying your trip?"  If I walked into a store and someone recited that complex litany to me, I'd suspect they were a cyborg.  I treated all my customers the way I'd like to be treated--I said "Hello" when they walked in and then ignored them unless they needed anything.  By my employer's standards, I was a mediocre clerk.  By my own standards, I was the greatest sales clerk ever. 

It's not just retail, though.  There are lots of other things I don't take seriously:

 - My personal appearance
 - My bank account balance
 - This blog
 - My other blogs
 - My career, or lack thereof
 - Household problems

…Just to name a few. 

People never seem to understand my inability to be serious.  Today my landlord was here fixing our DirecTV, and he asked me how long it had been since we lost our satellite signal.
   
"Two weeks?" I answered sheepishly.
   
"Two weeks!" he exclaimed.  "Why didn't you call me?"
   
"Well… you know… I was out of town for a while, and… I guess we just didn't get around to it until now."
   
The thing is, it had been even longer than that.  Our satellite stopped working the week we moved in, which was over a month ago.  I guess a normal person who takes things seriously would have responded by thinking, "I deserve satellite service and I'm calling the company right away!"  Ari and I, on the other hand, just think, "Eh, no TV.  I guess we'll just read."

Sometimes I do wonder if I should take things more seriously, like when I recently applied to grad school.  I decided in October that I wanted to go to grad school.  I knew I would first have to take the GRE, so I studied for two weeks and took it in November.  I got my scores back and saw they were decent, so I visited some of my professors from two years ago to see if they'd remember me and write letters of recommendation.

It occurred to me then that most people don't apply to grad school so nonchalantly.  Talking to my former professors about my "plan" was almost embarrassing.  I'd originally planned to apply to only one school that I really, really wanted to go to, which happens to be notoriously selective.  I guess me applying to this school is the equivalent of an overweight, balding man in his forties hitting on a nineteen-year-old model.  Then, I got a blanket promotional e-mail from another school I'd never considered before, and I thought, "Eh, I'll apply there too."  Nonetheless, my professors agreed to write letters for me, so I moved on to the final step:  throwing together a writing sample several days before the application deadline.  One application was due Sunday, and I submitted it at midnight that night.  The other had to be postmarked yesterday, so I dropped it off at the post office at 4:30 PM.  I was so proud of myself for finishing my applications, Ari took me out to dinner.

Rest assured, my lack of seriousness does not reflect a lack of enthusiasm.  If either of those schools accept me this spring, I will be tremendously happy.  I'm always thrilled to make sales on Etsy.  And I did really miss having TV.  Ultimately, I guess not taking anything seriously is just a survival mechanism.  Maybe I should be glad to have such strong built-in defenses.  Taking things too seriously causes stress, which is generally bad and will kill you.

The End.

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A Letter from My Cat: The Hand-Sniff

Dear Human Female,

I can't help but notice that you are frequently overcome with a sudden, strong urge to pet me.  While I can certainly understand your desire to bring your misshapen monkey hands in contact with my sheer splendor, I must ask that you do not bypass my cursory hand-sniff, as you so often do.  You must have noticed by now that it irks me to no end when you proceed to paw at me without first undergoing the proper procedure.

The cursory hand-sniff serves a few purposes.  I don't know what you do when you're gone all day (speaking of which, why can't I go out there, again?), and ensuring your hands are clean saves me an extra bath.  Plus, there might be some delicious food left on your hands that I could lick off.  I think that's a fair trade for allowing you to make physical contact with me.

Don't misunderstand me.  I quite enjoy your displays of affection.  I just need you to be more respectful of my personal bubble.

Affectionately,
Bette


Afterword:  I have finally reached the stage of mental deterioration in which my cats' points of view seem to make more interesting subject matter than my own.

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Why Should the Fire Die?

Since we've been living in a rental house where one of the main sources of heat is a wood stove (and we get unlimited free wood from our landlord), I've suddenly realized why fire is a symbol for passion or love in so many cultures.  There's a learning curve with these old-fashioned methods of heating, and as Ari and I have become versed in the art of keeping a fire going, I've found myself mulling over the humorous similarities between a fire and a human relationship of the romantic kind.

Some people have the touch; some don't.  Some say there's a method to building a fire.  Others are just naturals.  Our landlord can casually toss kindling and a log or two in the wood stove and have it roaring in no time.  Ari and I, on the other hand, don't have that kind of charisma.  We've had to work at it, finally chancing upon a method that was consistently successful.

You can't force it.  Even now that we have a general formula for building a fire, sometimes the fire just isn't in the mood.  In that case, we get desperate.  We must resort to begging.  We're willing to try anything--adding the wood in a different order, using different kindling, anything it wants.

Obsessing over it won't accomplish anything except driving you crazy.  Once you've lit your kindling, all you can do is put the cover on the stove and wait.  It's best to just focus on something else entirely.  Sure, you can hover expectantly over the vents, looking for that tantalizing flicker of light inside, but that doesn't matter to the fire, and you just look desperate.  It's better to play aloof.  Go off and do something else, and check on it in a few minutes.  If it didn't light, shrug it off and try again.

It's seductive and addictive in a cruel psychological way.  Sometimes when your fire is refusing to light, you only want to light it that much more.  You may pour up to an hour of your time into it.  When it's finally going, that fire is your world.  You want to be near it, to constantly peek and make sure it's still there.  This unhealthy attachment is all you can think about.  Every time you approach it, you think, "This time will be different.  I'll get it this time," only to fall into the same trap.

Don't get too cocky.  After a while, you might think you and your fire have a good thing going.  You might be tempted to fall into a routine, or you might think you can get away with more time apart.  However, just because you and your fire have had a good day--you've been stoking it regularly, and it's always responded with a nice flame--doesn't mean you can turn your back on it all evening.  Your fire may seem happy one minute, but if you get immersed in a book or distracted on the Internet, you might suddenly find it's burned out on you completely.  Fires are notoriously stubborn and moody when you attempt to return them from this state.

You may be tempted to cheat.  One night, when the fire was being particularly stubborn, Ari and I decided it was time to resort to the propane heater outside our bedroom.  Whereas the fire required care and attention, the propane heater was, well, rather slutty.  With just the push of a button, we had all the heat we needed for the night.  The next day, it was tempting to just crank up that propane heater and not worry about building a fire.  However, we reminded ourselves that we'll eventually have to buy more propane, but wood will always be there for us.  So we returned to our faithful wood stove and endeavored, once again, to give the fire the attention it deserved.

Even though you have your ups and downs, there are still moments when you find it rewarding.  When the wind is howling outside, snow is falling, icicles are forming, and the temperature is dropping steadily, you are unbelievably proud of your fire.  You can't help but curl up in your favorite arm chair with a cup of hot tea and think, "This is so worth it."  And the whole cycle begins again.

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Pre-Christmas

Thanksgiving is on the brink of extinction.  At the rate we're going, the next generation will refer to it as Pre-Christmas.  Remember when people actually put up Thanksgiving decorations, like a cornucopia or some fake fall leaves?  These days Thanksgiving signifies it's time to decorate the tree.  However, the most disturbing sign of Thanksgiving's eminent downfall is a cultural phenomenon known as Black Friday.

Black Friday started sneaking into the American psyche over the past few decades in the form of "After Thanksgiving Day Sales."  The idea, as far as I can tell, was to provide the opportunity to buy holiday gifts at deep discounts.  Those sales did so well, and have now become so common, that the entire day is simply referred to as Black Friday.  On this fateful day, big-box stores open at ungodly hours, some opening at midnight, others at three or four o'clock in the morning; traffic near malls and other shopping complexes grows hopelessly congested; and people wake before daybreak to form mobs at store entrances, often trampling one another when they finally charge inside.  (For many people, such as my family, this has accomplished  the opposite of the intended effect--we see Black Friday as a sort of House Arrest Day, when you avoid venturing out into the madness at all costs.)  Some say the term "Black Friday" was coined by frustrated shoppers.  I say it originated with the embittered, overworked retail employees at the big-box stores who hold these chaotic events.

I wonder how many shoppers pause to ask themselves how it would feel to be the person ringing up all their discounted merchandise at the crack of dawn.  It's one thing to voluntarily get up at daybreak because you want to buy something.  It's another to get up at daybreak because you have to run the cash register.  For people who have to drive any substantial distance to see their families, getting a Black Friday shift often means they can't celebrate Thanksgiving with their families at all.  The CEOs of large chain stores might make a killing on Black Friday, but the sleep-deprived clerk swiping your credit card probably won't see a penny of that.

The gap between wealthy and poor in America is already widening at breakneck speed.  As Christmas encroaches on Thanksgiving, we're divided into people who get to celebrate holidays and people who don't.  When did this happen?

Social injustice aside, however, the most annoying aspect of Black Friday are the people who act like they have no choice but to form a mob on the sidewalk.  "I just can't afford a new HDTV any other way," they plead desperately.  The thing is, I've never seen any necessities discounted for Black Friday--if someone offered half-price groceries, I might join the mob charging the doors.  But no.  Black Friday discounts usually apply to things like laptops and iPods and cashmere sweaters.  My grandparents survived the Great Depression by sewing feedsack dresses; we're surviving our recession by nabbing our flat-screens at 50% off.

Maybe someday we'll regale our grandchildren with tales of how we got in our SUVs and drove uphill both ways in the snow, in bumper-to-bumper traffic, just to get a new Wii.  I'm sure they'll be enthralled by how trying our lives were.  Then they'll wish us a merry Pre-Christmas and hop in their flying cars to go shopping with their friends.

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Quantitative Humor

This little exchange took place this morning right after I'd woken up.

Ari:  What's 3 + 3?

me:  Six.

Ari:  Wrong.

me:  What is it, then?

Ari:  The correct answer is 33.

me:  You sound just like my GRE prep book...

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