Random Observation #1

Pretty soon my mom’s gonna be bionic.

Fat kids are harder to kidnap...

Losing weight is an interesting endeavor... when you think about it, it’s almost absurdist in concept really... with everything else going on in the world I’m going to concentrate on trying to make sure there’s less of ME in it? I mean, I’m not morbidly obese or anything, it’s not a health issue per se, I’m just a little... round.

If I were a woman, one might categorize me as Rubenesque... but not in that “she’s attractive, I think I’ll make a statue of her and forget to attach the arms” kind of way*... it would be more of a “She’s a bit plump isn’t she... let’s be nice and call her Rubenesque because her face is just this side of disgusting, and she doesn’t have much else going for her” kind of way (after all, I’d make quite the homely bride)...

In any event, I’m not a woman, so that discussion is moot...

It’s probably more accurate to characterize me as “chubby” or “portly.” If I were a 12 year-old boy, one might call me “husky” and suggest I ride my bike more often... my mother in turn, would then keep telling me I’m “gearing up for a growth spurt” (she’s good like that)... a dramatic increase in vertical fortitude that would theoretically compensate for the abundance of cheeseburgers in my belly... it would, of course, never come... yeah... a growth spurt... that’s a good line... a rational explanation even... but somehow, as I stand here 31 years old and a towering 5 foot 8 (and a half), I don’t think my growth spurt’s going to happen... I believe that ship has long since sailed (and it’s a short ship indeed).

This being the case, I guess I’ll have to work harder on reducing my horizontal specifications...

Now, the first thing you need to make any weight loss plan successful is motivation… mine came courtesy of a gruff little Mexican dude who told me in broken English that he had the perfect t-shirt for me...

Perhaps I should back up a step or two.

Picture this: A cruise to the Caribbean. You dock for the day in Cozumel. You stroll along a pristine beach with your girlfriend while the sun breaks through a cloudless sky and the waves gently lap at your feet. It’s the postcard definition of a perfect day. Then, you head to a shop so your girlfriend can pick up a pair of shorts. An overly ambitious huckster reels you in, but promises he’s giving you “a great deal” …then, as the shorts are being rung up, he shifts his focus…ducking behind the counter, he fumbles around, and then emerges with a t-shirt... one that he states (grinning ear to ear no less) is absolutely “perfect” for you. On this shirt, a picture of a guy who bares a striking resemblance to Captain Lou Albano is sunbathing, and the image is accompanied by the following words:

“It’s not a beer belly, it’s a fuel source for my sex machine!”

Yeah... I decided right then that it was time to lay off the burritos. When a pudgy little Mexican guy thinks you're fat, it's time for self-evaluation. I was quietly and humbly mortified. The only consolation I had was the fact that I was standing thousands of miles away from my regular life, thousands of miles away from everything and everyone I knew, and therefore no one would ever have to know about the humiliation I had just suffered.

Of course, I just wrote about it here, so I guess I’ve kind of negated that line of reasoning… but really, how many of you are actually going to read this far?

Anyway, my point is... That lovely event gave me more than enough fuel (pun intended) for my fire... I was ready to make a change. And now, I’m working on it. I‘m eating better and cursing the treadmill on a nearly daily basis... and we’ll see what happens. Maybe I’ll get down to my goal weight, maybe I won’t. Either way, I’m sure I’ll wind up in better shape than I am now…

And hey… if I’m really successful at this, and miracle of all miracles, I’m able to get down to what I weighed when I graduated high school... well I’ll tell you right now, I’m getting the mesh half-shirts back out of storage.





*Yes, I am aware that the Venus de Milo was not created by Peter Paul Rubens... I’m also aware that the statue originally DID have arms... it probably isn’t “technically” Rubenesque either, but trust me... it’s funnier if you don’t think about things like that.

Random Thought #5.1

They say that all great works of literature draw from direct personal experience... by these standards, midgets should be really good at haiku.

Grieving for the likes of Camp Candy...

Sometimes I feel the need to take a moment for reflection… a moment where I can acknowledge the things that are slowly fading into the gentle tapestry of my collective consciousness, and now exist only as a memory of what they once were. I reflect upon important things… significant things… things that have had a profound effect on my life in one way or another…

Currently, I’m lamenting the loss of Saturday morning cartoons.

Have you taken a look at the major networks on a Saturday morning recently? It’s a travesty! Sure, there’s no Bugs or Tweety… no Donald or Goofy… I accept that, with the advent of cable, and Corporate America being what it is and all… but tell me, where’s today’s version of the Smurfs? Or their lesser-appreciated red-headed stepchild of a cousin, the Snorks? And what’s going to fill the void left by the departure of Shirt Tales? Where am I supposed to get my fix of animals in cotton T’s doing good, overcoming complex emotional issues, and living in a hollowed out tree? Oh, and can you give me ANY good reason why Alvin & the Chipmunks aren’t partaking in some madcap adventure that forces them to sing an adorable rendition of 50 Cent’s “In da Club” while running away from an angry sous chef who just had his entire first course trampled on?

On second thought, that last question kinda answers itself… there’s just something inherently wrong with the chipmunks (even Alvin) singing cheerfully about Bitches and Hos.

OK, so maybe it’s no longer possible to have exactly the same type of cartoons that I had, but that still leaves the door open to one of the most endearing types of Saturday morning entertainment…

“Grab your pixie sticks kids, it’s time for a crudely drawn, overly hyped, quick cash-in on popular culture!”

You’d think that’d be a natural in today’s business environment…

oh come on, you know what I’m talking about.

In my day, I had Pac-Man and Friends… I had Punky Brewster… I had Dragon’s Lair… I had Mr. T… Apparantly (though I can’t say I ever recall seeing it), I even had Rubik, the Amazing Cube!

Every year we’d get a new onslaught of cartoons, engineered to take advantage of whatever trend, fad, or tv show had been popular the year before. That’s how we got Alf, Beetlejuice, Ghostbusters and The Completely Mental Misadventures of Ed Grimley. It’s also why we sat through Donkey Kong, Q*Bert, Frogger, Pitfall and Pole Position (80s cartoons were very big on video games) The California Raisins were even on the air, and they were the spinoff of a friggin’ commercial!

For a child with a short attention span, growing up during this time was sheer bliss. A Saturday morning spent with a bowl of fruit loops and the cable box on my lap… yes, I said a cable “box” …it was bulky, had pushbuttons for the channels, and was attached to another box on the tv via a 30 ft length of wire (that often served double-duty as a defensive weapon during the controller wars of ’84)… anyway, it was a beautiful thing…

So what happened to it all?

One word… Screech.

In the fall of 1989, NBC unleashed Saved by the Bell on an unsuspecting public as part of its new TNBC Saturday mornings. The rest, as they say, is contrived poorly written history. Teen shows took off, and proceeded to infest the majority of the Saturday morning schedule (they were so popular in fact, that no one seemed to bat an eye when the entire class at Bayside repeated their Senior year). The traditional Saturday morning cartoon began to fade into nothing more than a memory.

And that, is truly sad.

Nowadays, it’s a bit more varied… Yeah, there’s still a host of teen shows raining acne on my morning airwaves, but there’s also news and sports for kids and a couple poor attempts at computer animation. Adding insult to injury, in another alarming trend, the weekday morning shows (Like Today and Good Morning America) have also apparently decided that they’re just SOOOOOO important, they need top be on seven days a week now (whatever happened to waking up, turning on the TV, and not be able to immediately being able to recognize the fact that it’s the weekend?). I guess the closest thing we have now to the good old-fashioned pop culture rip off would be the kids’ reality shows… which from what I can tell are a knock off of survivor, and for some reason, a kids version of trading spaces (oh wow, next week I get to make an armoire out of duct tape and a refrigerator box!).

It’s all ok I guess… things change after all, it’s the natural order of the universe… but all things considered, I’d much rather be watching the new adventures of Bigfoot and the Muscle Machines.

And that’s, “one to grow on…”




(or if you younger kids would prefer… “The more you know”)

The salmon makes all the difference...

I absolutely love the audacity of the new ads for Dasani water... have you seen them? If not, go to their website right now, and then come back. Just click first on “TV ads”, and then on the picture of the guy in a bear suit holding a fish.

Here’s the URL:

http://www.dasani.com/flash.htm

This ad has been running quite frequently around here lately, and it amuses me to no end.

So did you check it out?

Yup, that’s right... here’s a company selling bottled water that has the utter chutzpah to base their campaign around the fact that they AREN’T filling their bottles with fresh, natural, clear water from a river or spring…

In fact, they go so far as to imply that natural water is a bad, bad thing, closing their spots with the unique tagline:

"Dasani... It's crisp, refreshing, and salmon-free"

After all, who’d want water from a mountain spring or free flowing river? That’s where fish spawn, for christ’s sake!

(now granted, I wouldn’t want to drink anything taken from the Jacuzzi used in Ron Jeremy’s production of “Finding Nympho” but I think this is a little different...)

Before you think I have no sense of humor, trust me, I realize that this ad has its tongue planted firmly in cheek, and it’s meant to be funny and memorable, but still… you know that under the surface is a message that’s very important to their marketing… and when you get down to it, they really ARE saying that their water is purer (purer? more pure? Containing a greater quantity of the essence of pure? Whatever... you get the drift). They really want you to believe that natural water is bad, and you should only drink water that undergoes their top-secret special “filtering” process…

That’s quite a leap to make... and here’s what makes it even more amazing...

Recently, 500,000 bottles of Dasani water had to be recalled in Britain, due to the fact that they contained illegally high levels of bromate - a cancer-causing chemical.

Oops… guess you can’t blame that on salmon semen.

UK paper The Guardian also had this to add:

"Coca-Cola's new brand of "pure" bottled water, Dasani, was revealed earlier this month to be tap water taken from the mains. Then, it emerged that what the firm described as its "highly sophisticated purification process", based on NASA spacecraft technology, was in fact reverse osmosis used in many modest domestic water purification units."

To which executives at Coca-Cola replied:

“Yeah, but we put it in a really cool bottle... it has swirlies and everything!”

So basically, Dasani is nothing more than tap water... or actually, it’s tap water, “with an extra special heaping of bromate (chemotherapy sold separately).”

Just kind of makes you want to find a guy in a bear suit and smack him with a fish, doesn’t it?



...but the ad is kinda funny.

Random Thought #6

If it takes a tough man to make a tender chicken, then what can you say of the consternation of one who would prepare a slightly gamey roast beef au jus?



[In honor of Frank Perdue: 1921-2005]

Random Thought #5

They say that all great works of literature draw from direct personal experience... by these standards, are midgets really qualified to write haiku?

Pointless Observation #6

Broken pencils don't write very well.


[that one's just for me...]

Silver Linings #10

DARK CLOUD :(
If you ask someone out on a date and they say no, you’ll probably feel embarrassed and dejected... especially when they laugh at you.


SILVER LINING :)
You can always tell everyone that it was YOU who said no, and that you in fact declined because you had heard they picked up an incurable venereal disease from a transient Taiwanese busboy named Dip Sook... rumors like that have a way of spreading very quickly.

Random Thought #4

I firmly believe that the phrase "thinking ouside the box" has become so cliche that actually uttering those words constitutes thinking that is in actuality "within" the box.

With this being the case, to think "outside" the box would in fact mean you're recycling thoughts that have previously been considered. So does this in turn signify that our initial thoughts have no real innate creativity? Or does it mean more than that? Have we instead gotten to the point whereby we're perpetually "outside" the box to begin with? And if this is held to be true, and someone was looking to come up with something original, does this mean that they should actually TRY to think of an unoriginal idea, thereby keeping their thoughts within the construct of things that are "outside" the initial box? This might seem to almost be plausible, but yet, it can't be, for that in turn would mean that we are simultaneously "inside" and "outside" the box at all times, thereby negating the concept of the "box" to begin with...

It's like T2 all over again. If the terminator comes back in time and destroys Skynet, then Skynet never could have created the terminator. But if Skynet never created the terminator, then he wouldn't have been there to destroy Skynet. And so on, and so on...

I think i'm starting to get a headache...

Pointless Admission #1

When I'm having a bad day, I like to take a moment to go visit a public restroom. With a quick glance in the stalls, I can usually find clear indication that someone, somewhere is having a much worse day than I... and that makes me feel just a little bit better.

Back on the chain gang...

The first week at a new job is always bizarre.

Yes, that’s right, you heard me correctly... I’ve finally been successful in my bid for gainful employment, and as such, I have begun my latest term of indentured servitude... But alas, fear not my faithful constituency (yes, both of you), I promise to remain just as irregular about my posts now as I was when I was suckling from the governmental teat and spending the majority of my days in my underwear. After all, my devotion to laziness knows few (if any) bounds...

So, the first week at work... It’s a tough course to navigate. You don’t know anyone, you don’t know where anything is, and you really have no clue as to how things are going to go. For instance, are you supposed to just innately KNOW where the humor boundary is? The humor boundary you say? Why yes! I reply, and since I’m really conducting this dialog with myself, I in fact ask as well! (ponder that one for a moment why don’t ya… on second thought, DON’T... it’s not nearly as interesting as I tried to make it sound).

Anyway, the humor boundary is that razor thin line that exists in any workplace… that hairline distinctintion that delineates the precise location where one goes from being a harmless, amusing cad, to being labeled an obscene, offensive jerk. It’s an important distinction to make (especially for those of us who use humor as a defense mechanism), and it can vary significantly from office to office. In fact, it wouldn’t be overstating the matter to say that knowing where the humor boundary lies can shape the entire arc of your tenure at an organization. Take, for example, “dead baby” jokes. They’re not usually MY first “go to” funny, but for some, they can be an effective ice-breaker. And when used in the right environment, they may score you a key to the executive washroom faster than you can say “shameless and horrific misuse of an unconscionable tragedy.” But try them in the Neonatal Ward of the Dana Farber Institute, and you’re more likely to get looks of derision and a first class ticket to a desk in the boiler room.

Ok, so that’s a bit of an extreme example (and “dead baby” jokes are after all a bit dated and cliché), but you get my point... every office has their taboo subjects, the things you just don’t say, and the places you just don’t go. The trick is figuring out what those are. Even in normal conversation you have to watch yourself. At home, among your friends, you know what topics are “hot buttons,” and you can avoid them easily enough (i.e. never question the relative intellectual capacity of the average NBA player in front of my older brother). But at a new office, it’s a blank slate... you just don't know... say the wrong thing (in front of the wrong person), and you could wind up making your life more than just a little bit difficult (i.e. think fourth circle of hell minus the polka music).

Now I’m not saying you have to change who you are, I just think you have to exercise some common sense. I mean, if I was mopping floors at the Vatican, I certainly wouldn’t strike up a conversation with the pope on the sanctity of gay marriage... and it would probably be a REALLY bad idea for me to say what I think he’s overcompensating for with that hat.

Now, that being said, let’s recap...

What have we learned here? Well, I am no longer a burden on the average taxpayer... I have put way too much thought into adapting to my new environment... and of course, most of today’s NBA players have the I.Q. of a garden slug...

Oh, and one more thing... unless someone here at the office opens the floodgates by breaking into a string of first-rate “Helen Keller,” “one-armed Polak,” and “what do you call a guy with no arms and no legs” zingers, I’m not even going to THINK about telling that joke I just heard about the midget, the stripper, and the three-legged dog.

Pointless Observation #5

If you were to take all the cigarettes smoked in the US over any given 24 hour period, gather them together, and lay them out end to end... then you would definitely be identified as someone who has way too much time on their hands.


..it'd probably be a good idea to wash those hands too.

Random Thought #3

You know those MLB replica “batting helmets” that you can get ice cream sundaes in? Well I’ve been thinking, and I’ll bet you they aren’t manufactured under very strict guidelines. In fact, I’d guess they wouldn’t stand up to the punishment of a single swing of an aluminum bat... much less that of a 90 mph fastball... nope... not even if you put it on a Chihuahua.

Silver Linings #9

DARK CLOUD :(
If the brakes go out on a race car, the ensuing course of events will most likely include a devastating crash, a hellacious fireball, and a giant towering plume of smoke - all accompanied by the harrowing sound of crumpling metal and burning flesh.


SILVER LINING :)
From a seat on the other side of the racetrack, I’ll bet it looks pretty cool.

Silver Linings #8

DARK CLOUD :(
If you pay full price to see a movie and it doesn’t live up to your expectations, you’ll probably walk out of the theater thinking you’ve wasted your money.


SILVER LINING :)
If you’re at a theater in a mall, you can probably find some 8-year-old near the food court who will think your ticket stub is still good and buy it off you for like three bucks. Little kids are good for stuff like that.

Silver Linings #7

DARK CLOUD :(
If you go blind, you’ll never again be able to experience the serenity of a rainbow, or the breathtaking beauty of a golden sunset.


SILVER LINING :)
You’ll also never be able to see your reflection in a mirror… Consequently, you can get as fat as you want while still believing you are as handsome and svelte as Bjorn Borg circa 1977.

Random Thought #2

Why do really fat people always wear track suits? I mean, c'mon... it's obvious they aint been runnin' nowhere...

Silver Linings #6

DARK CLOUD :(
Gambling is an addictive, self-destructive activity that ultimately leaves you unhappy, devoid of dignity, and broke.


SILVER LINING :)
If you're already broke, then you really have nothing left to lose... you can't really sink any lower, so you might as well keep going! Heck, you can always sell a pint of blood (or two) for some quick cash.

Silver Linings #5

DARK CLOUD :(
There is no way to escape the simple fact that no matter what you do, or how you live your life... someday you will die.


SILVER LINING :)
It most likely will not happen while you are eating a corndog standing naked under a tree in botswana.

Silver Linings #4

DARK CLOUD :(
It is rumored that Korean food occasionally substitutes meat from feral cats and dogs for beef and chicken.


SILVER LINING :)
Although one might find this alternate food source morally objectionable, it could actually be beneficial... I mean c'mon, the little guys run around all day... that has to be good for SOMETHING, right? What do cows do but swat at flies and chew cud? Of course, the dog or cat in question would have to be slow enough to be caught in the first place, so there's a good chance it's diseased... but hey, even then, you'd probably get to have your case written up in a new medical journal or something.

Pointless Observation #4

Often, when confronted with someone of unusually tall stature, people acknowledge that person's height with a comment such as "How's the weather up there?" or "Hey, could you slide over a bit, you're blocking the sun!"


But hardly anyone ever asks a midget for an update on the status of the tides.

Silver Linings #3

DARK CLOUD :(
If you go skydiving, there's always the possibility your chute won't open, leaving you helpless to do anything but watch as the ground hurdles towards you at an ever increasing speed.


SILVER LINING :)
This can only happen once.

Silver Linings #2

DARK CLOUD :(
Most prostitues don't have health coverage, and consequently can play host to any number of sexually transmitted diseases.


SILVER LINING :)
When you go to the hospital so they drain your sores, you might meet a nice cute nurse... and she might know someone who can reccomend a reliable escort service or massage parlor.

Silver Linings #1

DARK CLOUD :(
If you give money to a bum, he's probably just going to spend it on cheap wine or malt liquor.


SILVER LINING :)
In a few hours, he'll pass out drunk, thus rendering him incapable of bothering anyone else. You'll have performed a helpful service for your community, and therefore should give yourself a hearty pat on the back. Plus, if you want, you can probably poke him with sticks and stuff without him even noticing.

Pointless Observation #3

Most children's books are written by adults. I doubt it works the same the other way around.


...in fact, it's probably illegal.

Pointless Observation #2

If you taxed people based on the amount of soap they used, fat people would get really mad...


Unless of course the fat people in question didn't bathe, and then I suppose they might not mind all that much. Cuz if you're a fat person, and you don't bathe, you've probably bigger things to worry about than a tax on soap.

Pointless Observation #1

Nose-picking is like a fingerprint... if you look around, you'll notice no two people do it exactly the same.


...by that logic, it's also kinda like a snowflake.

Lollipops and moonbeams indeed...

Every now and then you have to sit back and take a moment to contemplate some of the bigger issues in life… to ponder life’s imponderables… to question that which isn’t, and give new life to ideas that are deserving of more critical attention…

I don’t feel like doing that today so I’m going to talk about snowmen.

I was driving home this morning and noticed a carefully built snowman along the way… now we’ve had over 30” of snow recently, so this in and of itself isn’t much of a noteworthy discovery… and what brought it to my attention wasn’t even its distinguishing characteristics (the fact that it was wearing a patriots’ helmet and holding a beer - Sam Adams of course). No, what attracted my keen eye (and warped perspective) was the fact that it really HAD no true distinguishing characteristic (aside from the aforementioned affinity for football)... It looked more or less like every other snowman I’ve seen over the course of my life.

And that’s when I began thinking…

There it was… one large, somewhat round mound of snow, complimented by two smaller somewhat less round mounds of snow stacked vertically upon it. Now I’m not here to call into question the creative ambitions of whoever crafted this particular snowmosapien… truth be told, just about every snowman I ever produced in my youth closely resembled what I saw today (save for one particular masterpiece, crafted at the age of about 12, that included the addition of a pair of what could only accurately be described as anatomically implausible bazongas).

My question is... WHY do all snowmen look the same?

Who decided that THIS was the correct process of assemblage for man-shaped snow? Ok, sure, there are times when you’ll find a particular snowman that consists of only 2 mounds of snow stacked up, but I’d wager that if you did the research, you’d discover that these cases were really due more to laziness than a true desire to be different (and even then I’d guess there was a high incidence of dwarfism running through the families of the more creative focused builders). C’mon… you're 8 years old... you're cold... you’ve got two mounds of snow built up already, and you suddenly remember that there’s a hot cup of cocoa just waiting for you once you’re done… possibly even with those little marshmallows in it… and maybe this time they wont even all melt before you get a chance to take more than one spoonful. Didn’t that just frustrate the heck out of you?!?! They look all plump and tasty… then you drop them in the cup, and poof! They’re gone! It’s not fair I tell you… we can fly a man to the moon and bring him back in a craft that has to withstand unbelievably high temperatures, but we can't craft a dutifully heat resistant marshmallow?!?!?

But I digress…

And once again I rhetorically ask… WHY do all snowmen look alike?

Well, after some careful thought, I think I may have crafted a plausible hypothesis (or at least a way to end this column). I believe that the essence of snowman design is really just a plot by corporate America to brainwash the public… To soften us against the crimes and injustices that countless executives have constituted against the public for generations… After all, think about it. Snowmen are almost exclusively male (again, save for my 56” FFF adolescent fantasy). They’re also generally rather rotund... and, excluding any non-sanitary additions made after completion, they are without exception, always WHITE.

It’s true!

See?!? They are the very models of the traditional corporate villain. And yet, we view snowmen as mostly asexual… we view them as jolly… we view them as friendly helpful creatures that are ultimately without fault (other than possessing an inclination towards uttering HAPPY BIRTHDAY every time a hat is placed on their head). What better way to trick America’s (and dare I say, the world’s) youth into believing that fat Caucasian guys mean us no harm… that everything they do and touch is just nothing but lollipops and moonbeams?

You doubt me? Well, laugh if you must, but remember… you heard it here first.

It's like Joe Camel all over again... only WE'RE doing the work for them... they're crafty... oh yes... they're crafty...

Meow, meow, meow, meow...

Cats are weird.

Ok, so I suppose that in the interests of full disclosure, I should preface that statement with the following admission: I am a dog person.

I don’t mean to be, it’s not a conscious choice I made, heck, I even own a cat at this point (when you live in a small apartment in the middle of a city, I don’t think it’s fair to try to have a dog… unless you own one of those little rat dogs… which incidentally, I’m not even convinced ARE actually dogs), but still, it’s undeniable… I am a dog person.

They’re just friendlier… they bring you things like slippers (not disemboweled birds), they play games like “fetch” (not “let’s stare menacingly from the other side of the room), and they seem to LIKE me. My cat on the other hand, pretty much regards me with a sense of derision that implies I’m taking up valuable space in what would otherwise be a very lovely living arrangement. Dogs ENJOY people. Cats seem to view them solely as a means for getting food and disposing of poo.

And yes, cats are weird.

Don’t get me wrong, I like my cat…. and as cats go, I’ve got a pretty good one. She doesn’t shed a lot… she doesn’t bite (much)… and occasionally she’ll launch her tiny cat frame 6 feet in the air and contort it like a strudel for absolutely no good reason what so ever (an added value in any household pet). But there’s no denying that she’s weird.

For instance, my cat likes the color black… a lot. More specifically, she likes to lie down on black things, no matter what shape, form, or degree of difficulty that may entail. No matter what room she’s in, she’ll inevitably find the one black thing in it, and make it her nesting ground. I’ve found her in various cat–like poses on computer bags, shirts, pieces of music equipment… she even tries to lay on the side of the door when she’s in the car (making for a wonderful demonstration of the properties of gravity). Given the choice between a perfectly comfortable blue micro-fiber fleece blanket laid delicately on a field of catnip, and a rather less agreeable black-colored surface punctuated by thousands of sharp spikes that glisten with the entrails of fallen felines and smell of death… well, she’d take the blanket, but she’d stare longingly at those spikes for hours.

Cats are just weird.

Then there's the whole "stay near me/don't touch me" thing... You see, my cat is not by any standard what you would call an “affectionate” cat, but that doesn’t stop her from confusing me with the implication that she might WANT to be affectionate. (Hey, it’s like high school all over again… Ack, I don’t mean it THAT way… As always people, you can love your pet… just don’t LOVE your pet. Believe me, when I speak of affection with a cat and affection with a high school girl I’m talking about a WHOLE different kind of affection… not that I would um, engage in THAT type of affection with a high school girl at this point either… that would be wrong too… but when I was in high school, it was OK… the high school girl part, not the cat part… that’s ALWAYS wrong… at least that’s what the cops told me… kidding! Where’s your sense of humor? Now what the heck was I talking about?) oh yeah…. um, my cat is not by any standard what you would call an “affectionate” cat, but that doesn’t stop her from confusing me with the implication that she might WANT to be affectionate. She always seems to want to be in the same room as me… but yet, she doesn’t want to be near me. If I sit on one couch, she’ll move to the other… If I go in the office, she’ll follow, and then take up residence in the corner. Everywhere I go, she’s always just over my shoulder, out of reach… It's like she's haunting me... In fact, it’s kind of like being chased by Jason from the Friday the 13th movies… Only in this case, my “Jason” is short, furry, has a tail, doesn’t wear a hockey mask, and is most likely wholly incapable of picking up a sleeping bag containing a half-naked high school girl and bashing said girl against a nearby tree…

I tell ya, cats are weird…