Hey, Movie Dude! Get A Cat!

Lily hasn't had very much experience with television. Actually, I don't think she has had ANY experience with television. In the old country, it was enough to sit and stare at a blade of grass. So now, she has a very emotional experience if a dog comes on the television and starts barking. She swivels her head around sharply as if saying, "WTF! How the heck did he get in here and why is he stuck in the shiny box?" Then, she advances toward the television giving hoarse cries of sympathy. If she just happens to looks up and SEE a dog on the television--barking or not--she advances toward the television, pops up on her hind legs, puts her front paws on the television stand, and stares at the screen. This is pretty cute and fascinating, but sometimes I'm watching a movie and I just want to watch the movie without Lily having an emotional reaction.

Here's the problem: Everything I have been watching lately has a dog in it. Often, a barking dog is in some kind of dire peril which makes Lily very, very emotional. As it turns out, dogs are key players in many kind of films and, distressingly, they're often leading humans into great danger. Such danger-magnets are dogs that I've decided that many plots would collapse without a dog and, on a human level, the characters in the movie or television show would be far, far better off if they had a cat.

1) "The Brave One": Jodie Foster and Guy from Lost do not need to go to the park to walk the dog because they have a cat. They stay in, eat Chinese food, watch a movie featuring a dog (that the cat is not at all phased by), get married, and live happily ever after. Title must, therefore, be changed to "The Contented One." All because there is no dog.
2) "I Am Legend": Will Smith happily lives out his life in his super-reinforced house. Sure, he doesn't find a cure for the dread mutant zombie plague, but his cat shows no desire to venture outside--definitely not to run willy-nilly into a stronghold of mutant zombies--and he and his cat spend endless enjoyable hours playing with a piece of yarn. Title must, therefore, be changed to "I Am Cozy." All because there is no dog.

Then, of course, we have more jolly fare--comedies and Disney snuff films.
1) "Best in Show": Sorry, we have to get rid of this whole movie which is unfortunate because I love it.
2) "Old Yeller": Sorry, we have to get rid of this whole movie which I don't regret that much and which Lily is just never gonna see.

Oh, my what a world: http://www.themoviefordogs.com/ I just found this as I was sniffing around the Internet. You're supposed to show this movie to your dog so it doesn't get lonely. Hoo boy. The second I opened the link (what--I was curious, I'm not gonna buy it), a tiny little "Woof!" came out of my laptop speakers directly into Lily's ear. She awoke instantly and trotted to the back door to see who was outside. She's still not sure what happened and is restlessly conducting a room-by-room search.

And now, for something completely different.
I was looking at Web sites to help a friend find an apartment, and I came across this text. It's kind of like someone ate the real estate ads of a newspaper and threw them up. Or something:
"This is a foxy and magnificent neighborhood with fine, symmetrical, classy, and bewitching houseboat, apartment, hacienda, and houseboats. Co-workers, denizens, and better halves inspect and frisk and determine mountain chalet, log houseboat, resort chalet, and oceanfront houseboat. Our site does accommodate various locality beachfront, private, lakefront, and beachfront bungalow, cottage, and villas. We made and composed our webpage to be fair and sightly. The beachfront listings, log listed properties, log indexes, and studio advertisements for these can be mapped.

"Householders and companions who are studying houses for rent and are trying to conceive homes for rent OR VRBO rental homes, and condos for rent can rake our website and our ski in/out classified ads, resort classified ads, loft listings, and beach advertisements. Usually, collaborate and bail out your roomers, buddies, and roommates to a spinach, well-known, extensive, and winning sector. Our online website consist ofs vicinity, domain, and block poop sheet, customarily. Using our website, real estate agents numerate vacation home, hacienda, vacation home, and villa listings."

If a Web site can partake in hallucinogens, this one has done so.

John Nolan Appreciation Day

I have my favorite reporters and news sources.My mom had a favorite reporter, too. She told me about this reporter in the following phone conversation:
Me: "Hello?"
Mother (choking with laughter): "I can't believe he's doing this!"
Me: "Mom?"
Mother (sobbing with laughter): "He's GREAT! I wonder if anybody else reads this thing?"
Me: "Mom?"
Mother: haaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (drops the phone, hangs up).

Me: "Hello?"
Mother (sniffling, struggling to regain control): "Sorry, honey. This is just really funny."
Me: "What's really funny?"
Mother: "This guy who writes the Police Log in the paper. He's hilarious!"
Me: "Huh?"
Mother: "I know. Look, I'll have to show you the paper the next time you come up."
Me: "Okaaaaaaaaaaaay. Little wine tonight, mom?"
Mother: "You'll see."

And, I did see. For many years, John Nolan--reporter, author of the Police Log that made my mother laugh, former policeman in Scotland, journalist, gentleman scholar, wit, and tireless chronicler of the small town of Farmington, New Hampshire--stealthily slid humorous little tidbits into the normally very boring Police Log.

It's hard to recapture the magic of the moment my mother first discovered John Nolan as, bleary-eyed, she sipped her morning coffee and idly pawed through the paper. There, amidst all the little columns that are part of small town life--the Senior Center Quilting Bee, the School Lunches for the Week ("Sloppy Joes, potato crispies, carrot coins, canned apricots, oatmeal cookies, milk"), she snotted her coffee when she stumbled upon some of Mr. Nolan's Police Log work. For that reason--I can't provide you with the same moment of discovery--the following excerpt probably won't translate well. Still, I'm including it as a tribute to Mr. Nolan and to my mother. Although the original paper my mother enjoyed reading Nolan's work in went belly-up the year that she got sick, Nolan is still walking the Police Beat online, as well as writing articles. He kept her laughing almost to the end of her life.

Here is an excerpt from one of his police logs:
1:22 p.m. — A dog has been barking for almost three hours in the Logan Street area, but intuitively shuts up when a cruiser arrives.
1:57 p.m. — A Twombly Street resident reports he has a wild animal stuck under his fence. It is not a cat and neither is it a dog. Rochester police refer him to Fish and Game. Fish and Game says it is not their responsibility and refer him back to Rochester. At 6:03 p.m. the resident calls the station to say he has removed the animal himself and it is dead. Nice going, authorities.
4:40 p.m. — In the Old Dover Road area, an elderly lady wanders off from her husband and is found by the surprised resident of another house. In this case, a wife swap makes everybody happy.

6:56 p.m. — A Bridge Street resident complains of loud music and wants them "to keep it sown." Peas and quiet wanted?

Please go here to read: Farmington Corner: A Surrealistic Compendium of Life in the American Boonies by John Nolan and to buy "The Collected Poems and Songs of Farmington Corner." Then, go here to see the artwork of his wife, the very talented Stephanie Piro.

This is an excerpt from Farmington Corner: A Continuing Tale of Life in the Boonies, No. 285. Poets who Matter: #1. Omar KhayyamBy John Nolan, All Rights Reserved.PLEASE GO READ THE WHOLE THING AND BUY HIS BOOK.
"In Glasgow, I was a police officer, and for several years was assigned the Blackhill beat in the northeast of the city, where a substation had just been opened in the housing project of 5,000 people in the vain hope of subjugating it. The station was small – it had previously been a candy store - and its conversion had presented several architectural challenges including how to fit five toilets into a confined space – one for the public, one for prisoners, one for policewomen, one for policemen and one for sergeants and upper ranks. The prisoners’ toilet was in a holding cell whose door opened into a narrow passage leading to a kitchen and other urinary facilities in the rear of the building. The cell’s reinforced observation window looked out onto the office where a desk sergeant typed or, when there was opportunity, dozed. This arrangement could be particularly irritating to typing or dozing sergeants if the prisoner within the cell elected to flatten their face against the glass and stare into the office. Often there would be a cry of "Curtains" from the sergeant and a constable would dutifully tear out the stock market pages of a newspaper and tape them, upside down, onto the glass, to frustrate the prisoner’s gaze whilst substituting nothing interesting to read. A Blackhill prisoner tended not to take this treatment lying down, and might then stand with his back to the wooden door, and thump it over and over with his heel. In a well-rehearsed maneuver two constables and a sergeant would subsequently rush into the cell and deprive the prisoner of his boots. Sometimes this quieted things, but not always, for persistent types would resume the thumping in their stocking feet. At this stage, a constable would look expectantly at the sergeant and, given the nod, would retreat back up the corridor to the kitchen, fill up a white porcelain mug with cold water, sneak back down and whisk the icy liquid under the cell door. An anguished cry would result, as water swirled round sock, and a barrage of curses would follow. 'There must be a mellower way,' I thought to myself, after witnessing this ritual yet again, and turned to Omar Khayyam for guidance."
This was an excerpt from Farmington Corner: A Continuing Tale of Life in the Boonies, No. 285. Poets who Matter: #1. Omar KhayyamBY JOHN NOLAN, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.PLEASE GO READ THE WHOLE THING AND BUY HIS BOOK.

Happy Wednesday! I suppose I should go do my real work now, huh?

Potpourri Friday!

1) ARE YOU SITTING DOWN?
I have been doing a bit of discreet whining this week about taxes. What's that? It hasn't been that discreet? Rats. Sorry about that. Anyway, this week, I engaged in the following preliminary dialogue with my accountant:

Accountant: "Where are you?"
Me: "At home."
Accountant: "Are you alone?"
(This is starting to seem kind of weird. I suspect that the next question will be, "What are you wearing?" but this seems very out of character for my accountant.)
Me: "Well, yes."
Accountant: "Are you sitting down?"
Me: "Oh, I see. You're about to tell me something very, very bad, aren't you?"
Accountant: "Uh-huh."
Me (laughing bleakly): "Yeah. I was starting to guess that. I am lying down, with the dog stretched out across my feet, and this is probably as relaxed as I am going to get today."
Accountant: "At least you're laughing."
Me (not laughing): "I really shouldn't be laughing? At all? How much should I not be laughing?"

Let me draw a gentle veil over the rest of the conversation. But, here's my question: Has anyone ever actually SAID "Are you sitting down?" to you. This is the first time anyone has ever said it to me, and I've gotten lots of bad news in my time. I guess there are worse circumstances to hear it under. Top three: (1) The 60-year-old woman who finds out that she is pregnant. (2) The bad diseases. (3) Someone who can't believe you're really THAT short.

2) CELEBRITY QUOTE OF THE WEEK

"We make the YouTube videos for Jesus!" Miley Cyrus

But what if Jesus does not LIKE your music, Miley? What if Jesus prefers, say, Amy Winehouse or Billie Holliday, and leaves a comment like "LOL. Miley SUX. Jeez" What then? Will you cease making the YouTube videos for Jesus?

3) HEADLINE IN NEED OF REWRITE

"Papal Positions Playing Little Role in U.S. Politics"

I think I'd like "Politics: Papal Positions Play Petty Part" better, but then I'm fussy that way. I bet the reporter had that originally and then got shouted down.

4) WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED?

Dear Mr. Williams, Warren G. Harding gambled away the White House china in a card game? Why didn't you tell me about this in Social Studies class? And, during World War II, British spies hired an astrologer to figure out Hitler's horoscope? Why didn't you tell us about this?

Dear Government, Throughout my childhood, you insisted that Reading is Fundamental (I was too busy reading to pay attention to you). Why are you now saying that it is NOT fundamental? Do you need to get the White House china out of the pawn shop? Will you now have a glossy ad campaign with celebrities (Miley Cyrus?) telling us that Reading is Optional?

5) HAPPY SPRING!

Spring!

Ever since the Unfortunate Incident with the Regrettable Easter Hats, I've been a little low-key about Easter.For example, this year I gathered kindling and made lentil soup, and then I snared me some critters and made vittles.

Part of that Clampittian sentence is correct and part is a falsehood--I leave it to you to decide which is which.

I'd planned to go to NH over Easter but had to cancel the trip. Instead, I spent most of the weekend shackled to my computer--darting out for a brief nature walk at one point. From my walk, and some experimental scrabbling about outside, I can tell you that Spring Hath Sprung with Extreme Prejudice Brotherrrrrrrrrr.

Hello!

I have six things that I am writing right now, and all I want to do is play Scrabble on my computer.

Scrabble.

On my computer.

Funny thing: Few clients are interested in paying you for playing Scrabble on your computer. Remarkably. Strikingly. Woefully. Few. While my clients are lovely people, I find this to be a severe character flaw in them.

Nuh-uh. They just don't "get it" when you send them a blank file with a little Scrabble logo in it. You'd think it might be a refreshing change of pace! No. Nope. Clients do not find it a refreshing change of pace.

The worst thing? The Scrabble game on my computer is beating me. And, I am swearing at my computer and accusing it of cheating.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my Monday.

Popcorn Friday: Some Cool Ladies

"She at first made a living selling fiction and cartoons to The New Yorker magazine."

"Her husband Stanley died in 1935, but until her death, she often had 'conversations' with her late husband, occasionally interrupting a scene in a movie. She would then let the director know it was okay to continue the scene, which she did as if nothing happened."
"She grew into a society débutante following high school and graduated from Washington University in St. Louis with a degree in political science."
"During the period 1951 to 1963, she was nominated for 6 Academy Awards. She is one of the most nominated actors who never won the statue."
"The Penguin" made her debut in vaudeville at age 2 .
"You gentlemen aren't REALLY trying to kill my son, are you?"
HAPPY POPCORN FRIDAY!

My Monday Motto

My friend gives the early morning news on a radio station far, far away. With the miracles of this new-fangled gadget called the Internet, I can listen to the broadcast on my computer.

Usually, there is something fun and/or noteworthy involving my friend and the news. For example, I like to play a drinking game with my coffee whenever my friend says the name "Vladimir Putin." This is often, so it is a win-win all around; I become more alert with each sip of coffee, and I have the added pleasure of marveling at how fun it is to cry out "Putin!" after my friend says it. If I'm in an especially waggish mood, I sing a little bit of "Puttin' on the Ritz" from Young Frankenstein--retrofitting the lyrics to match the name.

I live in hope that one day my friend will take my bet and say "Today, the weather will be...perfect!" That has not happened. Yet, the hope keeps me listening, and that's good because there was a bonus this morning. I picked up a new motto from the broadcast:

“When the going gets tough, the spores hunker down in the detritus.”

Let this be your Monday motto, too.

Watchful Sidekick

Can't Talk! Reading!

Can't Talk, Eating

These cookies fell off a truck in front of my house. No, there is no chance at all that I bought a vast quantity of Girl Scout cookies and have been stuffing them into my piehole like they are the last Girl Scout cookies on earth. There is no chance at all that has happened. I am simply burning the boxes because I am cold--for no other reason than because I am cold. Certainly nothing to do with incriminating evidence.