DANTE AND DOMINO GO TO PETSMART!

These are pictures of a few of our shopping trips to the local Petsmart with our kitties Dante and Domino. We started to take Dante on a leash to the pet store when he was about six months old, and continued the purractice on a regular basis so that he would get used to the car, as well as have an exercise in socialization.

Domino who is a year older and was already used to the leash, loved the car ride from the beginning and looked furward to claiming the Petsmart aisles as her own. Indeed she would even park herself in the middle of one of the main aisles and roll around like she does on the pavement outside. Of course, many people would stop and smile and give her a pat.

However, when people spied Dante, their mouths would always drop, and invariably they would say that they saw him from a distance but thought he was a dog! Dante always drew crowds wherever he went, and we were always answering a myriad of questions about him, as most people had never seen a cat quite like him before. Many wanted to pet him or pick him, and he was amenable to that, but did tire of it after a bit.

Normally, Domino would trot around on her leash with my husband, going up and down the aisles -- she especially favoured the dog section for some reason -- purrhaps it was the scent. Meanwhile, I would wheel Dante around while he sat on his cushion in the child seat. We would stop to look at the birdies and fishies and diffurent kinds of small rodents.

So, the Petsmart visit was also like a Wonderland to my kitties. There were all kinds of unfamiliar and intriguing smells, sights and sounds. In one store, there were even birdies flying free. We think they were birds that became trapped in the warehouse-like building, and then made it their purrmanent home. They didn't look like the birdies in the cages.

Most people brought their dogs with them, and some were dismayed to see my feline pets -- others were distinctly surprised. Neither of my kitties had any problem with any of the canines unless the dog made a threatening move. My little Domino would just hiss in such a case and raise her paw, and even the largest dog would back away in terror! Small dogs were just curious, for the most part, as were my kitties of them. I think Dante would just have liked to play with them if he could.

Dante and Domino also liked to sit on the checkout counter while their food was being scanned into the computer. This usually elicited pats from whoever was processing our order.

My only complaint was that they kept dog treats for visiting dogs at checkout, but nothing for cats. I felt that was distinctly unfair -- I mean how much would it cost them to open one small pouch of kitty treats? I even mentioned this to the manager one time, who became all officious and said she would have to bring it up at the next management meeting! What hokey, we say! Is this such a major decision? I mean we were regular customers after all.

We haven't been to the Petsmart for a few months now, so we're due to make another trip. My husband has been buying the kitty food at the regular grocery store instead. Now that the nice weather is here again, it's time to hook up Dante and Domino and hustle them off to their own purrsonal Land of Wonder!

Outside Influences Inside

Directionless.

That's how I feel some days. I got a letter from my editor. I'm behind on my articles for the online magazine. I haven't been sending them forward. Neither have I been doing anything. I'm just bullshitting with people on IRC. I've got to get on the stick. I wrapped up one of my articles in twenty minutes and sent it through. Then I sent out emails to lock up another interview...which looks like there will be a problem. The hosts are having a little problem. This is not good for me. But it looks like I'll just have to either wait, come up with a new article idea, or die. I don't like the last prospect much.... so I'd better get on the stick and get another article in the pipe.

As for IRC: The people there get more and more stranger. Further and further out there. You see those people on the Jerry Springer show? Well, that's what some...not all, mind you...but some are like. They are almost scary in fact. Some of the things that come out of their mouths...or off their fingers...will cause you pause. It's just the things that they do are out of this world, and what they actually get involved with. And it's easy to claim that they are liars, but the truth of the matter is is that they don't need to lie, and that they hook up amongst themselves often enough that they don't need you to be talking to them, much less believe them.

But goddamn if these people are not more fun than surfing the web. I'm enthralled with the characters "in channel". These people make me feel at home every time I'm on. I have grown to love them. They make my small, boring world somewhat much, much larger. I am in a wonderland of people, albeit doing strange things amongst themselves. They are a wilderness of personalities. Because of them I'm never alone. I am happy.

I get up and turn on my laptop. Today, I am off the clock, meaning no appoint- ments. I stay naked off my bed, I skip the coffee and get to my emails and get on IRC. It's my breakfast this morning. It melts my day down...until about mid afternoon, my room intercom buzzes. Yeah? "Can you come down for a meeting?" Alright, I reply tiredly. I say goodnight to my friends on IRC and get dressed. I am too tired, or lazy, for this. I wandered downstairs to the public room and tenants are already having a meeting about what's going on in the building. Stupid stuff...like don't change the locks on the door, don't throw trash out of the window, we'll be getting our mail boxes soon. But some of the dumb questions that were coming from my fellow tenants was enough for me to sneak back out and head upstairs. It was just like being in the middle of preschoolers, listening to the teacher in the class, and asking dumb questions.

I couldn't handle it anymore. I wanted snappy, funny, witty conver- sation. I wanted IRC. Text was still scrolling in the three channels that I was on...THREE mind you. I can follow the conversations in THREE chatrooms now. It's called co-channelling and some channels allow you to do it, and some don't. You can tell by putting in a simple WHOIS statement before a name and it'll tell you everything about the user. Especially what channels they're on. You can get KICKED and BANNED from some channels because of it. But these channels are cool with it. There's no jealousy, no competition. Just friends meeting.

I strip and sit. Getting back on and enjoying the company of friends. The talk? About Swine Flu and the Kentucky Derby.

Oh...and which is better for ass fucking your best friends wife...lube or no lube? All of the women of the channel say no lube. Because she's a bad girl.

Like I said. Sometimes, the Jerry Springer show.

Hobobob

Plums

That's all.

(Photo by Miel et Soleil)

Before and after

Graphic designer Louise Fili updated these logos. Her small changes make a huge difference, don't you agree?

THE TALE OF THE TWITCHY TAIL!

My poor little Domino is possessed by an evil tail that twitches totally out of control. Whenever these spasms occur, she tries to outrun them, and dashes about before sitting down to try to capture it.

Yesterday, she tore around the yard, and then jumped on top of the barbecue, thumping her back legs, rabbitlike, at a rapid pace. The rest of the story you can see in this series of pictures. In some, the tail is slightly blurred as it whips about unbidden.

The origins of this twitchy tail occurred before Domino became mine. As a tiny kitten, she belonged to my son's roommate, and I would see her when I visited Ryan (my son) who would even bring her to my house on occasion. She learned to really love riding in the car. The roommate never took her to a vet, so at the age of eight months she had her first (and only) litter of kittens. She was a very good mommy.

When she was a year old, the roommate moved out, and unbeknownst to my son, left Domino behind in the garage with a dirty litterbox, a little bit of dry food and no water. The garage was used as an extra room by the roommate. Luckily, Ryan found her before she perished from neglect, and when he called me and told me what happened, I asked him to bring her to me right away.

The poor little thing was skinny and flea-ridden, so we took care of that right away and she went to the vet as soon as possible. Since then, she has enjoyed a life of love and luxury, and goes along very happily except for the haphazard incidents with her twitchy tail. I figured she had just been born with random spasms that made her little tail go wildly out of control for short periods of time.

One day, the ex-roommate dropped by with Ryan for a brief visit, and he stopped to pet Domino. I was shocked and dismayed at what happened next. He reached down and pulled her tail and snapped it until it make a cracking sound. I shrieked! He said this was a "game" they always played and that she really liked it! How dumb can a human being actually be? Of course, I asked him to stop immediately and told him that her tail was now permanently injured. He just seemed rather blase about the whole thing -- but what can you expect from someone who abandoned their pet to begin with?

Anyway, this tale has a happy conclusion, because Domino is having the best life she could possibly have despite her sporadic twinges. She is a very loving pet who likes to arrange herself over my shoulder with her arms hanging down my back and be petted for long periods of time. I call her my "familiar" because she will also sit up near my shoulder, like a witch's black cat, or a pirate's parrot.

Domino rules our kitty roost and is the feistiest little thing you'd ever want to meet! The only thing she cannot control is her own tiny tail.

Foolish By Appointment

"Well, the good news," Dr. Levine says, "is that you are not suffering from anemia." Dr. Levine looks at his computer screen, a graph appears. He studies it. "Yes, we have some kidney damage here but it's not serious yet. You're still okay." He scribbles in his pad. "Although your potassium levels are low," he looks up at me. "How would you like to handle this? Supplements or diet?" I shake my head...I'm not good with the diet thing, Doc. "Alright. I'll write you out a prescription for potassium tablets. I want you to come back in two weeks to take a blood test so that I can see if your levels have gone up." Sounds like a plan, Doc.

I get up. We shake hands. I head off on my merry. I was late and thought that I would miss my appointment, but no. He saw me right away. That was good. I need a break with all of these damn appointments. Thanks to WECARE I am governed by a large clock ticking on their enormous watch. I am running just steps ahead of a ponderous second hand chasing me around and around it's face. That's the purpose of WECARE I suppose. Just like the police try to wear you down by flight, WECARE tries to wear you down with appointments.

The cardiologist is next.

I walk to the Way and take it uptown to Starbucks. I get comfortable at a table and set up my laptop. I'm going to get comfortable because I intend on being here for the rest of the day. I start to log into IRC when Electra walks up to my table, standing over me. I take out my cash and peel off the money that I owe her. She also takes paperwork that I had scanned for her and had given to her through email and on he flashdrive. "Do you mind if I sit down and eat my lunch at your table, here?" She asks, pointing at the empty chair across the table from me. No problem, cop a squat. I motion to the chair. She sits and eats a lamb gyro. "My bag was stolen Friday night," she tells me. What?? To us...or to her now...the loss of your bag meant your entire life. I used to carry all that I owned in my bag. Everything. To have it stolen is to be completely robbed. Completely. So what happened? "I know how these Skeks think by now. I fell asleep in the waiting area and took my arm from around it for ten minutes...just ten minutes I nodded off and it was gone."

Consider the fact that this backpack of her's is HUGE. She must have passed out pretty solidly for someone to lift it up from beside her and run off with. I blinked. Just ten minutes. She noded ruefully. "I got up and walked around the entire Pennsylvania Station looking for it. Floor after floor, going through the garbage cans and I found it on the lower level, in a trash can, rifled through." Anything valuable taken? "My cosmetic case...what in the world would someone want with used cosmetics? And my hair curler." Pretty useless stuff. I shake my head. "But I'm fortunate," she wraps up the rest of her sandwich. "I got my clothes back. That would have been bad to have lost my wardrobe." She would be walking about in tattered, dirty clothing within weeks. I see.

She finishes her meal, puts it in her handbag, stands. "Well, it was nice catching up with you, and thanks for all of your help." Any time Electra. She walks off. I think about how we used to stay together every night. Inseparable. Watching over each other. It must be hard for her now to continue on her own without me. Or at least a little more difficult without the two of us together looking out for the other.

I remember those days, but not fondly. It was a hard life, a difficult life. There is nothing more grueling than to try to live life without sleep. Constantly worried about everything you own being stolen by tireless Skeksies that need no sleep. That wander about preying on tourists, drunken commuters and the homeless like elusive shadows that even the police are tired of chasing about. The police, whose sole purpose is not to protect the public from these thieves but to instead harass and harangue the homeless, punting them around Penn Station like misbegotten footballs.

My brother soon joins me at the establish- ment and we work until night, working on emails and the grant proposal while I would steal time to go on IRC to bullshit. Evening wore on until it was time to go, and we made our way to the Way and parted at Grand Central, where I rode home and stopped to buy some food from the grocery store before retiring home.

It was a long day. A long one. I was tired and made a quick dinner, then dove into bed. I bypassed IRC and just blogged before retiring.

You know I have to blog.

Hobobob

Wink

What a funny and flirty T-shirt.

(Via Life in Lomo)

Modern-day Annie Hall

I keep coming back to this photo by The Sartorialist. Wouldn't you like to have a coffee with her?

Finding the Idiot Within

"So, how was your week, Hobobob?" Dr. D. asks.

It was alright. I didn't leave my room but twice. Maybe three times. If memory serves. I didn't leave it much. I like being in my room. Fucking ready to grow old and die there actually. I grin...I wish I had a tooth missing in front of my mouth so that I look goofy when I smile. "That sounds serious Hobobob, we already know that you have Social Anxiety. Staying in your room will only make it worse." I know that. I nod. I know all about that. I need to get out more. I don't have to heart to tell him that tomorrow I'll be standing before a classroom filled with students. I push the thought from my mind. I don't want to think about it, it would only freak me the fuck out.

"Are you listening to the relaxation tapes, Mr. Hobobob." Naaah, I think I can do all of this stuff without 'em. "You're trapped in your room though. It doesn't sound like you are coping well without them." He sits forward. Everyone in the room sits forward with him. I have a room filled with counselors. "Remember, the tapes are for your benefit. It can get you out of the house." I nod. I know he's right, but appointments do the same thing. They get me out and about. I don't say anything further to him though. He stares at me for a minute more before moving onto the next bozo.

Afterward, I head over to a liquor store, where I pick up a portable. It's been awhile since I've had a snootfull, so I avail myself. Then I walk to the Madison Starbucks. It's a nice day out, and I'm enjoying the plumage. Plumage...that's what my friends in Boston used to call women dressed provocatively in the streets. The day can be measured by the amount of plumage out. I walk and enjoy myself. Soon I'm at Starbucks and upon stepping in, the motherfucker is hot inside. I look around...what the Hell happened? Someone turn up the heat? I instantly know what I'm buying...Iced coffee.

I settle down and get online. My brother soon joins me. We work on our grant proposal. Hopefully this will give us enough money to continue on with the grand plan of getting poetry to the masses. I give my brother some cash so that he can go and get his own portable. No sooner does he return does Electra appear. "How much does a wine cooler go for?" She asks me. Around three dollars. " I have a few of them...would you be interested in buying them from me?" Lemmesee. I and my brother get up and indeed she does have a number of wine coolers and Kalhua Mudslides in her bag I grab a few and make a deal with her to give her some of the money tonight and some tomorrow. She agrees and off my brother and I scamper with the drinks.

Now we're cooking with gas.

I make it home later, and crawl into bed, going to sleep as fast as my head hits the pillow. I drool like a maniac all night long, the LAMICTAL doing its job in fucking me up. I wake up with slob all over my face, beard and pillow. Jeeezus Dayum! I get up and wash my face. What the fuck? I make microwaved shrimp for breakfast and get online. I went shopping last night so I have a cupboard and refrigerator full of food.

It is time to move. I have an appointment with some college kids today.

I meet my brother early in the morning at Starbucks and we get our marching orders online. We are to report to the twelfth floor classroom of Professor Lake and read poetry to his class. I am both excited and terrified. When my brother said that it was a go, my heart sank in my chest. Off we went, taking the Way down to the Borough of Manhattan Community College. It was a moderately sized classroom with the chairs all pushed to the walls, creating a large semi-circle. We took up positions before a wall covered with a chalkboard.

The classroom was filled with kids. It was amazing. We had their rapt attention and Professor Lake introduced us and OBSIDIAN gestured for me to take the first leg and read some of my pieces. I read two poems both about alcohol. Then OBSIDIAN read his. They sat there, riveted, listening without a sound. Then, it was time for questions and answers. I was never so nervous. I found myself repeating many of my answers over and over again. This only made me more frustrated, so that I did it more and more often, but overall it was in fact, both satisfying and enjoyable. One young man raised his hand: "This question is to Hobobob...I would assume that you drink alot. How do balance that with your writing. What I'm trying to say is that does it make your writing better?"

Who would have guessed the perspicacity of these young minds. Yes, I drink people. Some would say that I drink a lot. When it comes to writing poetry, it allows me to get out from under the problems that root me to the Earth, to escape my own mind. It allows me to break away and find that elusive spark inside. I caution them though: I'm not saying to go out and get a six pack of beer a pad and pen and start writing poetry. I'm just saying that I use it at times to write. You don't have to.

The class goes well. We give them writing exercises and they enjoy it. Soon, it is all over, and all of my nervousness was unfounded. I am relieved and will have to run to get to my Nephology appointment. I am running out of time. I say goodbye and thanks to Professor Lake and my brother and I run. He has his medical appointments at the VA hospital, and I have mine at Beth Israel.

We part company to meet later.

Hobobob