Last night I dreamt I invented a recipe
It was called pickle spaghetti.
The ingredients were pickle relish and spaghetti.
It was pretty damn good.
When I woke up, I got on the internet
And I googled “pickle spaghetti.”
Apparently it doesn’t exist
So I guess I really did invent it.
Now that I think about it – here’s something that would be really good:
Get a tubular pasta,
Like cannelloni
Or manicotti
Or penne
Rigatoni and ziti would also work.
Stuff the pickle relish INSIDE the tubes.
Put pesto or something green on top.
Then you have spaghetti that looks like a pickle
And tastes like a pickle.
Man, that would be wild.
I wrote this in poem form
Because from what I can tell
Poetry is words and sentences that become profound
When they are broken up into many lines.
And when there are words, incongruous words
Jumbled together for no apparent reason
It is also profound.
So, for that reason, I say to you:
Pickle spaghetti.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Book #8: The Quest for Immortality: Science at the Frontiers of Aging
In September of last year, I had the opportunity to attend a health journalism conference. Over dinner one night, our speaker was S. Jay Olshansky, who aroused everyone’s interest by passing around a vial of pills. The pills were offered to anyone who wanted one, and the company who made them claimed that with this pill, you could live forever. It turns out the pills were Tic-Tacs. You gotta be flashy when you’re a dinner speaker, I guess.
Olshansky went on to detail the ways that humans have tried to find immortality and prevent aging over history. He detailed a few of the key theories out there now about postponing aging, so that we live longer, but with fewer of the infirmities and frailties of old age. Then he proposed that a pill that could just that might be available on the market within our lifetimes. It was terribly exciting stuff.
Which was why I had high hopes for a book that S. Jay Olshansky co-authored with Bruce A. Carnes, entitled “The Quest for Immortality: Science at the Frontiers of Aging.” I’ve been writing about some aging-related issues at work lately, and I have an upcoming article about whether we could end aging, the central theme of Olshansky’s speech. I’ve been looking forward to reading this book, churning out a magnum opus of an article, and then sitting back and waiting for this immortality pill to appear.
Well, this book had very little of that optimism and fun that I remember from Olshansky’s speech; perhaps the wine and chocolate cake served with dinner had me too giddy for my own good. Instead, this book is kind of a Debbie Downer sort of book, that basically tells us that we’re lucky we live so long in the first place, because none of our ancestors did. And the only reason we live longer is because we figured out the issues of sanitation and malnutrition and immunization that were affecting newborn babies – by fixing the conditions for babies, the average lifespan for everyone went up. But once it did, and more people aged, then we realized that aging sucks because it includes things like dementia and convalescence and cancer. Whoopee.
Olshansky and Carnes review the work of scientists who view aging as yet another disease, something we can conquer, and they don’t turn up much in the way of a solution. The only thing we could conceivably do, based on my reading of the book, is freeze our eggs and sperm, sit around and see who lives the longest and healthiest, and then only use their eggs and sperm to continue the species. Not too appealing. Once we hit puberty, we are ticking time bombs. We need to reproduce, and once those years are over, then nature doesn’t care if we live or die.
So, to review, this is what I got from this book:
1. Why are you complaining about aging, you punk? The people alive today are the only people who have ever gotten to. WHY CAN’T YOU BE HAPPY ABOUT THAT?
2. Have a baby! It’s what you’re here for. Then go ahead and die, because you’ve served your evolutionary purpose and your baby needs the resources.
3. Okay, if you are looking into ways to live longer, better not believe anything anyone tells you because no one but S. Jay Olshansky and Bruce A. Carnes can read scientific data correctly, so what everyone else tells you is just a LIE to get your money.
4. Also, even if you imagine a cutting-edge world where doctors can fix things in your body that go wrong, then they will probably inadvertently make tweaks that screw up something else.
Hooray! So that’s what I have to write about in the coming week in a simplified nutshell. I guess I’m ultimately not too concerned about it. We’ll probably all evolve into robots that won’t have to worry about disease sometime soon anyways.
And if anyone wants to know, I read 230 pages to find out that regular exercise is the only thing that can truly be proven to be good for you, and that I personally, as a 27-year old, have 19,577 days of life left.
Olshansky went on to detail the ways that humans have tried to find immortality and prevent aging over history. He detailed a few of the key theories out there now about postponing aging, so that we live longer, but with fewer of the infirmities and frailties of old age. Then he proposed that a pill that could just that might be available on the market within our lifetimes. It was terribly exciting stuff.
Which was why I had high hopes for a book that S. Jay Olshansky co-authored with Bruce A. Carnes, entitled “The Quest for Immortality: Science at the Frontiers of Aging.” I’ve been writing about some aging-related issues at work lately, and I have an upcoming article about whether we could end aging, the central theme of Olshansky’s speech. I’ve been looking forward to reading this book, churning out a magnum opus of an article, and then sitting back and waiting for this immortality pill to appear.
Well, this book had very little of that optimism and fun that I remember from Olshansky’s speech; perhaps the wine and chocolate cake served with dinner had me too giddy for my own good. Instead, this book is kind of a Debbie Downer sort of book, that basically tells us that we’re lucky we live so long in the first place, because none of our ancestors did. And the only reason we live longer is because we figured out the issues of sanitation and malnutrition and immunization that were affecting newborn babies – by fixing the conditions for babies, the average lifespan for everyone went up. But once it did, and more people aged, then we realized that aging sucks because it includes things like dementia and convalescence and cancer. Whoopee.
Olshansky and Carnes review the work of scientists who view aging as yet another disease, something we can conquer, and they don’t turn up much in the way of a solution. The only thing we could conceivably do, based on my reading of the book, is freeze our eggs and sperm, sit around and see who lives the longest and healthiest, and then only use their eggs and sperm to continue the species. Not too appealing. Once we hit puberty, we are ticking time bombs. We need to reproduce, and once those years are over, then nature doesn’t care if we live or die.
So, to review, this is what I got from this book:
1. Why are you complaining about aging, you punk? The people alive today are the only people who have ever gotten to. WHY CAN’T YOU BE HAPPY ABOUT THAT?
2. Have a baby! It’s what you’re here for. Then go ahead and die, because you’ve served your evolutionary purpose and your baby needs the resources.
3. Okay, if you are looking into ways to live longer, better not believe anything anyone tells you because no one but S. Jay Olshansky and Bruce A. Carnes can read scientific data correctly, so what everyone else tells you is just a LIE to get your money.
4. Also, even if you imagine a cutting-edge world where doctors can fix things in your body that go wrong, then they will probably inadvertently make tweaks that screw up something else.
Hooray! So that’s what I have to write about in the coming week in a simplified nutshell. I guess I’m ultimately not too concerned about it. We’ll probably all evolve into robots that won’t have to worry about disease sometime soon anyways.
And if anyone wants to know, I read 230 pages to find out that regular exercise is the only thing that can truly be proven to be good for you, and that I personally, as a 27-year old, have 19,577 days of life left.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
An Open Letter to Domino's
Dear Domino’s Pizza,
Look, I know times have been hard lately. You had those people make videos of themselves doing unholy things to the food, and that certainly kept you in the news for awhile. I wouldn’t be surprised if sales were down. But my brothers and I decided to take a chance on you on Saturday night, when we were too exhausted to go out. My brother William, a public relations guru, applauded how you had handled the crisis, and my brother George and I figured that everyone who works at Domino’s was probably on high alert for bad apples who do unspeakable things to food. We all figured that it just might be the safest time to eat Domino’s Pizza.
First off, let me compliment you on your online ordering system, Domino’s. I appreciate immensely the fact that you’ve removed the need to ever speak to a human when ordering. Instead, all I have to do to order is dial you up online, find a coupon special that fits my needs for the evening, and plug in all my desires – I can even take advantage of a feature that lets me see what my pizza would look like if I put pepperoni on it instead of green peppers. Then I can just sit back and watch this amazing little ticker that lets me know who is making my order, whether it’s in the oven or not, and whether the driver has left yet. Even if this order monitoring system isn’t completely accurate, I still have to salute you and say that it’s quite a country when you can watch the status of your pizza order in real time.
And, as someone who dislikes speaking on the phone, I’ll say once again that I appreciate not having to explain what I want to a human being. Human beings are fallible. Human beings make mistakes. And oh, Domino’s, how your people made mistakes on Saturday evening.
Here was the situation: my brothers and I ordered a meal deal that came with two pizzas, cheesy bread and a 2-liter of Diet Coke. About 30 minutes from the time the order was placed I got a call from the delivery guy wanting to clarify which number was my apartment number, and which number was my street number. This concerned me greatly as my street number and my apartment number are thousands of numbers apart, and if he’s looking for a street address featuring my apartment number, then he’s probably miles away. Also, Domino’s is really nearby so hopefully he’d be familiar enough with the area? So I was concerned, but tried not to show it.
Ten minutes later, a knock on the door. I sign the receipt and I am handed two pizza boxes. “Um,” I say. “We had cheesy bread and a 2-liter Diet Coke as well.” Dude looks at my receipt and says, “Aww, my bad, I’ll run back to the store and get it.” Frankly I had my doubts, cause he’d already gotten and paid and tipped. I figured we’d never see him again.
And actually, we didn’t see him, not the next time a knock came at the door 10 minutes later. There was a different delivery guy, offering me a thing of cheesy bread. Now, maybe I shouldn’t have done this…I feel a little bad that I did, cause it wasn’t so terribly important, but I said, “Um, we had a two-liter of Diet Coke also?” And the guy got very confused, and he’s like, “I don’t know what you had, they just told me to bring this to you. I’ll call the store.”
So another ten minutes later, another knock. It was the original delivery guy. He said he was sorry and he asked if we had gotten the cheesy bread, and then he handed me a two-liter of Diet Coke and a 12-oz Sprite “for my troubles.” And that’s how it took us three separate visits by Domino’s to get our entire four-item order.
Now, Domino’s, as I started this letter, you’ve had troubles lately. That means that until things die down some, you should probably make sure that you don’t screw up the orders of the people who are ordering from you in this crisis. Because now I think that I shouldn’t order from you ever again, Domino’s, because now I think I’m probably on some Domino’s watch list at that store as demanding, and if I do order again, then you probably will spit in my food and do other bad things to it. Do you see how you screwed up? Do you offer me a lifetime of free pizza to make up for it? Think about it.
Fondly,
Molly
Look, I know times have been hard lately. You had those people make videos of themselves doing unholy things to the food, and that certainly kept you in the news for awhile. I wouldn’t be surprised if sales were down. But my brothers and I decided to take a chance on you on Saturday night, when we were too exhausted to go out. My brother William, a public relations guru, applauded how you had handled the crisis, and my brother George and I figured that everyone who works at Domino’s was probably on high alert for bad apples who do unspeakable things to food. We all figured that it just might be the safest time to eat Domino’s Pizza.
First off, let me compliment you on your online ordering system, Domino’s. I appreciate immensely the fact that you’ve removed the need to ever speak to a human when ordering. Instead, all I have to do to order is dial you up online, find a coupon special that fits my needs for the evening, and plug in all my desires – I can even take advantage of a feature that lets me see what my pizza would look like if I put pepperoni on it instead of green peppers. Then I can just sit back and watch this amazing little ticker that lets me know who is making my order, whether it’s in the oven or not, and whether the driver has left yet. Even if this order monitoring system isn’t completely accurate, I still have to salute you and say that it’s quite a country when you can watch the status of your pizza order in real time.
And, as someone who dislikes speaking on the phone, I’ll say once again that I appreciate not having to explain what I want to a human being. Human beings are fallible. Human beings make mistakes. And oh, Domino’s, how your people made mistakes on Saturday evening.
Here was the situation: my brothers and I ordered a meal deal that came with two pizzas, cheesy bread and a 2-liter of Diet Coke. About 30 minutes from the time the order was placed I got a call from the delivery guy wanting to clarify which number was my apartment number, and which number was my street number. This concerned me greatly as my street number and my apartment number are thousands of numbers apart, and if he’s looking for a street address featuring my apartment number, then he’s probably miles away. Also, Domino’s is really nearby so hopefully he’d be familiar enough with the area? So I was concerned, but tried not to show it.
Ten minutes later, a knock on the door. I sign the receipt and I am handed two pizza boxes. “Um,” I say. “We had cheesy bread and a 2-liter Diet Coke as well.” Dude looks at my receipt and says, “Aww, my bad, I’ll run back to the store and get it.” Frankly I had my doubts, cause he’d already gotten and paid and tipped. I figured we’d never see him again.
And actually, we didn’t see him, not the next time a knock came at the door 10 minutes later. There was a different delivery guy, offering me a thing of cheesy bread. Now, maybe I shouldn’t have done this…I feel a little bad that I did, cause it wasn’t so terribly important, but I said, “Um, we had a two-liter of Diet Coke also?” And the guy got very confused, and he’s like, “I don’t know what you had, they just told me to bring this to you. I’ll call the store.”
So another ten minutes later, another knock. It was the original delivery guy. He said he was sorry and he asked if we had gotten the cheesy bread, and then he handed me a two-liter of Diet Coke and a 12-oz Sprite “for my troubles.” And that’s how it took us three separate visits by Domino’s to get our entire four-item order.
Now, Domino’s, as I started this letter, you’ve had troubles lately. That means that until things die down some, you should probably make sure that you don’t screw up the orders of the people who are ordering from you in this crisis. Because now I think that I shouldn’t order from you ever again, Domino’s, because now I think I’m probably on some Domino’s watch list at that store as demanding, and if I do order again, then you probably will spit in my food and do other bad things to it. Do you see how you screwed up? Do you offer me a lifetime of free pizza to make up for it? Think about it.
Fondly,
Molly
a weekend with my brothers
Would you like to know what my brothers and I do when we’re not busy interviewing one another? Well then, today is your lucky day, for I shall recap the events of this weekend, which I spent with my darling brothers in recognition of the fact that we all have birthdays between April 1 and May 1.
The weekend began on Friday afternoon. I was stuck in god awful traffic on my way home from work, which left my brothers stranded outside my apartment, playing with George’s Blackberry . The original goal was to head for a brewery to taste beers for a few hours, but I was none too eager to get back in the car after my commute home, and since both the breweries had in mind stopped serving at 8 pm, it would have been a matter of drinking 6 beers in an hour to get the full experience. While there are nights when we wouldn’t shy away from such a task, we decided to take it easy and get into vacation mode. Thus, we skipped the breweries, a decision both brothers hailed as instrumental in the fact that no one got hungover or sick the next day.
Instead of heading for a brewery, we had a few beers at my apartment before making a leisurely stroll down the street for dinner. Whenever I have a brother in town, I like to go to a place called George’s, where you can get the best burgers in town. Maybe even the world. If you come visit me, I will take you to this magical place. At one point, I was eating a Barbeque Bacon and Chedder burger and musing aloud, “Why do I not put barbeque sauce on everything?” William was sweating, because William was sweating the whole time. George was documenting the whole process on his Blackberry. We ate our burgers and fries, polished off a few pitchers and then headed a few doors down to another bar.
William was pretty happy with this new bar because the waitress gave us the beers that were on draft in order of ascending price, which meant you could stop listening as soon as you heard a beer that you liked. We settled for Yuengling. I don’t mind telling you that with as much beer as we had consumed at that point, we found the following to be good ideas: calling our parents despite the late hour, singing Jenny Lewis songs loudly in our booth and taking Blackberry pictures of the urinal in the men’s bathroom (I had no part of that last one).
We made our walk home. Now, all through the night, George and I had been telling William not to let us go to this place called Frogs, because George and I have a tendency to drink too much tequila when we go to that place and we end up being dreadfully sick the next day. As we stumbled home, we started talking about Frogs and William was actually encouraging that we go!! Bad form, William. Instead, George and I managed to have some willpower and go back to the apartment. William kept everyone hydrated and we went to bed at a fairly reasonable hour, since it had been a long day and because we are all getting older now.
The next day we arose and confronted the fact that I had nothing to eat or drink in my apartment other than beer. So after showering, we headed over to a Dunkin’ Doughnuts and enjoyed a nice breakfast. Then we went to Borders because I have a tendency to make people go to bookstores with me. Then we went to a variety store to look at doodads. George really appreciated the variety of it all, and William found me a magnet with the pope on it. Good form, William. You redeemed yourself from that Frogs misjudgment the night before.
After all this wandering about shops, it was time to eat again, and it had been at least 12 hours since we had had a beer, so everyone was starting to get the shakes. We headed off to a place called Brick Store, which is known for its long beer list and its good food, meaning that my brothers and I are its target demographic. We split some Bavarian pretzels and some fish and chips, and we all enjoyed an IPA that was very very hoppy but very very enjoyable.
Then we were off to a street festival that was being held in a nearby neighborhood. Our search to find a parking spot at this festival was very long, but we all had enough fun at the festival that we deemed the frustration worthwhile. We saw some of the street parade, browsed through all the booths and drank some beer, though not necessarily in that order. I bought some apple cider doughnuts for the next day from a bakery in North Georgia to compensate for not providing breakfast earlier. As for the most important purchase, however, that was….KETTLE KORN. God help us, my brothers and I are suckers for a giant bag of Kettle Korn, and this was the freshest batch possible. It literally went from the kettle straight into our mouths. Basically. It was so good, and easily matched any meal that we had during the entire weekend in quality, and I don’t mean that statement as a knock on any of our restaurant meals.
The festival left us sweaty, so we headed back to my apartment to shower. We were also exhausted from all that walking around in 90 degree weather, so we decided to have a quiet night in. We ordered some pizza (the difficulties associated with this deserve their own post, which should be posted directly after this one) and watched “The Wrestler.” We had high hopes for this film because the three of us spent many an hour in our youth watching all sorts of wrestling and following the careers of our favorite wrestlers. After watching the film, though, I would just say “enh.” I’d rather re-watch a classic Wrestlemania, preferably the one where Hulk Hogan and Macho Man Randy Savage have a retirement match and Macho Man loses (but he had turned bad, so he was supposed to!) and in his defeat reconciles with Miss Elizabeth.
Even though we’d had showers, William still sweated throughout the evening. He can’t live in Atlanta, apparently. Too hot. They don’t call it Hotlanta for nothing.
The next day, we had the apple cider doughnuts, all three of us deeming them delicious. After watching the Travel Channel for awhile and some more showering and a little bumming around the apartment, it was off to another Atlanta institution, The Varsity, where we enjoyed hot dogs in various states of chili, cheese and cole slaw coverings, as well as French fries, onion rings, and Frosted Orange drinks. Just typing out all the food we ate is making me slightly sick, but that is just how my brothers and I roll. We drink and we eat to excess. Eat, drink and be merry and whatnot.
While we ate, I asked George and William which events were so memorable as to be included in the blog, and they both said, "all of them," so that is basically what I have recounted. After the Varsity, it was time for the boys to depart and head back to North Carolina. The weekend was far too short, which I know because I still have beer left in my fridge. Though I guess my gut is grateful.
So, anyways, if you’d like to know what it’s like to be in my family, find two other people and recreate this weekend for yourselves. You get a bonus point for any instance in which someone who is with you points out that you are acting like one of your parents.
The weekend began on Friday afternoon. I was stuck in god awful traffic on my way home from work, which left my brothers stranded outside my apartment, playing with George’s Blackberry . The original goal was to head for a brewery to taste beers for a few hours, but I was none too eager to get back in the car after my commute home, and since both the breweries had in mind stopped serving at 8 pm, it would have been a matter of drinking 6 beers in an hour to get the full experience. While there are nights when we wouldn’t shy away from such a task, we decided to take it easy and get into vacation mode. Thus, we skipped the breweries, a decision both brothers hailed as instrumental in the fact that no one got hungover or sick the next day.
Instead of heading for a brewery, we had a few beers at my apartment before making a leisurely stroll down the street for dinner. Whenever I have a brother in town, I like to go to a place called George’s, where you can get the best burgers in town. Maybe even the world. If you come visit me, I will take you to this magical place. At one point, I was eating a Barbeque Bacon and Chedder burger and musing aloud, “Why do I not put barbeque sauce on everything?” William was sweating, because William was sweating the whole time. George was documenting the whole process on his Blackberry. We ate our burgers and fries, polished off a few pitchers and then headed a few doors down to another bar.
William was pretty happy with this new bar because the waitress gave us the beers that were on draft in order of ascending price, which meant you could stop listening as soon as you heard a beer that you liked. We settled for Yuengling. I don’t mind telling you that with as much beer as we had consumed at that point, we found the following to be good ideas: calling our parents despite the late hour, singing Jenny Lewis songs loudly in our booth and taking Blackberry pictures of the urinal in the men’s bathroom (I had no part of that last one).
We made our walk home. Now, all through the night, George and I had been telling William not to let us go to this place called Frogs, because George and I have a tendency to drink too much tequila when we go to that place and we end up being dreadfully sick the next day. As we stumbled home, we started talking about Frogs and William was actually encouraging that we go!! Bad form, William. Instead, George and I managed to have some willpower and go back to the apartment. William kept everyone hydrated and we went to bed at a fairly reasonable hour, since it had been a long day and because we are all getting older now.
The next day we arose and confronted the fact that I had nothing to eat or drink in my apartment other than beer. So after showering, we headed over to a Dunkin’ Doughnuts and enjoyed a nice breakfast. Then we went to Borders because I have a tendency to make people go to bookstores with me. Then we went to a variety store to look at doodads. George really appreciated the variety of it all, and William found me a magnet with the pope on it. Good form, William. You redeemed yourself from that Frogs misjudgment the night before.
After all this wandering about shops, it was time to eat again, and it had been at least 12 hours since we had had a beer, so everyone was starting to get the shakes. We headed off to a place called Brick Store, which is known for its long beer list and its good food, meaning that my brothers and I are its target demographic. We split some Bavarian pretzels and some fish and chips, and we all enjoyed an IPA that was very very hoppy but very very enjoyable.
Then we were off to a street festival that was being held in a nearby neighborhood. Our search to find a parking spot at this festival was very long, but we all had enough fun at the festival that we deemed the frustration worthwhile. We saw some of the street parade, browsed through all the booths and drank some beer, though not necessarily in that order. I bought some apple cider doughnuts for the next day from a bakery in North Georgia to compensate for not providing breakfast earlier. As for the most important purchase, however, that was….KETTLE KORN. God help us, my brothers and I are suckers for a giant bag of Kettle Korn, and this was the freshest batch possible. It literally went from the kettle straight into our mouths. Basically. It was so good, and easily matched any meal that we had during the entire weekend in quality, and I don’t mean that statement as a knock on any of our restaurant meals.
The festival left us sweaty, so we headed back to my apartment to shower. We were also exhausted from all that walking around in 90 degree weather, so we decided to have a quiet night in. We ordered some pizza (the difficulties associated with this deserve their own post, which should be posted directly after this one) and watched “The Wrestler.” We had high hopes for this film because the three of us spent many an hour in our youth watching all sorts of wrestling and following the careers of our favorite wrestlers. After watching the film, though, I would just say “enh.” I’d rather re-watch a classic Wrestlemania, preferably the one where Hulk Hogan and Macho Man Randy Savage have a retirement match and Macho Man loses (but he had turned bad, so he was supposed to!) and in his defeat reconciles with Miss Elizabeth.
Even though we’d had showers, William still sweated throughout the evening. He can’t live in Atlanta, apparently. Too hot. They don’t call it Hotlanta for nothing.
The next day, we had the apple cider doughnuts, all three of us deeming them delicious. After watching the Travel Channel for awhile and some more showering and a little bumming around the apartment, it was off to another Atlanta institution, The Varsity, where we enjoyed hot dogs in various states of chili, cheese and cole slaw coverings, as well as French fries, onion rings, and Frosted Orange drinks. Just typing out all the food we ate is making me slightly sick, but that is just how my brothers and I roll. We drink and we eat to excess. Eat, drink and be merry and whatnot.
While we ate, I asked George and William which events were so memorable as to be included in the blog, and they both said, "all of them," so that is basically what I have recounted. After the Varsity, it was time for the boys to depart and head back to North Carolina. The weekend was far too short, which I know because I still have beer left in my fridge. Though I guess my gut is grateful.
So, anyways, if you’d like to know what it’s like to be in my family, find two other people and recreate this weekend for yourselves. You get a bonus point for any instance in which someone who is with you points out that you are acting like one of your parents.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
one badass bear
When I first got my adorable bear, Barnabas, I was living in Seattle and I needed someone to keep an eye on the place when I wasn’t around. I wanted some security for when I was home alone at night. And Barnabas, in addition to being a wonderful companion, has kept things very safe. I haven’t been burgled once in the entire time that I’ve owned Barnabas, and I don’t think that’s just a coincidence.
Now, I envisioned that Barnabas would be able to stay at home and make my protection his full time job and life’s mission. But, no one can deny that times are tough these days, and I have asked Barnabas to get a job to cover a few household expenses. For example, I didn’t expect that my fish would live an entire year and now we’re going to have to keep buying fish food. Also, we have another mouth to feed since little Chester Bear came into our life at Christmas.
Man, if this is the first blog entry that you’re reading, you’re really confused and disturbed, huh?
So Barnabas sat down about a month ago and started thinking about what job he might like. At first he wanted to be a puppeteer, but as always, nobody’s looking for a puppeteer in today’s wintry economic climate. Then he thought he might like to be a sports coach, because he’s been really interested in things like the Final Four and the Masters lately. But he doesn’t really excel at any one sport. He is however, athletic, and when I considered that, in combination with the fact that he came along for the express purpose of personal protection, I told him that maybe he should consider being a police bear or a bodyguard or something.
Well, Barnabas did a little investigation and talking to other local bears, and I am proud to announce that little Barn is now fully trained and employed as a member of the Bear SWAT Team. Here he is with Alvin the fish before his first day of work:
Here are some fun facts about SWAT teams that I got from Wikipedia:
--SWAT stands for Special Weapons and Tactics.
--The first SWAT team was established in 1968 in Los Angeles.
--The first significant deployment of that SWAT team was a four-hour confrontation with the Black Panthers in 1969.
--The most common weapons used by SWAT units are submachine guns, assault rifles, shotguns and sniper rifles.
--SWAT duties include perimeter security against snipers for visiting dignitaries, countering terrorist operations in U.S. cities and stabilizing situations involving high-risk suicidal subjects.
Now maybe you are thinking, “Whoa! Molly! How can you handle sending your sweet little bear into such a big bad world?” And I cannot lie, it is hard for me. But from what I understand, the bear SWAT units are a little bit different, in ways that Wikipedia hasn’t quite caught up to yet. And Barnabas assures me that he is always very safe and that he feels it is his duty to go out and protect other bears, like Chester.
I did worry when he came home from his first day on the job, because the first thing he did was head for the fridge, get a beer, and sit in front of the tv. He didn’t say a word, and it was only because I pestered him that he mumbled something about a bear hostage crisis. Here he is, looking kinda rough:
So of course I’m concerned that he may become hardened by this job. However, after a beer, he was back to his old Barnabas self, and we had a good discussion about how we both hate the song “Maggie May” by Rod Stewart. Like, we both REALLY hate it. I asked him if he thought I should add black beans to the hash browns I was making for dinner, cause I’m all about adding black beans to everything these days. Barnabas voted no, that I should get my hash brown technique more finely tuned before I start experimenting with add-ins. And friends and neighbors, that bear was right. My hash browns still need work.
Now, I envisioned that Barnabas would be able to stay at home and make my protection his full time job and life’s mission. But, no one can deny that times are tough these days, and I have asked Barnabas to get a job to cover a few household expenses. For example, I didn’t expect that my fish would live an entire year and now we’re going to have to keep buying fish food. Also, we have another mouth to feed since little Chester Bear came into our life at Christmas.
Man, if this is the first blog entry that you’re reading, you’re really confused and disturbed, huh?
So Barnabas sat down about a month ago and started thinking about what job he might like. At first he wanted to be a puppeteer, but as always, nobody’s looking for a puppeteer in today’s wintry economic climate. Then he thought he might like to be a sports coach, because he’s been really interested in things like the Final Four and the Masters lately. But he doesn’t really excel at any one sport. He is however, athletic, and when I considered that, in combination with the fact that he came along for the express purpose of personal protection, I told him that maybe he should consider being a police bear or a bodyguard or something.
Well, Barnabas did a little investigation and talking to other local bears, and I am proud to announce that little Barn is now fully trained and employed as a member of the Bear SWAT Team. Here he is with Alvin the fish before his first day of work:
Here are some fun facts about SWAT teams that I got from Wikipedia:
--SWAT stands for Special Weapons and Tactics.
--The first SWAT team was established in 1968 in Los Angeles.
--The first significant deployment of that SWAT team was a four-hour confrontation with the Black Panthers in 1969.
--The most common weapons used by SWAT units are submachine guns, assault rifles, shotguns and sniper rifles.
--SWAT duties include perimeter security against snipers for visiting dignitaries, countering terrorist operations in U.S. cities and stabilizing situations involving high-risk suicidal subjects.
Now maybe you are thinking, “Whoa! Molly! How can you handle sending your sweet little bear into such a big bad world?” And I cannot lie, it is hard for me. But from what I understand, the bear SWAT units are a little bit different, in ways that Wikipedia hasn’t quite caught up to yet. And Barnabas assures me that he is always very safe and that he feels it is his duty to go out and protect other bears, like Chester.
I did worry when he came home from his first day on the job, because the first thing he did was head for the fridge, get a beer, and sit in front of the tv. He didn’t say a word, and it was only because I pestered him that he mumbled something about a bear hostage crisis. Here he is, looking kinda rough:
So of course I’m concerned that he may become hardened by this job. However, after a beer, he was back to his old Barnabas self, and we had a good discussion about how we both hate the song “Maggie May” by Rod Stewart. Like, we both REALLY hate it. I asked him if he thought I should add black beans to the hash browns I was making for dinner, cause I’m all about adding black beans to everything these days. Barnabas voted no, that I should get my hash brown technique more finely tuned before I start experimenting with add-ins. And friends and neighbors, that bear was right. My hash browns still need work. Tuesday, April 21, 2009
21 questions about ceiling fans
I have interviewed my dad. I have interviewed my mom. I have interviewed my brother William. If you're seeking insight into what my immediate family is like, there's only one more source of information, and that is my brother George. I think most everyone who reads this blog is pretty familiar with George, either because you are related to him or because he's a regular presence on this blog, providing guest entries and funny comments to name but a few of his contributions. On Easter weekend, the time had come to get his side of the story. The family, including George's wife, Courtney, gathered around to watch the interview take place, a decision that both George and I would come to regret, because a certain member of our family decided to keep interrupting. Get your own blog, Dad.
The only ground rule for the interview was a request by George that none of the questions deal with ceiling fans, since George had spent approximately 27 hours that weekend trying to hang a new ceiling fan, and it still didn't work completely (the lights wouldn't come one).
Molly: George, you have a birthday coming up. What was your most memorable birthday?
George: Probably my 21st birthday.
Dad: Great, none of us were there.
George: We went to Pk’s Pizza for some barbeque chicken pizza. Then we went out and had pitchers of beer at Hokie House. I came back and opened presents from our parents, including a fifth of Captain Morgan’s, an Anthony Kiedis book, and a picture of Sigmund Freud.
Molly: What is your fondest memory of me?
George: When I came down to Atlanta when I was 16 and I stayed in your freshman dorm for the weekend. You took me a bar and we drank underage (Editor’s note: What? I have no memory of such criminal behavior). You took me to the cafeteria at Emory and you told me to get multiple drinks so I wouldn’t have to get up for refills. So I told everyone to do that in college. Then I left early to go to an Outkast concert even though our parents told me not to.
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from Dad?
George: When someone says, “Looking good, Billy Ray,” you say, “Feeling good, Lewis.”
(At this point, Dad gets upset that his greatest accomplishment as a father was to teach us a line from the movie “Trading Places.” “I thought I would have taught you something meaningful, like honesty,” Dad said. I reminded Dad that he actually taught George more about lying because George used to be told to pretend he was younger that he really was, in order to get reduced admission prices for attractions like amusement parks and presidential libraries)
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from Mom?
George: Always to say thank you.
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from William?
George: You gotta get g’d up from the feet up to get d’d up.
Molly: Who is your favorite historical figure and why?
George: Thomas Jefferson, because he taught me I could create my own Bible.
Dad: Plus he created a great university that you could never understand.
George: No, I’ll say Sigmund Freud. He was interesting.
Molly: If you could have a dinner party with three people, alive or dead, who would you invite?
George: I couldn’t get more than three people to come? Well, I’d want to invite one more. I’d invite all of my grandparents, so they could tell me funny stories about my parents.
Dad interjects again to say that this is a waste, because George already met his grandmothers and he should invite other people.
Molly (trying to get the interview back on track) What would you serve at this dinner party?
George: I would serve Kink soufflé. (Editor’s note: Kink soufflé is a mix of ham, cheese and bread deliciousness that we always ate at my grandmother’s when we had dinner over there.
Dad: Well my parents won’t like that, because they’re more meat and potato people.
Molly: What skill that you don’t have would you most like to learn?
George: Honesty.
Molly: George, you’ve offered me tons of job interview advice, since you do so many job interviews for your job. So I have a very stereotypical job interview question for you: What is your biggest weakness?
George: Sometimes I forget to hydrate before I go to bed after a night of drinking.
Courtney: That’s it?? What about peeing in the refrigerator? (Editor’s note: One time George got drunk and peed in the refrigerator.)
Molly: If you weren’t in your current job, what would you want to do?
George: I would own a bar or a record store or be a rock musician. My bar would be [redacted].
(Editor’s note: When George revealed the name of his bar, I suggested that maybe he shouldn’t reveal it on such a public forum as this blog, because it’s an excellent idea and I don’t want anyone stealing the concept. So I said that I would put “redacted” and then Dad and William got on my case and told me that redacted was a stupid word.)
Molly: How would you describe your alma mater, Virginia Tech, to an alien?
William: Here we go with the fucking aliens again.
George: I would say that Virginia Tech is a place you go after high school, which is after middle school, which is after elementary school, and schools are places where you learn a lot of stuff.
Molly: Well, the aliens are familiar with the concept of higher education. What they want to know is how Virginia Tech is different from other institutions.
George: It’s the best.
William: I like how you’re short with the aliens. We don’t need them to have too much information.
Molly: How were you most warped by your family?
George: I’ve inherited (deep breath) an incurable fixation to collect lots of things without throwing much away, in combination with some very weird body hair.
Molly: Describe your perfect day.
George: Hmmm, well it could have been today (Editor’s note: that day, George had gone to breakfast with dad and dad’s friends, then gone to the flea market, then to Chick-fil, then ran some errands, then dinner with the family). On my perfect day, I would get up pretty early but fully rested. Take a shower. Have breakfast and read the paper. Coffee. Probably go to a CD store, then have lunch at Chick-fil-a with the family. A little DG (editor’s note: Disc Golf) with my brother, where I’d hit another hole-in-one. Key word there is ANOTHER because I’ve already hit one. Then a nice little dinner...meat, potatoes, a cigar. Then going out. Just getting g’d up from the feet up to get d’d up. Then I’d go to sleep well-hydrated.
(Editor’s note: Then things took a horribly disturbing turn when my dad pointed out that George hadn’t had sex on his perfect day. Then my youngest brother and my father had a conversation about sex that remains fairly traumatizing to me, while I try to point out that sex is not really something I discuss on the blog and that I don’t really need that level of detail on the perfect day scenario. Just even thinking about that moment again has me in a weird mood.)
Molly: Um, to get this interview back on track, George, if you could go back in time for one week, what period of history would you go to and why?
Dad (interrupting): Uncle Bill and I would go back to the week of Jesus’ crucifixion, so we could see how it all went down. (Then Dad and I have a discussion on the nature of faith, and whether that’s something you need to see to believe it happened)
George: I would go back in time one week and have this interview at a time where Dad wasn’t around, so he couldn’t keep interrupting.
Molly: What is something that would surprise everyone in this room, including Courtney?
George: (thinks for a long time) Hard to say. I’m pretty much an open book.
Molly: Okay, what about an interesting fact for my blog readers?
George: Uh, I can’t think of anything.
Molly: Well, since you have no secrets, how about you just give some advice to my blog readers.
George: I would say leave comments on the blog posts.
Molly: Why do you think comments are so important?
George: I don’t know, I think it provides affirmation of what you like and what you don’t like.
Molly: But what if the blog writer tries not to care about what gets comments and what doesn’t?
George: The readers should know that comments are sometimes better than the blog itself (I made a face at that part). And the blog writer should learn not to be so selfish and demanding and controlling.
Molly: If you could be a character in any movie or television show, who would you be?
George: Jerry Seinfeld. He had a big New York City apartment and always had a lot of girls, he was just a real funny guy.
William: But his neighbors were always causing shenanigans.
George: Well, he just lived his life.
Dad: Something was always wrong with those girls. He was never happy with them.
Molly: Where in the world would you most like to live?
George: New England – Portland, Maine. It would just be fun.
Molly: Alright, so since this was alluded to earlier in the evening, I’d like to ask you to describe me as a driver.
George: Molly as a driver is a complex thing. Molly has two speeds: breaking really fast or speeding full throttle. And don’t touch the radio. There are very quick movements, so I can’t drive with Molly when I’m hungover. There are very quick turns at 90 degree angles. Kinda scary. It’s like being in a Third World country driving with a taxi cab, but with no smells, but with her music. You’re at her mercy. I’ve been in a few accidents with Molly, though none were ever her fault. Even though one of them was just backing up into a wall. (Editor’s note: At this point my hand was very tired and sore so I stopped writing things down. I think I got it all. Pretty sure.)
Molly: What do you remember most about your childhood?
George: Playing outside, wrestling, not being able to talk, riding my bike. Not in that order.
(Editor’s note: Then Dad reminded everyone about how George used to love nails. He would take scrap wood and nail it all together. Dad got a lot of flat tires that year)
Molly: Okay, if you woke up and there was $1000 from the tooth fairy at the bottom of your bed, and you only had one day to spend it, what would you do?
George: Well, first I would secure it so that Bailey doesn’t eat it (editor’s note: Bailey is one of George and Courtney’s dogs). I’d give some to Dad because I have some outstanding loans. Then I’d go to the mall and shop. Get some CD’s, some books, some clothes….might buy Courtney something. I’d buy her a green cardigan or a green sweater or a green shirt, because green is her color of the year. Green ring, green necklace, green hair dye. Then, I’d take everyone out to dinner somewhere nice, like Frankie Bones.
William: I’d give it to charity.
Molly: Final question: What do you think the world will be like in 2050?
George: Well, Dad will be 100 years old, so I’ll probably be driving him to Chick-fil-a on Saturdays, or he’ll be the old man who works there who gives out the mints. No, wait. There will be a Chick-fil-a in Candler. There will be green environmental hybrid cars, but I hope in 50 years I don’t have to drive to South Asheville for a Chick-fil-a sandwich. Is that too much to expect?? Barack Obama will be…[Dad interrupted at that point to say that Barack Obama will be in jail for crimes against the country]…Barack Obama will have been pardoned by then. Hopefully I will have a laser gun so I could steal the Highway 311 signs that are located in Winston-Salem. I won’t have to put ceiling fans up anymore.
Also, Hokies will win all championships, and Appalachian will be Division I. Beer will come out of the tap. Fridges will have sensors so that if urinals pop out if someone tries to pee. There will be a Jimmy John’s in Asheville. There will be no more hangovers – we’ll have cured that by then. I Wiggle It Just A Little Bit will be in its 43rd year. There will probably be some little George II’s running around, hammering stuff and trying to talk. Well, maybe we’ll have fixed the talking thing by then, too. It’s gonna be pretty fun. Also, there will be grown-up sized Big Wheels.
The only ground rule for the interview was a request by George that none of the questions deal with ceiling fans, since George had spent approximately 27 hours that weekend trying to hang a new ceiling fan, and it still didn't work completely (the lights wouldn't come one).
Molly: George, you have a birthday coming up. What was your most memorable birthday?
George: Probably my 21st birthday.
Dad: Great, none of us were there.
George: We went to Pk’s Pizza for some barbeque chicken pizza. Then we went out and had pitchers of beer at Hokie House. I came back and opened presents from our parents, including a fifth of Captain Morgan’s, an Anthony Kiedis book, and a picture of Sigmund Freud.
Molly: What is your fondest memory of me?
George: When I came down to Atlanta when I was 16 and I stayed in your freshman dorm for the weekend. You took me a bar and we drank underage (Editor’s note: What? I have no memory of such criminal behavior). You took me to the cafeteria at Emory and you told me to get multiple drinks so I wouldn’t have to get up for refills. So I told everyone to do that in college. Then I left early to go to an Outkast concert even though our parents told me not to.
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from Dad?
George: When someone says, “Looking good, Billy Ray,” you say, “Feeling good, Lewis.”
(At this point, Dad gets upset that his greatest accomplishment as a father was to teach us a line from the movie “Trading Places.” “I thought I would have taught you something meaningful, like honesty,” Dad said. I reminded Dad that he actually taught George more about lying because George used to be told to pretend he was younger that he really was, in order to get reduced admission prices for attractions like amusement parks and presidential libraries)
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from Mom?
George: Always to say thank you.
Molly: What’s the number one thing you learned from William?
George: You gotta get g’d up from the feet up to get d’d up.
Molly: Who is your favorite historical figure and why?
George: Thomas Jefferson, because he taught me I could create my own Bible.
Dad: Plus he created a great university that you could never understand.
George: No, I’ll say Sigmund Freud. He was interesting.
Molly: If you could have a dinner party with three people, alive or dead, who would you invite?
George: I couldn’t get more than three people to come? Well, I’d want to invite one more. I’d invite all of my grandparents, so they could tell me funny stories about my parents.
Dad interjects again to say that this is a waste, because George already met his grandmothers and he should invite other people.
Molly (trying to get the interview back on track) What would you serve at this dinner party?
George: I would serve Kink soufflé. (Editor’s note: Kink soufflé is a mix of ham, cheese and bread deliciousness that we always ate at my grandmother’s when we had dinner over there.
Dad: Well my parents won’t like that, because they’re more meat and potato people.
Molly: What skill that you don’t have would you most like to learn?
George: Honesty.
Molly: George, you’ve offered me tons of job interview advice, since you do so many job interviews for your job. So I have a very stereotypical job interview question for you: What is your biggest weakness?
George: Sometimes I forget to hydrate before I go to bed after a night of drinking.
Courtney: That’s it?? What about peeing in the refrigerator? (Editor’s note: One time George got drunk and peed in the refrigerator.)
Molly: If you weren’t in your current job, what would you want to do?
George: I would own a bar or a record store or be a rock musician. My bar would be [redacted].
(Editor’s note: When George revealed the name of his bar, I suggested that maybe he shouldn’t reveal it on such a public forum as this blog, because it’s an excellent idea and I don’t want anyone stealing the concept. So I said that I would put “redacted” and then Dad and William got on my case and told me that redacted was a stupid word.)
Molly: How would you describe your alma mater, Virginia Tech, to an alien?
William: Here we go with the fucking aliens again.
George: I would say that Virginia Tech is a place you go after high school, which is after middle school, which is after elementary school, and schools are places where you learn a lot of stuff.
Molly: Well, the aliens are familiar with the concept of higher education. What they want to know is how Virginia Tech is different from other institutions.
George: It’s the best.
William: I like how you’re short with the aliens. We don’t need them to have too much information.
Molly: How were you most warped by your family?
George: I’ve inherited (deep breath) an incurable fixation to collect lots of things without throwing much away, in combination with some very weird body hair.
Molly: Describe your perfect day.
George: Hmmm, well it could have been today (Editor’s note: that day, George had gone to breakfast with dad and dad’s friends, then gone to the flea market, then to Chick-fil, then ran some errands, then dinner with the family). On my perfect day, I would get up pretty early but fully rested. Take a shower. Have breakfast and read the paper. Coffee. Probably go to a CD store, then have lunch at Chick-fil-a with the family. A little DG (editor’s note: Disc Golf) with my brother, where I’d hit another hole-in-one. Key word there is ANOTHER because I’ve already hit one. Then a nice little dinner...meat, potatoes, a cigar. Then going out. Just getting g’d up from the feet up to get d’d up. Then I’d go to sleep well-hydrated.
(Editor’s note: Then things took a horribly disturbing turn when my dad pointed out that George hadn’t had sex on his perfect day. Then my youngest brother and my father had a conversation about sex that remains fairly traumatizing to me, while I try to point out that sex is not really something I discuss on the blog and that I don’t really need that level of detail on the perfect day scenario. Just even thinking about that moment again has me in a weird mood.)
Molly: Um, to get this interview back on track, George, if you could go back in time for one week, what period of history would you go to and why?
Dad (interrupting): Uncle Bill and I would go back to the week of Jesus’ crucifixion, so we could see how it all went down. (Then Dad and I have a discussion on the nature of faith, and whether that’s something you need to see to believe it happened)
George: I would go back in time one week and have this interview at a time where Dad wasn’t around, so he couldn’t keep interrupting.
Molly: What is something that would surprise everyone in this room, including Courtney?
George: (thinks for a long time) Hard to say. I’m pretty much an open book.
Molly: Okay, what about an interesting fact for my blog readers?
George: Uh, I can’t think of anything.
Molly: Well, since you have no secrets, how about you just give some advice to my blog readers.
George: I would say leave comments on the blog posts.
Molly: Why do you think comments are so important?
George: I don’t know, I think it provides affirmation of what you like and what you don’t like.
Molly: But what if the blog writer tries not to care about what gets comments and what doesn’t?
George: The readers should know that comments are sometimes better than the blog itself (I made a face at that part). And the blog writer should learn not to be so selfish and demanding and controlling.
Molly: If you could be a character in any movie or television show, who would you be?
George: Jerry Seinfeld. He had a big New York City apartment and always had a lot of girls, he was just a real funny guy.
William: But his neighbors were always causing shenanigans.
George: Well, he just lived his life.
Dad: Something was always wrong with those girls. He was never happy with them.
Molly: Where in the world would you most like to live?
George: New England – Portland, Maine. It would just be fun.
Molly: Alright, so since this was alluded to earlier in the evening, I’d like to ask you to describe me as a driver.
George: Molly as a driver is a complex thing. Molly has two speeds: breaking really fast or speeding full throttle. And don’t touch the radio. There are very quick movements, so I can’t drive with Molly when I’m hungover. There are very quick turns at 90 degree angles. Kinda scary. It’s like being in a Third World country driving with a taxi cab, but with no smells, but with her music. You’re at her mercy. I’ve been in a few accidents with Molly, though none were ever her fault. Even though one of them was just backing up into a wall. (Editor’s note: At this point my hand was very tired and sore so I stopped writing things down. I think I got it all. Pretty sure.)
Molly: What do you remember most about your childhood?
George: Playing outside, wrestling, not being able to talk, riding my bike. Not in that order.
(Editor’s note: Then Dad reminded everyone about how George used to love nails. He would take scrap wood and nail it all together. Dad got a lot of flat tires that year)
Molly: Okay, if you woke up and there was $1000 from the tooth fairy at the bottom of your bed, and you only had one day to spend it, what would you do?
George: Well, first I would secure it so that Bailey doesn’t eat it (editor’s note: Bailey is one of George and Courtney’s dogs). I’d give some to Dad because I have some outstanding loans. Then I’d go to the mall and shop. Get some CD’s, some books, some clothes….might buy Courtney something. I’d buy her a green cardigan or a green sweater or a green shirt, because green is her color of the year. Green ring, green necklace, green hair dye. Then, I’d take everyone out to dinner somewhere nice, like Frankie Bones.
William: I’d give it to charity.
Molly: Final question: What do you think the world will be like in 2050?
George: Well, Dad will be 100 years old, so I’ll probably be driving him to Chick-fil-a on Saturdays, or he’ll be the old man who works there who gives out the mints. No, wait. There will be a Chick-fil-a in Candler. There will be green environmental hybrid cars, but I hope in 50 years I don’t have to drive to South Asheville for a Chick-fil-a sandwich. Is that too much to expect?? Barack Obama will be…[Dad interrupted at that point to say that Barack Obama will be in jail for crimes against the country]…Barack Obama will have been pardoned by then. Hopefully I will have a laser gun so I could steal the Highway 311 signs that are located in Winston-Salem. I won’t have to put ceiling fans up anymore.
Also, Hokies will win all championships, and Appalachian will be Division I. Beer will come out of the tap. Fridges will have sensors so that if urinals pop out if someone tries to pee. There will be a Jimmy John’s in Asheville. There will be no more hangovers – we’ll have cured that by then. I Wiggle It Just A Little Bit will be in its 43rd year. There will probably be some little George II’s running around, hammering stuff and trying to talk. Well, maybe we’ll have fixed the talking thing by then, too. It’s gonna be pretty fun. Also, there will be grown-up sized Big Wheels.
Monday, April 20, 2009
happy birthday to the best fish I know
Today is a big day in my apartment. Today is my fish Alvin’s birthday!!! Well, technically it is merely the anniversary of the date he came to live with me, but that is far more depressing and time-consuming to say and surely he wasn’t swimming around in that little cup in the pet store for too terribly long before I came to rescue him and put him into a slightly larger home. You can read the story of his arrival here: http://iwiggleitjustalittlebit.blogspot.com/2008/04/something-fishy-is-going-on.html
In honor of Alvin’s birthday, I decided to see what was happening on this date in history. And it is not good at all. It’s the anniversary of Columbine. It’s Hitler’s birthday. If I had gotten him a day earlier, he could have shared an anniversary with Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI and with Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier, as both couples were married on April 19. Plus he could have shared an anniversary with Pope Benedict XVI, who was elected pope that day. Or, if I had gotten him on April 21, he could have at least shared a birthday with Queen Elizabeth II. But noooooooooo. I had to give him Hitler and Columbine. I am such a bad fish owner.
Overall, though, Alvin and I have had a pretty good year together. I think it was a good year for me because I didn’t kill him, and also because I stopped having elaborate fantasies that I would come home from work to find him dead. I’m glad those ended because they were really messing with my head. And I think Alvin would say it was a good year for him because he doesn’t live in a little cup at the fish store anymore, and he could have gone home with some crazy person who might have had cats that would have eaten him by now.
That’s not to say it’s all been roses. As I have mentioned before on my blog, Alvin is a pretty emotionally needy fish, and he gets very upset when I leave for work or vacation, particularly the latter, because it means I leave a feeding pellet in his bowl that leaves the water cloudy and smelly. And that means I’ll have to change the water when I return, and Alvin does not like that one bit because he becomes convinced that I am trying to kill him, even though I speak sweetly and reassuringly to him the entire time I clean his bowl.
Still, we have come to an agreement. I will give him two pellets a day and in return, he won’t die and traumatize me. I can put up with his attitude if he can put up with the fact that he has to live in a tiny bowl with a fake frog. To celebrate his birthday, I am going to make taco salad and we will watch Dancing with the Stars, because most of the costumes resemble the fringe and flash that Alvin himself has. Happy birthday, Alvin!
In honor of Alvin’s birthday, I decided to see what was happening on this date in history. And it is not good at all. It’s the anniversary of Columbine. It’s Hitler’s birthday. If I had gotten him a day earlier, he could have shared an anniversary with Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI and with Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier, as both couples were married on April 19. Plus he could have shared an anniversary with Pope Benedict XVI, who was elected pope that day. Or, if I had gotten him on April 21, he could have at least shared a birthday with Queen Elizabeth II. But noooooooooo. I had to give him Hitler and Columbine. I am such a bad fish owner.
Overall, though, Alvin and I have had a pretty good year together. I think it was a good year for me because I didn’t kill him, and also because I stopped having elaborate fantasies that I would come home from work to find him dead. I’m glad those ended because they were really messing with my head. And I think Alvin would say it was a good year for him because he doesn’t live in a little cup at the fish store anymore, and he could have gone home with some crazy person who might have had cats that would have eaten him by now.
That’s not to say it’s all been roses. As I have mentioned before on my blog, Alvin is a pretty emotionally needy fish, and he gets very upset when I leave for work or vacation, particularly the latter, because it means I leave a feeding pellet in his bowl that leaves the water cloudy and smelly. And that means I’ll have to change the water when I return, and Alvin does not like that one bit because he becomes convinced that I am trying to kill him, even though I speak sweetly and reassuringly to him the entire time I clean his bowl.
Still, we have come to an agreement. I will give him two pellets a day and in return, he won’t die and traumatize me. I can put up with his attitude if he can put up with the fact that he has to live in a tiny bowl with a fake frog. To celebrate his birthday, I am going to make taco salad and we will watch Dancing with the Stars, because most of the costumes resemble the fringe and flash that Alvin himself has. Happy birthday, Alvin!
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