Ads.

I am endlessly amused (and somewhat frustrated) that facebook is apparently convinced that I am: Christian, married/engaged, and pregnant. How it got any of these impressions is completely beyond me. I have tried to discourage it, repeatedly indicating that these ads are uninteresting to me, and yet they persist.

For the record, I am in fact: agnostic, of Jewish blood and heritage, in a relationship but neither married nor engaged, and absolutely not even a little bit pregnant, nor even in the market for any kind of sperm getting near me for any purpose.

Maybe since facebook is now apparently EVERYWHERE, not just on its own website (seriously, it creeps me out that I even have the option of "liking" things on facebook when I'm nowhere near the facebook website), they'll read this blog and get the hint. More likely, they'll just see the buzz words Christian, married, engaged, and pregnant, and inundate me with even more irrelevant ads.

Like a Chicken With Its Head Cut Off...

I can't help it. Every time I go to Petsmart, I fall in love. But c'mon, wouldn't you? Look at her! There's even a little note on her cage saying to please not remove her bed.

{I think my surviving cat is jealous of how much I want this cat. As I was typing this post, she chased and devoured a cricket (pretty much my favorite insect) right in front of me. Beast.}

How to Recognize an Awesome Girlfriend

This weekend, the only thing I really felt like doing was watching How to Steal a Million. It was one of the first movies I grabbed when I was helping my mom's library dispose of its VHS collection. We have two VCRs in my house, one of which is very reliable, and the other of which is total crap that is constantly malfunctioning and has a history of eating tapes. So obviously, I chose to watch it on the crap VCR, and it was instantly sucked in, chewed up, and spit out in a tangled mess. Being all PMSed up, and really loving that movie and wanting to see it, I was very upset. Two days later, I get a dvd copy in the mail, ordered by my girlfriend :)

Why procrastination is stupid.

So I'm a hopeless facebook addict. Not so much for the social networking (who are these people again?), but for the games. Games like the highly addictive Restaurant City, which recently had a contest for Halloween-themed recipes. Which I slaved over all day Sunday, making four totally awesome recipes, the last of which I finished several hours before the deadline. Not thinking to check just how much earlier midnight happens in Greenwich Mean time as compared to when midnight happens in my time before proceeding to dick around for a couple of hours afterward instead of just posting the damn things to the forum. So when I finally went to submit my long-since finished work, I found that I had missed the deadline by an hour and a half and the forum was now closed. Thus demonstrating why procrastination is incredibly, painfully stupid. But just because Restaurant City is denied my Adobe Illustrator-driven "genius" doesn't mean you should be! Enjoy my spooooooky, delicious-looking efforts.

Contacts

So my old phone finally slipped into the realm of "beyond repair" when it decided to no longer connect to the charger. I did manage to get all of the pictures and such that I wanted off of it, but I didn't have enough battery to download the software that would be required to move my contacts to my new phone. So I copied them all down manually, and in doing so I realize just how many numbers I've been carrying around for the past six years or so that not only do I never use, but don't even remember the people they belonged to. Seriously, did I ever know an Ashley well enough to put her number in my phone?? The last Ashley I remember was in High School, and I didn't even have a cell phone then. Eric? Justin? Who the hell are these people?? Not to mention the names I do vaguely remember but have no idea why I was given their numbers. Like Jessika. We had one class together, and we got along to the point that we traded prints (it was a printmaking class), but we weren't friend to the point of needing each other's numbers. Or Carrie. Again, one class together, maybe two. The only thing I really remember about her was that once when we were talking her false (but I didn't know it was false at the time) tooth came flying out of her mouth.

I was kind of sad to see that I didn't have Malcolm's number in my phone, even though I'm sure I'll never need that number again, and I only used it maybe twice when I had it. But she was a really cool chick, and she kept turning up in the strangest places. I guess that was my old, old phone. Too bad.

Well, at least this phone was laid gracefully to rest and didn't take a bath like the other two that had to be retired. Farewell, my little dinosaur. Hello, newfangled contraption with all your fancy, shiny, flashy things.

And Now the Good News

So obviously (if you read my previous post), my vacation week was not all sunshine and roses. The world lost one of its sweetest and most beautiful creatures, I lost my best friend, and every chipmunk in the northeast heaved a collective sigh of relief... until they realized that I still have another cat.

But, surprisingly, the week was not all bad. I honestly expected that after we had to put Buster to sleep, I would spend the entire week wallowing in grief and misery and be a completely non-functioning creature. Mercifully, I had already arranged to take June 11th - June 17th off from work, so I didn't have to fake illness to get out of work and then spend the week alone crying into the couch. Instead I went away with Amanda to Cape May, as we had planned.

And it was... really nice. Wonderful, even. I didn't think I'd be able to enjoy anything so soon after losing Buster, but I really had a good time. I already feel nostalgic about it. It was very, very peaceful. Restful, even though we were constantly running around doing things. We had a pleasant drive, didn't even have to make a pit stop. Went to the naval aviation museum in Wildwood, which was fantastic. We took a couple of hundred pictures (with flash because hangars are not renowned for being well-lit) and almost completely drained Amanda's camera battery before we even left the museum. We crawled around in old cockpits and took pictures of engines and training bombs and bought lots of vaguely gay postcards of naval recruitment posters (I did, anyway). After getting a little lost (and getting a little ice cream), we found our way to the bed and breakfast. I've only been to a couple of B&B's before, but this was by far the nicest. The guy running it (an unmarried middle-aged guy living with his mother. gotta be family) was really friendly and social and had a million suggestions of places to go, things to do, and places to eat. A little exhausting, but highly entertaining and very nice.

Our room was great, too. Decent size, comfortably had a large bed and a couch, not quite as tacky as most B&B's seem to be in Cape May, a/c, ceiling fan, fake fireplace, white noise machine, spa music machine, private bathroom (with a good-sized shower/tub)... I played with everything provided except for the tv (somehow we missed that one). I liked the white noise machine more than I expected, especially "summer night" (loved the crickets, but it just doesn't sound like summer without katydids and the occasional peep frog). The B&B also had a really nice garden and off-street parking. No complaints at all. It felt like home... A home we could never afford, but still.

The museum was the coolest thing we did the whole time, but we still enjoyed everything we did. The shops weren't nearly as interesting as in Provincetown, but they were still fun. The coffeeshop where we had breakfast both times was really nice (though they did forget my food the first time we went there... Oops.) if a little sketchy looking when approached from the rear. The taco place next door to the coffeshop had the best damn tacos ever. Cool antique stores. Lots of beautiful sea-smoothed rocks on the beaches. Oddly, there wasn't much of that smell you expect near large bodies of water, that wind and salt and hint of fish smell. Metal detecting was a little uneventful, which I think disappointed Amanda. She did find a bottlecap and a weird rusty thing that looked like part of a fence and we probably should have both detected with our eyes without much help (and yet somehow didn't, despite it being about a foot long). And the trowel, which I would occasionally "hide" in the sand for her to "find."

Lots of walking. Lots and lots and lots of walking. Not so much sun, but not nearly as much rain as predicted, and too much sun probably would have been worse anyway. Also learned that if I ever want to sit and stare at the beach for more than a minute while on vacation, I'll either have to slip Amanda a sedative or sit alone. The girl cannot keep still once she's got a plan in her head. Ah, well.

Fair bit of shopping. I still think P-town is more fun store-wise (and by fun I mean supergay), but pretty decent. Some cool antique shops (with some very nice - and very expensive - military garb). A store full of loose teas and tea accessories. Lots of touristy places. Good times. I got a very nice cane for six bucks, some shoelaces made from kimono fabric, cheese for my parents, tea and strainer, very cool chopsticks, and a little Bast figure.

So that's about it, I'd say. I'm already ready to go back. Of course, I'm always ready to be as far away from my job as possible. Yeesh. But anyway. Good times, fond memories, and all of that. Now, back to life.

The Last Days of Buster Keaton

That which we most feared and dreaded has come to pass. My beloved beast of the past 18 years, my best friend, the four-legged love of my life, has left us. When I left work for my vacation on June 10th, Buster was very hard of breathing and had to be rushed to the vet. He barely made it through the night (in fact, none of us expected to take him home that night, and all of us quietly wished that he would die in his sleep so that he could at least die at home and end his suffering), but shocked us all the next day when he made a rapid recovery. His breathing returned almost to normal and he was out and about, sitting in the sun and even eating some treats. When Amanda came up, I even got to indulge in my favourite pass-time: watching bad tv while curled up with my girlfriend, with my cat purring on my chest.

Saturday, June 12th, was my 26th birthday. I spent most of it in the City with Amanda, so I didn't get much Buzzy time, but my mom tells me he had a good day. Sadly, it did not last. By the time I saw him that night, he had had what the vet believes to have been a stroke. He could no longer hold his head up properly, and his eyes were wide and staring, his pupils seeming to have difficulty dilating. His condition worsened overnight to the point that he could not eat and could barely stand without stumbling. Even lying down, he seemed to have trouble supporting his head. As little as we all wanted to, my parents made an appointment with our vet for that afternoon, and we said our goodbyes as well as we could. Even in his weakened state, even with his trouble lifting his head, he still managed to rub his face all over my hands and forehead. The love of that boy.

June 13th was possibly the hardest day of my life. When we took him out of the carrying case, he dove straight into my arms. He stayed there to the last. My mom told me that when her cats had been put down when I was younger, the vet just gave them the final shot, which is apparently painful and I imagine doesn't give you much time to digest what's happening to your loved one. Our vet gave Buster a strong sedative first so that he wouldn't feel the final shot. I got to hold him in my arms until we were "ready" - not that we would ever have been ready, really.

The vet and his wife/receptionist were very, very good. Very sympathetic. And Amanda was wonderful as well. I told her I would understand if she waited outside, but she stayed with us the whole time. I'm glad. There's strength in numbers, and it was all we could do not to go to pieces as it was.

So that's how it ends... I have many more pleasant stories to tell about this past week, some wonderful stories even, and I will tell them soon, but I had to give Buster his own post. It just wouldn't have been right any other way.

Illustration Friday - Slither

Something a little different this week.

Illustration Friday - Early

Appropriately enough, I'm getting this one in early. Well, early for me. Frankly, posting one of these any sooner than Thursday around 11pm is early for me. Unfortunately, I don't seem to have any black ink on hand, so rather than risking butchering the drawing with a mixed black or with pen, I've temporarily added the blacks using Photoshop. I'll do it properly when I buy some black.

I'm still kicking myself for last week's adventure. I poured everything I could into Fearless, pushed dinner back to 11, was just about to post it to Illustration Friday... and then realized that somehow I had gotten the weeks mixed up, missed the deadline for Fearless, and finished Fearless just in time to meet the deadline for Equipment. Sadly, there was no equipment in my fearless drawing, so I just posted it to my blog and sat on my hands... I'm still glad I made it, though, because it's a million times better than any equipment drawing I could have done. And I did it in tribute to my little lion, and you know everything I do for him is a labor of love. Even when it involves getting up at four in the morning because he's decided he needs wet food immediately.

Illustration Friday - Fearless

In honor of my own little lion. He is, incidentally, still with us and is responding well to his new meds. And he still has the most kissable nose in the world.

Last Night

Last night, when I went to say goodnight to Buzzy (he was sleeping on the porch), I noticed his breathing was a little labored. This continued on and off during the night. For an hour or two I couldn't sleep, just watching him breathe on the blanket next to the couch and trying to decide if it was bad enough that he needed to go to the vet. When my parents got up, they gave him a dose of antibiotics and he seems to be doing well enough. I decided I wouldn't be able to get any more sleep on the couch, and he didn't really need me there if my parents were up, so I went upstairs and konked out.

because it was late, either nine or midnight, and I really wanted to sleep and I knew they would be loud.Whereupon I had a horrible dream. I don't really follow the plot, but I think I was playing/living video games with my girlfriend Amanda, and we spilled cherries on the sheets and the blue robe she gave me, and they left violent red stains that were sometimes cherry and sometimes blood that we had to wash out. Then I was going all around the house locking the doors over and over because there was someone I didn't want to come in, and I had to keep unlocking them to let the cats in and then relock them. The doors were essentially like the ones at my real house, but the locks were strange and different, and I had to lock some windows as well as they were like doors. He got in anyway (I think he was the one I was trying to keep out; it's hard to tell in dreams sometimes), along with a bunch of his friends carrying amps and speakers, and I was upset because it was late, either nine or midnight, and I knew they were going to be loud no matter what they said, and I really wanted to sleep. I guess none of this sounds too nightmarish, but the really horrible part was that in the dream, not only was Buster still sick, but Amanda had the same condition.

I guess that's about the only way this situation could possibly be worse right now.

The Fall of 2010

Working in a college, I've been thinking of "the fall of 2010" as no more than a semester we're still entering applications for (and still will be well into the semester... but I'm hoping to be many miles away from this job by that time). Weekend before last saw a redefinition of "the fall of 2010." It is now something my friend Betsey and I will be commemorating next year by, among other things, heavily tipping the spikey-haired waitress at the Post Office Cafe in Provicetown.

So I finally made my yearly journey to Provincetown. It didn't pan out quite the way I'd envisioned. It felt a little strange from the start, actually: I normally feel totally comfortable and at ease in P-town, completely at home, but I felt a little awkward this year. I chalked it up to the fact that it was closer to the in-season, and there were more people around, which may be all it really was. At any rate, something felt a little off. I still had a wonderful time, at the start. My friend Betsey and I had a pretty good drive there with a lot of great music, the bed and breakfast was nice, we took pictures of the ocean and bought lots of wonderful queer, arty things. Then the day we were to leave, as we were doing one last tour of Commercial Street, Betsey twisted her ankle on an awkward curb and plowed face-first into a brick sidewalk. Someone called an ambulance, they looked her over and cleaned her up a little but didn't think it was too bad. She didn't get to look in a mirror, and I couldn't really assess the damage very well (what I thought was a nosebleed was actually a mass of cuts below her nose), so she declined to go to the hospital. Being very resilient, she attempted to keep hobbling down the street until her ankle became too painful and she got a glimpse of her reflection in a storefront window. The aforementioned waitress saw us from across the street, came out of the cafe, and offered to let Betsey use their bathroom to clean up. She also helped us across the street, brought her a first aid kit and some ice, told us what hospitals were in the area (not many, unfortunately), and called a friend of hers who's a cabbie to drive us around the corner to our rental car for free so she wouldn't have to walk to the car. Hence, the large amount of tipping she will be receiving.
The rest of the day was spent in the hospital and on the road. Fortunately, Betsey didn't need stitches, but it's too soon to tell about scarring.

Then, as we were about to pull out of the hospital parking lot, my mom called me and let me know about the nightmare she and my dad had been living through all weekend in my absence. Apparently, my cat Buster (aka the light of my life) had developed extremely labored breathing and had to make an emergency trip to the vet. The vet discovered he has an enlarged heart and a heart murmur. One of his suggestions was to put him down, but fortunately it did not get to that point. He gave him a shot of antibiotic, not really expecting it to work, but it helped significantly.

Today we took Buster to a cardiologist (everybody was shocked that there's such a thing as an animal cardiologist, but I'm really not surprised), who confirmed the enlarged heart and heart murmur. He's given us prescriptions for heart medicine which should help Buzzy feel better. Nobody's given us a timeframe of his life expectancy at this point, so we're just trying to appreciate every day we get (secretly hoping that those days will stretch into years, but he's 18 and has heart problems, so I don't know how realistic my dreams of him living forever are...). Pretty much the good thing he told us is that it's not degenerative like cancer, so he'll most likely look good on the outside and maintain his personality up until the end. Which is good, because it's hard enough without having to watch my little boy waste away. My cats have always acted very healthy and very young for their ages. It's very hard to think of them being this old, or being sick. And it's very easy for me to be in denial, since I wasn't here for the worst of his illness. I have changed my treatment of him, though. I'm careful not to scoop him up or hug him too firmly. And I've been sleeping downstairs on the couch to keep him company. Sometimes he sleeps on me, but mostly he's been sleeping on a warm spot on the floor next to the couch, first on a pair of my pajama pants, now on a fleece blanket my mom put there for him.

Supposedly, I'm there to comfort him, but really he comforts me.

subterranean - Illustration Friday

They used a word I submitted this week, so I kind of felt obliged to submit a drawing to go with it. Not my best effort, but more than I've been doing lately.

http://illustrationfriday.com/

Provincetown

Every year around this time I get this incredible urge to go to Provincetown. I've really only been there a small handful of times, but even the simplest memories there run deep. Sometimes, especially in February and March, I'm completely consumed with longing for the empty streets, the vast expanses of cold sand and water, the feminist craft shops, the queer bookstores, the art galleries, the hundreds of bizarre and beautiful things everywhere you look...

It almost hurts, I want to go back so badly.