Checking in

Update Tuesday, October 2:

Some of you already know, but I wanted to let everyone else know that Mom passed away yesterday late in the morning, peacefully in her sleep. I will write more about all this, but not until things that need to be taken care of are done and I have a chance to gather my thoughts.

All your thoughts, prayers, and good wishes are more appreciated than you all can know. You've helped to prop us up during a painful and difficult time, and the whole family thanks you. Much love to you all.

Many thanks to everyone for their comments and wishes from the last few days. I owe some return phone calls, too (I mean you, Balulah).

Mom is being kept in the hospice room at the hospital. She wanted to come home, but the hospital deemed it unethical to send her away in her condition. Her new room is very private and home-like, and the staff is making sure she's as comfortable as possible without being terribly intrusive.

I'm not sure what to say at this point. We're making sure someone is with her all the time, and plan to take turns spending the night. In the meantime, your good thoughts are thoroughly appreciated by everyone in the family.

What's up

Sorry not to be online this weekend...please see Squirl's site for what's going on here.

Better than a peg leg

It didn't occur to me until we were nearly done with dinner last night that it was International Talk Like a Pirate Day. That seemed particularly appropriate, since we were eating at Joe's Crab Shack, and I can't think of a more piratey place that wouldn't make Jess reach for the Immodium *cough LongJohnSilver's cough*

If you've never been to a Joe's Crab Shack, you have to understand that the place is replete with boats, boat parts, big plastic sea creatures, and any other odd, nautically related items that can be hung from the walls and the ceilings.

There was one item, however, that caused me to sit up and take notice. Viewed from the side, one would realize that it was a rather large upright statue of a shark. When I saw it, however, it was from straight on, and...well...all I can say is, ribbed for her pleasure?




Suddenly, I have an irresistable urge to walk the plank.

Cats? Check. Monkeys? Check. Poop? Check.

Just a few thoughts pulled straight from the heart of my ass.

• I was asked if I was serving drinks to the Village Wobbles in my new masthead.
  
  
  (This one, if you're seeing it later)
  
  Not only am I serving them drinks, I am their adoring Mexican fag hag.
  
  
• A few years ago in Detroit, I was sitting in a car with some friends, waiting for traffic to clear so we could leave the parking lot after what was likely a pitiful baseball game. I couldn't tell you a thing about the game, but what I do remember about the day was that a guy came up to the window to ask for a light, and then started begging for coins, cash, whatever.
  
  My friend who was driving cooly refused, and then the guy whipped out the pity card line: "Man, I only got a nickel in my pocket - and it's Canadian." Because that cheerless nickel wasn't even technically worth five cents. It was a true effort on my part not to laugh out loud. My friend fished out thirty-five cents and said, "Here's enough to make a phone call." which is more than the guy was gonna get in the first place, so he must've amused him with the line, too.
  
  
• Less than a month 'til my Mac Mini is delivered. breathe, Bucky, breathe...
  
  Did I tell you about the delay in processing? I'm too lazy to go look, so if I already did, just skip to the next section and know that I'm a step closer to the adult diapers and round-tipped scissors.
  
  I ordered my computer last month, and my order coincided with the release of a slightly upgraded model (faster processor and increased hard-drive capacity). It takes longer to prep and ship, but I get a 160 GB hard drive instead of 120 GB, and it didn't cost appreciably more. So, it shall be worth the wait. But the wait is makin' me squirrely (no offense, Squirl).
  
  
• We all know that I have an absence of talent with the large paint brush, but I'm going to try my hand at the tiny paint brushes soon and see if I can still paint anything I like. I might show it to you here, and all I ask is that you not be too unkind when you gently inform me that it looks like monkeys flung brightly colored poop at the canvas.
  

Huh huh, I said "breast" huh huh huh

I stole this one from Squirl and Nilbo. Not being the type to tag anyone with memes, I'll just say that this one is fun, and if you do it, too, let me know! No pressure, though. Don't feel obligated. Just ignore me as I stare at you, my eyes boring into your skull like low-budget lasers.

Obviously, a lot of my answers will parallel Squirl's. Don't like it? Then someone should have separated us at birth. Well, at my birth. We didn't exactly pop out of Mom at the same time.

What is the first music you remember hearing?

Probably the Beach Boys. I'm told I used to dance so vigorously in my playpen to the Boys' rendition of Barbara Ann that my oldest brother wanted to rename me.

Did you come from a musical family?

Dear lord, yes. Mom is a classical pianist, my brother JD was a supremely gifted professional composer/musician, and my siblings and I all learned at least one instrument in school. All but one brother, Timmy, have kept up with playing and singing music. We may be just a little obsessed with music.

Do you remember a lullaby from your childhood? If so, what is it?

The only one I can recall is one I would never sing in public, for fear of having my face bashed in (and perhaps with good reason). The first line is:

Go to sleep, my little pickaninny...

Do I have to say anymore? Didn't think so.

What song(s) changed your life?

Hmmmm...interesting question. I'd say hearing the title song from the musical Man of La Mancha at age 7 sparked my lifelong love of musical theater. That was actually the first music I ever picked out for myself. God, I played the shit out of that album (I'm sure my family members remember it vividly and with gritted teeth).

Bob Seger's Night Moves was the first rock song that ever made me go out and buy an album. My taste runs more to his early garage rock tracks, but Night Moves was the first one to catch my attention.

Brick House by the Commodores is one of those songs I loved at first hearing, and that hasn't changed. I remember being in 7th grade when it came out, and for some reason, it was the song of choice for us to blurt out during phys ed, and in the locker room afterward. It was the first time I knew I loved funk. Funny how it all came together for that song, and then when Lionel Richie left the band, suddenly the Commodores sucked without him, and he sucked as a solo artist. Oops, that wasn't very nice of me, was it? 40 lashes with my own tongue.

God is a Bullet by Concrete Blonde gave me chills when I first heard it, and continues to do so.

If you could have dinner with three dead musicians which three would you choose and why?

Hard to beat Nilbo's answer to this one. But in any case:

Frank Zappa. I'd like to ask him what he ever did with my underpants.

Janis Joplin. Because you know she'd bring Southern Comfort.

Minnie Ripperton. So I could slap the fuck out of her for ever recording Loving You. God, all the glass in the house is breaking, stop it, STOP IT!

You are stranded on a deserted island. You are allowed the complete musical works of one band and its members. Which band or musician would you choose?

I guess I would have to go with Tom Waits, because his music has meant so much to me since I was a teenager, it's a large and eclectic selection, and it kicks ass.

He just edged out James Brown. The Godfather of Soul deserves an honorary mention here.

Does music play in your head? If so, what is playing right now?

Music always plays in my head (it competes for equal time with the voices). Usually, it's something irritating that gets stuck in there, or something stupid, like the closing theme to Robot Chicken. Right now, I've got Concrete Blonde's Bloodletting (the Vampire Song) running through my brain, so that's better than what's usually in there.

Can music truly soothe the savage beast? If so, what music soothes your beast?

Again, I will point out that we should be discussing BREAST and not beast, but then again, I'm always an advocate of the breast.

Yeah, I think it can. If I'm down, I can listen to some hard funk and it lifts my spirits. Now, when I'm in my blackest moods, I don't want music at all. Maybe I just don't want to associate any songs I like with rock bottom, I don't know. But if I'm just blue, funk will do the trick to lift me out of my, ah, funk.

Still life #472

Cheese and crackers. 2006

I hope you weren't expecting anything tasteful

I've been on a real Kill Bill kick since I bought both DVDs last week. And you must know by now that, if I really like a movie, I will want the action figures to go along with the movie.

My collection already included figurines of Elle Driver and Beatrix Kiddo battling to the death, and a few nights ago, I decided to go online and see if there were any more kickass toys from KB that I should own. Imagine my delight to see one of my favorite characters from the movies, the lethal and unbalanced teenager Go-Go Yubari, represented in 7-inch high plastic tchotchke form.

Really, what's not to love about Go-Go? She's 17 years old, dresses in a short-skirted schoolgirl outfit, is completely insane, and giggles at Beatrix before she attacks. Do you understand how I had to have this action figure?





And, because I know so many of you would be disappointed with me if I didn't, I have included an upskirt shot of the doll. Come on, they wanted me to, or they wouldn't have made her underwear visible.



Now, if they would just make a set of action figures for the 5.6.7.8s...

The airtight defense

My newest T-shirt:




I'd say that's pretty much true for just about anything I do.

Yep...I'm covered.

Oh, the indignity!

Allow me to share a couple of my recent Rodney Dangerfield no-respect moments:

• A few nights ago, Jess, Steve and I were all in the bedroom watching TV, and Steve was elaborating on all the different suits of armor he'd like to own, and how he would wear a different one every day. Since I've had a lifelong obsession with armor myself, I thought this made him a pretty fuckin' awesome teenager, and I idly asked him, "Where were guys like you when I was in high school?"
  
  Jess looked me square in the eyes and said, "They weren't born yet."
  
  OH! Feel the burn!
  
  
• Little sweet Nala wanted to sleep in my room last night. She's usually a totally timid little kitty, and she was being so affectionate last night that I couldn't possibly refuse her, especially when she purred and chirped and made her little short cat-barking noises like she does when she's feeling vocally inclined. Complete adorability, that's what I'm tryin' to say: tiny, shy, color-coordinated, and irresistable. I fell asleep with Nala stretched out against my leg, purring like a little race car.
  
  About two hours later, I awoke to the rhythm of a cat scratching at my feet. Not, like, sinking its claws into my tootsies; it was more of a digging sensation. Um, or burying. Yeah, that was it. Nala had pissed all over my comforter, and thus my feet, and was now trying to cover it up.
  
  That's right, just call me Piss Foot.
  
  
  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go sit in the tub for about three hours.
  

Caution: pussy pictures included

I'd say the mood needs to be lightened up in this room, and I can't think of a better mood lightener than a cat's nutsack.




When Roo had his emergency anusectomy (OK, OK, it was a rupture produced by an infected anal sac...they didn't really remove his anus), the vet had to shave the poor kitty's entire backside. Roo walked around for days with a bare pink ass, his empty nutsack nekkid for the world to ridicule as he tried, repeatedly and in vain, to back his way out of the protective cone he was forced to wear to keep from gnawing at his stitches.

We took the big fluffy boy in to have his stitches out yesterday, and now he's livin' the cone-free life. He's one cat who does not lack self esteem - when you praise him, he gets this totally blissful, smug look on his face, and he flits his tail and struts, the better for us to worship his natural glory. This boy is very proud of himself, and with good reason. He's a pimp daddy, a ferocious killer of catnip-laced puffballs, and dominator of Eeyore.




Last night Roo was lounging about on the bed, receiving an abundance of tag-team lovin' from Jess and me, when he happened to flip his tail straight up in the air and turn his back to me in mid-strut. Now, you have to understand that in a house with twelve cats, you will quickly become numb to the fact that the kitties delight in shoving their asses in your face. I am totally unfazed by the starfish closeup now. But as I reached out to give him a pat on the back, I looked over idly and realized that some of his fur has already started to grow in on the shaven areas. His sparkling pink skin now had a thin layer of white fur sprouting up. And then my eyes locked on two extra-grown tufts of white...on his empty nutsack.

It's true. For some reason, the fur had grown especially fast on his candy jar. I couldn't take my eyes off it. Had I really sunk that low, that I couldn't stop staring at the fresh fur on a cat's genitals?

It's not that I was transfixed by the nutsack itself...it's just that the two healthy tufts of fur were oddly fascinating, like the Rogaine had kicked in selectively to ensure that his nutsack would never be cold. And not only that...

I finally blurted out to Jess, "Oh my gawd, Roo's nutsack looks like Colonel Sanders!"


















She couldn't argue with me. And she didn't. In fact, she only encouraged my down-to-the-bones wrongness by suggesting that we could make a little white linen suit to hang from Roo's ass to complete the picture, and then perhaps I could take it into Photoshop and add the caption "Finger Lickin' Good."

Do you see how she only adds gasoline to the bonfire of my retardation? Just like that, Roo was out of stitches and we were in stitches. Every time he'd turn his back to me, I'd see the little white tufts and would instantly collapse in a heap of completely inappropriate and juvenile laughter.

If the fear of diarrhea hadn't already done it, this incident would have completely put me off of eating at KFC.

Epilogue: As I was writing this, Roo vomited loudly on my sock monkey sheets, and as I was cleaning that up, he barfed on my slippers. Guess I'm cancelling my construction of the tiny white linen suit.

You gotta Fife for your right to party

OK, I don't want that last post to be the one on top. Yech! I vented, I'm going to the doctor in a few hours, so let's have something else to look at, m'kay?

(And thank you for all the sweet emails - I shall reply to them all later today)

In the meantime, let's have a sneak peek at what really goes on in Mayberry.




More milk in your coffee, Andy?




Just 'cause a gun's only got one bullet don't mean it's small.

There. Now you can blame me for your nightmares. Again.