Tuesday, July 31, 2007

pass the lavosier.

If you've ever been around me for oh, say, five seconds to five minutes, you'll notice a couple of things.

One, I'm a klutz.

Two, I'm perpetually distracted.

I'm usually distracted by things that the majority of human beings don't care about anymore, like the philosophical ramifications of Newtonian physics, converting micrograms per kilogram per minute to milligrams per hour, and whether or not I can remember the first declension in Latin.

Today, I was walking the dog, and thinking about how if I didn't stop mentally debating which declension is my favorite, I'd be likely tobe hit by oncoming traffic or trip over the dog or run into a sign pole (don't laugh; I've done this before).

Suddenly, a Latin word floated into my mind: quidque, and then I started thinking about how fun this word is to say, and how nice it was to know this word (which you'll have to look up as quisque, because I gave the neuter form instead of the masculine form).

Of course, having random Dead Language Epiphanies do not help me be a better, kinder human being, avoid traffic accidents in which I become the mutilated unfortunate victim, or make large sums of money so I can retire early and spend the rest of my days declining irregular forms of Latin nouns while reading up on how to construct a geodesic dome.

But, it's hard sometimes to go back to the reality of work, where I can't sit and read funny Latin joke books--with English translations--like I did yesterday, or think continuously about Lavosier and Whitehead and fantasize about owning the Library of Congress, without have someone asking me to put them on the fucking bedpan, or whatever.

It's annoying to me that I spent all that time in school learning how to think on my own, and now, I'm rarely required to give my philosophical opinion on the job, and usually only paid to do (facio, facere, feci, factum) what other people tell me I should be doing.

It's also somewhat disconcerting to me that I'm no more physically coordinated at age thirty one than as a myopic pre-adolescent who ano one had figured out desperately needed glasses.

Not that seeing the streets clearly has kept me from running into them, but, I guess I still needed the glasses.







Sunday, July 29, 2007

happy trails.


The path most taken, and in fact, probably partially bulldozed.

yur yurt.

Freeze-dried hippies sold separately.

sno' swimming.


happy feet.

like a bridge over (un)troubled waters.








MacDonald Park Suspension Bridge, King County, Washington.

a river runs through it.


Macdonald Park.

sno falls redux.

David and I went to Snoqualmie Falls this weekend, and enjoyed spectacular views, and had an amusing little run-in with Little Old People, who didn't realize they had to go a few hundred feet more to the observation deck to see a proper view of the falls, and said, in obvious disappointment whilst peering over the railing in an Non Scenic Part of the path, "This is all there is?!"

Then, David and I walked a little further on to the observation deck ourselves, hung around to take pictures of these magnficent views, and, about five minutes later on our way back to the parking lot, passed the Little Old People, who had maybe ventured five more feet from where they had first vocalized their disappointment, and didn't seem to be any closer to realizing there was an entire portion of the attraction they had missed.

I wonder if they ever got to see the entire falls, or got back in the car, drove back to Nowhere, South Dakota, and are telling all their friends what a "rip off" Snoqualmie was, even though it's a public attraction, and therefore free.








I think I look like a used car salesman in this picture:


Sunday, July 22, 2007

snoqualmie falls.


I had more pictures, but my stupid camera batteries died.

Look at all the non-sign reading people down at the foot of the falls! It's like, doesn't anybody worry about flash floods, or maybe someone fell asleep at the hydroelectric plant and more water than expected is suddenly diverted into the reservoir?

Don't people care about signs, and reading them and stuff?!


Thursday, July 19, 2007

eight days a week.

And on the seventh day, Jamie said, "Enough already!"




Wednesday, July 18, 2007

shuck and jive

I've been miserably tired lately. I'm basically working 8 days of 9 (four on, one off, four back on!) and feel like I should just sleep in an on call room, for all this worth.

I'm barely managing to do the old "shuck and jive" (as Amy calls it) at work.

Last night, I was gowned and gloved up in a contact precaution room, doing nursing stuff with a patient who was so sick he couldn't do anything for himself, when another one of patients had an unexpected emergency, you know, the kind where they stop breathing and all, which then required lots of rushing around and so forth. The patient turned out okay, but it's like, dude, that's sooooo not cool.

I've got three more shifts this week before a weekend off, and all I can think of today is my new mantra: "Shuck and jive. Shuck and jive."





Monday, July 16, 2007

flowers for alergnon


Birthday week flowers from David... for me!


candylion.


Sign says, "gruff rhys of Super Furry Animals! Candylion Sept 24th w/ Her Space Holiday."

Maybe this is Cat Guy's ('of Socialized Cat' fame) music band?


re-cycle.

men at work.


one nation. underdog.

in which jamie laments her lack of time off.

I'm wiped.

There are times when work is work.

And then there are times when work is Wurk, or even Werk.

I'm so exhausted from my last round of Crazy Patients, even the normal patients with the nice family members, were alarmed by The Craziness.

PATIENT:
[yells loudly the hallway from hospital bed]
WHERE'S MY NURSE?!!! I ASKED FOR HER FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO!!!

PATIENT FAMILY MEMBER:
[in a room down the hallway from Yelling Patient, looking shocked]
Oh my! Do you have those kinds of patients all the time?! They're so rude and mean!

JAMIE:
[doing Nurse Stuff with the really sick patient who is too sick to yell]
Ummm, they're not... well... let's say... they're not exactly uncommon.

PATIENT FAMILY MEMBER:
[with shocked look on face]
Oh my God! You poor thing! On another unit, we saw a bedpan go flying out of a room and down a hallway! How can people do things like that?!

JAMIE:
[lying through teeth]
Oh, well, you know, the nice ones make up for it.

Here's a Hospital Tip: If you are shouting at the top of your lungs for your nurse, it means you're still breathing and your heart is still beating. Really sick people rarely shout for help. You know, because they are too sick to have the lung capacity or energy reserves required to shout.

Another hint: a real patient emergency is not "Turn up my room temperature to 90 degrees," when it already is turned up to 90 degrees, or "Give me another blanket," when you already have five piled on top of you. Hence, these requests do not get prioritized as STAT or even ASAP, no matter how much you fuss, especially if there is someone sicker than you at the mo'. You know, like, a patient who requires actual nursing care, because this is a hospital, not Club Med For Fussy Old People.

And, if you've been yelling for a nurse all shift long, chances are, you don't need a nurse. What you really need is to go home (not to mention a swift kick in the ass).



Sunday, July 15, 2007

noli me tangere

Sometimes work is a sucky bastard.

Like, tomorrow is my fourth day on, and the entire past week and a half, we've had a patient on our floor that yells and screams constantly.

It goes something like this:

PATIENT:
AHHHHHHHHHHH! OOOOOOOOOH! UHHHHHHHHHH! Heeeeeeeelp me! EEEEEEEEEEEE! I want to go home! WSSSSSSSHIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTT! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKK! ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH! HEEEEEELP! SOMEONE!
[repeat times 1 billion]


It's pretty much like Dante's Inferno around work, with literally crazy--and cocaineaddicted--people wandering aimlessly around the hallway like lost souls, or stuck in bed, unable to move because they broke their neck or have huge ass wounds in which you could stick your entire fist.

I'm all burnt out, and can't wait until tomorrow is over, so I can work on preventing my own future psych-hospitalization breakdown.


Wednesday, July 11, 2007

just the facts, ma'am.

Piper and I saw this ruckus today:



At first, I thought maybe Dapper Dan (go here and here) was running for election (perhaps posthumously, like George Dubbya seems to have done, somehow).

But, it just seemed to be this guy, Whoever He Is, talking about Unveiling Some New Street Signs, which looked, frankly, a lot like the old street signs they had up yesterday (compare the sign the dude is holding in his hand to those of any other street signs in Seattle, and I think you'll find they look pretty much the identical):



But, these guys turned out to be The Real American Heroes:

I see dapper people.

I'm beginning to think I might need some better drugs, because every time I go to Pike Place Market, I see this guy:



Okay, so maybe he's just some lonely old guy who likes to dress up in the same damn thing every day, walk down to Pike's Place Market, and watch Politik Guy Unveil The New Street Signs, or hear Cat Guy's Spiel.

Or, maybe he's a ghost, like Bruce Willis in Die Hard 4... wait... I mean,The Sixth Sense.

And maybe only I can see him, because I don't know that I've ever seen him interact with any one else, he just stands there, with his cane, looking dapper and spiffy.

He did talk to me once ("You have a cute dog there!") but then, Bruce Willis talked to live people, in Die Hard 4... I mean, The Sixth Sense, too!

Oh my God!

Maybe he's God!

Or The Grim Reaper!

Or, he could just be Old Guy in the White Suit.




feeling hot, hot, hot.

I wish I felt a little more "fiesta" and a lot less "frummph" about the weather, which Seattlelites are running around saying is a "heat wave."

For people who live in the Arctic, this is perhaps a "heat wave."

And, while I can certainly see why no one bothers to air condition apartment complexes when the weather is a median of 55 degrees F year round, it absolutely sucks not to have air conditioning on an 93 degree F day, in a little apartment that faces the southwest, and I don't need science to back me up on this one, either.

So, yeah, even though it's about a gajillion degrees in Florida, and I'm glad I'm not stuck sweltering on the East Coast this summer (even Northern Virginia got damned hot and muggy!) I'm still feeling entitled to whine about the "heat" at 1:13 a.m., which is 78 degrees F. It should never be above 55 degrees at night, people! This is Seattle! I see snow-capped mountains in the distance! It messes with my head to have it this hot!




Tuesday, July 10, 2007

crazy.

I remember when (I remember when, I remember when)
I lost my mind.
There was something so pleasant about that place
Even your emotions have an echo in so much space.
And when you're out there,
Well, out there, I was out of touch...
but it wasn't because I didn't know enough,
I just knew too much.
Does make me crazy?

--
"Crazy," Gnarls Barkley, from the album St. Elsewhere



Monday, July 09, 2007

blues for brother someone

You can't beat Seattle in terms of super cool, per-capita street musicians.

Here's my pick of the day:



If he wasn't performing, I'd have asked him where he got that "I'm a Pepper" shirt. Remember when that was Dr. Pepper's slogan?

Saturday, July 07, 2007

putting the "fun" back into "fundus"

There's always been the people at work I call The Pregnant People, because they are, you know, pregnant.

Then, they go away for about three months and the rest of us cover for their shifts, and then they come back, they usually work anywhere from a quarter to half of their regular shifts. This is called "maternity leave."

So, especially in nursing, which still is a fortunately/unfortunately female dominated profession, we all get sort of "mommy-tracked" whether or not we have a kid ourselves (or are even female for that matter). Therefore, while practically, I find maternity leave to be synonmous with "work time off I will never get," I also think American Maternity Leave leaves a lot to be desired.

Imagine being a citizen in a country where health and work policy actually concedes that parenthood exists from the time the kid is delivered until the rest of one's natural life, and therefore, one gets paid time off for being pregnant, a partner of a pregnant person, etc, unlike us poor slobby Americans. Because when Americans have their own progeny, we have to supplicate to The Man to take time off to raise The Kid properly. Time that isn't generally compensated for financially. (That's assuming you actually work and pay taxes, because it's a whole different ball game if you don't, at least in this country).

While our system objectively sucks for parents, I also think it sucks for people like me, that is, a person who is completely happy being barren at present. Also, being childless, I am ever so slightly annoyed whenever I think about how lucky people in industrialized countries are to get medical leave time for giving birth at all, even though it's hugely painful and sleep-depriving, etc. Because even despite the discomfort and inconvenience of pregnancy and birth, most people I know seem to choose to do this Let's Have A Kid Thing time and time again.

I can see that, because I can see having another dog. But, if I want another dog, I just go and buy the dog, and I don't have to gestate the dog, or anything. (Hint: if you buy your beloved at a store or find it roaming around on the street (for free!) it simplifies the time and greatly decreases money and effort of having a kid, I mean, a dog.)

On the one hand, ergo, I feel parents should get more time and money for deciding to pop out a kid , because it's not like you can wake up every other month or so and say, "Eh, I don't feel like being mom/dad today. I'll call in sick today, because I've got all those mom/dad hours banked up with the kid, and someone else can cover my mom/dad shift."

But on the other hand, I'm ever-so slightly resentful of maternity leave, because no one ever asked me if I wanted time off to home school Piper or something, and I feel I've done a far better job of raising him then some of those annoying, screaming hellions they call "human children" and I call "the bane of society." (And no one ever asks me if I want to go on maternity leave, even when I stuff a big beach ball under my scrub top, and complain about my my aching back, which is what seems to happen in the months before these women go on maternity leave.)

I'm just kidding about the beach-ball-under-the-scrub-top-ploy, but I am kind of miffed you either can't get more time off as a single person (or maybe earn a bonus) because you are not contributing the world's burgeoning overpopulation, and saving the work force thousands of dollars in Family Medical Leave Act monies.

However, now that I have a very dear friend who is actually pregnant through actual planning and desire for a child (which is intriguing, isn't it, because I always thought family health services, bless them and the good they do, like Planned Parenthood, had awfully ironic names).

So knowing a Pregnant Person now is quite a bit different, because I am genuinely happy for her and her husband, not to mention the small Fetal Person in utero. (And also, she isn't a coworker, and I don't have to be rotated to nights while she goes on maternity leave).

But I'm also wishing single, childless people got a little more, I don't know, time off or something. Or I could get a tax break, because I'm more fuel efficient as one person instead of one plus a fetus, or maybe educational credits, so I can go back to school, and earn another useless degree for nine months (coincidentally the length of an academic semester!)

Because other people's parenthood planning directly has something to do with me, obviously.



begs bunny.

People probably think I'm one of those Crazy Pet People when I talk about my various and asundry Pet Managerie.

They probably think I'm even fucking loonier when I talk about how my bunny begs at the door to come in.

But, now I have proof:


You'll also believe now when I say she's not afraid of heights (even though rabbits are supposed to be afraid of heights):

Yeah, it's not in the latest Academic Journal of Pointless Pet Anecdotes, but it's proof nonetheless.

you don't know jack.


I know what "odorless fish" might be.

But, what are "oderless fish"?


da bomb.

Yeah, totally lucky day for these people in Iraq.

I wish I could bat Gen. Patraeus* about the head with like, I don't know, something, like maybe a foam pool noodle.

Yeah, love how the 7-7-7 theory panned out for all those poor bastards.

(*
Petraeus is calling this a mini-Tet offensive. Okay, forgive my sketchy history of the Vietnam War, because it's totally, totally sketchy and mostly--and shamefully-- gleaned from Hollywood War Flicks... but, uh... politically and ideologically, I don't get this latest Patraeus statement. Like, this latest round of blowing people up is somehow opposed to the rest of blowing-people-up during the other parts of this war, which has just been so stunningly popular that every one was totally on board with the war until now? )

Like, okay, whatever. I gotta go see if I can find a pool noodle now.



the "other" emerald city.

This guy, I shit you not, was playing Somewhere Over the Rainbow with a saw and a bow.


I fought the law.

I never even knew Joseph Heller wrote this book!

(Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear, I ask you?!)

Also, Amy, do you want me to go and buy this book for you? I have no idea what it's about, but it's got "New Haven" in the title.

dog fight.

One thing I hate when everybody's showering Lurve on Piper, is when some klutzy bitch makes a stupid passive aggressive comment about "small dogs" while I'm shopping:

STUPID BITCH WHO HATES DOGS:
[in a fake "I'm concerned" way]
Oh, those poor little dogs! I feel so sorry for them in marketplaces, with all the people around!
[to Jamie, who's trying to ignore her by looking very interested in the magnet display]
Aren't you worried your dog will get stepped on by all the people, and disturbed by so many people?

JAMIE:
Uh, no, not really.
[But thinks: Yeah, first of all, you don't seem to me like you feel sorry for those small dogs. You're just pissed off that you and your stupid fucking diabetic neuropathy and klutzy ass bitchiness led to almost squashing my dog. As a matter a fact, I worry about him getting stepped on by stupid bitches like you, bitch, but do you really think I'd have my dog out here if I worried that much ?]

JAMIE:
[aloud, icily, to Bitchy Lady, in a manner suggesting she's just put down my Abnormally Bright Child for "pushing her too much" in school]
He does very well in marketplaces, thank you very much.

BITCHY LADY:
[still fake concerned]
Oh! Well, you know, I just think it's rough on them, with all the people and the crowding.

BITCHY LADY:
[to clerk, looking for sympathy on her stupid crappy ass point]
You know, I'm really surprised they even allow dogs in the market! I mean, what about dog fights, and that sort of thing? I've seen some really bad dog fights between big dogs!

CLERK:
[obligated to make sympathetic response because Bitchy Lady might be a potential customer]
Oh, yes. I believe they used to not allow dogs, but they do now.

JAMIE:
[thinks: Bitch. You wanna talk about dog fights? I'll fight you bitch! I can take you and your stupid ass dog-hating comments! Try me! I'm gonna fucking trip you myself if you talk smack about my dog one more time!]

BITCHY LADY:
[slightly huffily]
Yeah, I can't believe they allow dogs!

JAMIE:
[thinks: They allow bitches, why not dogs?]




piper's popular in pike's place.

I'm telling you, stupid number seven theories aside, Piper had his game on today, man.

He got two separate shop keepers to give him doggie biscuits, and a third lady, who sold beautiful leather-bound journals, said, "Oh! It's too early yet! I don't have my doggie treats out yet!"

And, even Dapper Dan, who I posted about a few days ago, and seems to be a Pike Place Regular, told me "I had a cute dog, there."

Dapper Dan, of course, showed up in his cream-colored suit and straw boat hat, and Cat World Guy was there, giving the exact same spiel as last time we visited him and poor Cubby, who is also still wearing that yellow tee-shirt (maybe because no one can get it off the cat).

Also, at least three former or current Westie owners came up to talk about their dogs, all totally excited, and telling me what Wonderful Dogs Westies Are, like they should all be wearing this teeshirt:


We even started out the day talking to Z.W. and his owner. (Z.W. is the other Resident Westie in the apartment complex, and he and Piper are Best Friends Forever). Z.W. had an unfortunate wine-cork eating incident about a month ago, and I hadn't seem him around except once post-surgery, when he was still kind of gorked from the pain meds.

Z.W.'s pet human--whose name I don't even know, or don't remember--said he had about five family Westies as a kid, all named Piper, because the first one came home in a Piper Heidsiek champagne crate. I forget why Z.W. is named Z.W., but any way, we're all glad he survived eating a wine-cork.

Piper posed in front of a post-office box painted to look like R2D2 (except I'm kind of pissed at the USPS, because since when is it forty-one cents to send a lousy greeting card?! In conclusion, may the internet continue to shit all over their business.)

neo.

One thing that always strikes me as being a bitch about my profession is the Uncertainty.

Sometimes, it's the Shit-Hits-the-Fan type, like the guy who coded last week, or the blood transfusion reaction guy tonight.

Or, it could be just the little things, like being asked to go into a room to help out another nurse, and have this kind of conversation with a family member:

FAMILY MEMBER:
Oh! There you are! Look at his feet! They're getting sores! Sores! He needs Neosporin cream on them! And Blah blah, the nurse, was supposed to get it!

JAMIE:
[thinking: "Calm blue ocean. Calm blue ocean."]
Uh, I"m sorry, can I get you something?

FAMILY MEMBER:
[increasingly agitated and hostile]
Where's the neosporin?!

JAMIE:
[wondering what the hell she's talking about it, as I'm just doing a favor to a nurse and answering a call light]
Well, I'm sure Nurse Blah Blah is taking care of it for you. He's doing an admission right now, but there still needs to be a medical order and then pharmacy needs to process the medication.

FAMILY MEMBER:
[snottily, like I'm trying to fuck with her]
Oh, I see. Pharmacy has to "process" the order." I see, it's a
"process."

JAMIE:
[getting super pissed off at this point herself, because what the fuck is wrong with Uber Bitch Wife-a-tolla?]
Uh, yeah, it's a process, unfortunately, and it does take some time. Can I get anything else for you?
.
WIFE-ATOLLA:
[as if I'm personally responsible for the dirtiness, when I haven't ever taking care of the patient]
Umm, yes. He needs new Ted socks. These are filthy!
[Flicks socks away dramatically. Turns away in a huff and says dismissively:]
Oh, and some pillowcases.

JAMIE:
[pretending to Fake Care, because now I'm feeling like a slave, and wondering why I didn't just pretend my own patients needed something, and avoid this fucking stupid call bell]:
Uh, yeah. I'll see what I can do about that.

JAMIE:
[decides "The Process" of me retrieving linen for the crazy family member is now going to take about 15 minutes to find all the crap Uberbitch wife wanted, and could have had, in like 30 seconds, if she'd been nice about the stupid fucking neosporin.]

So here's a lesson to all you Crazy People out there: If you have a troll or minion, and wish the troll or minion to do your bidding, for best results, treat them with kindness.

If you have a nurse attending to some bullshit problem of yours, you don't even have to be nice. Just don't be totally psycho, okay?

I'm just a nurse, not the Neosporin Goddess of Leg Balm, who can dramatically barf up a tube of Neosporin on demand for your loved one.

And, I can get you or your loved one all kinds of things, like pillowcases and Ted hose, but don't expect me to go running all STAT like it's an emergency if you treat me like a pile of shit.


dead like me.

One of the reasons I think the media-hyped "lucky day" theory is bullshit is simply because it's objectively bullshit. Any one that buys into this "lucky day" crap lives either in Pollyanna world, or has a major gambling problem.

Proof of my claims, you say?

Last Friday was one of my patient's thirtieth wedding anniversary.

I didn't know this until about two hours before my shift ended, even though his wife had been in the room at the beginning of my shift, and we had chatted. She was really nice and sweet, but she gave no indication that it was anniversary date.

So, I was in the room towards the end of my shift, doing my Nurse Stuff, and his son, who looked about twenty, came in, and said, 'Hey Dad, did Mom tell you it's your anniversary today? Thirty years. That's really something. Happy anniversary, Dad.'

And then his daughter looked up and said, 'Yeah, happy anniversary, daddy.'

And you know what his dad said to his son?

Nothing.

He didn't say anything to his daughter, either, who looked about sixteen, and was sitting there doing math problems out of a textbook all night long.

And you want to know why?

Because the guy had had a massive brain bleed a few weeks before, and he couldn't talk, or feed himself, or stand up, or move any of his limbs independently, for that matter. A few days ago, he couldn't even breathe on his own.

I thought, "Dude, this is so incredibly fucked up."

So fuck these idiot people and their stupid lucky day theory, because that guy and his family? Well, their luck sure as hell isn't gonna change.


seven.

Did you hear about this one?

All these idiot people insisting on getting married today because it's a "lucky day" due to it being 07/07/2007.

Whoopty-fucking-doo, people.

Dude, don't they realize the Gregorian calendar is a recent--historically speaking, any way--calendar any way?

Like, if we were still on the Julian Calendar, today really wouldn't be today. (However, it might be Lemming-Like Idiot Bride Day, or something.)

And what about Auguste Comte and his suggestion that we make every 365th day a "Year Holiday" without an assigned day-of-the-week?

Or Russia, when January 31st, 1918 was immediately followed by February 14th?

Or the fact that we're basing all this "luckiness" crap on a solar calendar, any way?

What about lunar calendars?! Or those cultures that don't even have calendars (lucky bastards)?!

We won't even get into the whole controversy over the use of Common Era/Before Common Era terminology, because... well, if you're planning your life happiness around one fucking day, explaining all this history stuff is probably a moot point any way.







Thursday, July 05, 2007

moo-ve.


doggie style.

Look, ma! It's a replica of Piper's disembodied head on my ugly shoe!

twinkle toes


I've never been into fashion, and it comes as absolutely no surprise to me that I chose a career in which, essentially, I wear a glorified prison uniform (don't those orange prison suits look an awful lot like scrubs?) that doesn't require ironing and clog-type shoes that would make Imelda Marcos run screaming for the nearest Nine West, STAT.

I'm also not really into clothes. In fact, my poor mother is still buying me clothing, because I'm so disinterested in shopping for myself that I must come home for my perennial visits looking like a regular street urchin.

I mean, I think the last time I bought clothes for myself was in January, when I realized I couldn't go to a dinner at someone's home wearing my signature snoopy-teeshirt and running shorts.

Any way, I have to make note of one other thing: I'm not a Shoe Girl, either, and I fucking absolutely refuse to stuff my feet into uncomfortable shoes for the sake of fashion. I'm either in my battered danksos, or else I'm in my chunky-heeled mary-janes, or else my feet are wearing nothing.

Today, I bought a pair of crocs brand ballet-slipper mary janes. I mean, chunky-heeled leather mary janes are all well and good, but I needed a nice summer shoe, with aeration. These shoes are quite possibly the ugliest pair of ballet-slipper shoes on the planet, but I care not. They are and comfortable and orthotic.

And, they will drive my poor mother insane if she finds out I bought them, because she hates my smurf-colored crocs already (Sample conversation: Mom says, "They'll ruin your feet!" Jamie says, "No, mom, running around for 12 hour nursing shifts will ruin my feet. And my back, as an added bonus!")

Every time I wear the smurf-blue crocs, she's always broadly hinting about how my outfit would look cuter with a different pair of shoes, even though "my outfit" is just as ugly and sexless as the shoes. Sometimes, she even goes as far as bringing me a pair of her own shoes to wear. (We wear the same size of shoe, except I have a wider foot. This is another Mom Thing: I'm always hearing about the mysterious disaster of splayed feet, and how When She Was Young, She Used to Run In High Heels A Mile To the Bus Stop. Meanwhile, I'm looking politely interested and filially respectful while thinking, "What is this, ancient China?! Do you want me to bind my feet, or something?")

Like, I'm telling all you Concerned Mothers Out There With Your Well Meaning Theories About Your Daughters' Choice of Footwear and How It Directly Influences Their Chances of Marrying a Nice Jewish Doctor (or, in my case, admission to an Ivy League):

You can just chill out, okay?

Because when I'm eighty five years old, ain't nobody gonna be looking at my feet and saying, "Oh! You should have worn binding shoes! Look at your feet now. They're all ugly and old looking." I'll be partially blind by then, too, so I won't be able to see how fugly my feet are at eighty five, any way.

And, I'll bet at that advanced age, I'll care more about watching my stories on the Space Age Internet (because what was watching t.v. like, grandma?) and eating my diabetic ice cream than I'll care what my fucking feet look like.


this is cubby. cubby is a socialized cat.

Boys and Girls, I'd like you to all give a warm welcome to Cubby!

Cubby is a Socialized Cat (we will return to this idea in a moment):

(Nota bene: We can tell Cubby is a Socialized Cat because someone, probably long ago, in a universe far, far away, stuffed Cubby into the yellow tee shirt you see here, which looks like it may never come off until it's in rags and/or Cubby chews it off in utter disgust and annoyance. We also know Cubby is a Socialized Cat, per Cat Guy, by the way his little front paws are tucked neatly beneath him.)

Also, I think the top reason we know Cubby is a Socialized Cat (as opposed to a Feral Cat I suppose): because Cat World Advice Guy tells us Cubby is a Socialized Cat).

And Cat World Advice Guy wouldn't lie to you (even though he does look like he's doing a very good job of annoying the cat by rubbing his/her face with a napkin--and therefore not giving a very good example of how to socialize a cat properly--and Cat Guy is wearing a Cat Hat, and if that isn't grounds for suspicion, I don't know what is):


Cat Guy doesn't tell us exactly what or how one gets a Socialized Cat but his Cat Spiel, (Kattenspiel?) which basically involves emphasizing repeatedly the phrase "Cubby is a Socialized Cat," is convincing nonetheless. (Katy, what's the real German here? I feel this is one of those absurd situations that deserves a fake German word like "Kattenspiel" as a place holder until The Real Linguist Amongst Us can correct it.)

But Cat Guy likes to tell you about Cubby, and his Socialized-ness, and how Cubby lives at a Cat Shelter with Other Socialized Kittycats, apparently in "Spunkyland," which must be located in "Cat World"):

Look, kids, you can pet Cubby and he won't scratch your face off, even though Cubby is looking increasingly pissed off about the whole situation!

Other Cubby/Cat World Fun Facts:

1) The Cat Shelter is for Socialized Cats.
2) Oh wait, we already told you about #1.
3) Cubby is one of such Socialized Cats.
4) Oh wait, we already told you about #3.
5) Cubby gets special treats every day.
6) What Cubby actually gets, per Jamie's observation, is small bits of Fancy Feast out of a can, even though Cat Guy will tell you Cubby gets halibut.
7) Cubby also, apparently, gets his face wiped down, whether or not he likes it.
8) Cubby, and Others Like Him, Need Your Help.
9) You can pet Cubby and take pictures of him, because he is... you got it! A Socialized Cat!
10) But, to you the truth, what Cubby really would like is money. (Maybe so he can go buy a new teeshirt, because yellow isn't really his color.)

Personally, I think Cubby's name should be Sprockets.


dapper dan.

A timeless classic:

Old Guy In the Straw Boat Hat and Cream-Colored Suit With Gold Tipped Cane Observing Cat World Advice Booth.


Wednesday, July 04, 2007

able to leap tall buildings.

i can see clearly now.


But, my camera can't.

therapeutic levels.

Best line from Law and Order, ever?

CONVICT:
[referring to the correctional facility's psychologist]
Best thing about therapy? Her ass.

oh, canada!


anatomy of a feast.

Before:

After:

cats



Introducing: Puddy and Bebe (real names changed to protect the innocent).


the red violin.


Sign read: "Violin Student: Very Broke."


counter-revolution.

Happy Fireworks Day, People!