Pontificum Scriblerus

Strike threeeeeee! http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/29/us/29heparin.html?ex=1362027600&en=31e01a204a05796b&ei=5088&partner=rssnyt&emc=rss Was there always a problem, or is it just because I've started paying attention to the news??

One day, the newly be-petted household ran out of catfood. In lieu of 9Lives, they served up a can of human grade tuna, which the cat loved. However, clearly, this had been a big mistake, because from here on, he refused to eat any kind of catfood at all whatsoever. So, dad says to mom, "We should make him some salmon or he'll starve!" She voiced her concern, that apart from spending time and effort on the ridiculous activity of cooking salmon for Gogah, perhaps, the catfood contains other nutrients, and vegetables required by healthy felines. Dad responded that she should therefore cook salmon with vegetables and other nutrients. Thusly, I had my explanation of why mom was making salmon, carrots and brown rice (it's good for the bowels!) and feeding it to the cat. When the cat starts eating sushi grade tuna... I want out of this family!!

My parents finally have managed to end up living in an idyllic private world. This urban idyll received the finishing touch when they obtained a cat. Actually, the cat obtained them , if you really examine the situation. One day, I came around, and saw a pathetic looking skinny kitty hanging out on their back porch. They said, it had been coming around, it must be lost - but they felt bad for it, and although they didn't allow it to set foot in the house, they started feeding it. "Make the cat a hotdog!" said dad. (mom makes hot dog) "Cut it into smaller pieces!" (mom cuts it into smaller pieces) "Cool it in the fridge!" (mom cools it) "Take outside for the cat!" (mom places little bowl outside) "Keep watch so that the neighbor's bully grey cat doesn't take it away!" (mom patiently keeps watch from the back porch). Pictures were taken and adds about found kitty were placed all over the neighborhood. Two guys, Benjamin...

Ok, I actually made these on Sunday, and then again on Tuesday. Take the average and you have Monday. Baking is a mystery to me. There so many pans, and so many ingredients... it's uncharted territory. Of course, I used to know a chef, who, upon hearing this, scoffed, and said, "Baking is easy. Very little 'feeling' involved in baking, and definitely no 'art.'" Unfortunate me, can't even handle the easy stuff. What he said... Perhaps for some that's true. But these were baked with much feeling; a feeling possibly close to hubris. While I realize that muffins are quite possibly the easiest thing to mix up and throw in the oven (evidenced by the fact that even I did it successfully), I still felt like I was soaring up to the sun when the warm scent filled my kitchen. It was also a birthday brunch, and I was told NOT to make eggs, in light of the fact that over the last 2 weeks, we ate 2 quiches and 1 Spanish tortilla. I wanted something different, un...

The first thing they told us in medical school was the following: believe it or not, they said, cold weather does not cause colds. Hold on, hold on, HOLD ON. WHAT?! Last night we had a fun dinner and un-fun walk in the cold to a bar for drinks. My hate for control tops left certain body parts vulnerable the wind. The result? The fat in my ass solidified into shortening, and I had icicle toes. And today, voila! Sniffles. Don't tell me cold weather doesn't cause colds! Next thing they're gonna say is that it's ok to swim on a full stomach! Or eat things off the floor! One thing I know is true; if you keep making faces, eventually, it'll freeze that way: Uh oh!! Help me! PHEW! Much better! Happy birthday, shnookums.

While not getting what I want makes me anxious, getting it makes me... And subsequently, I... And if really happy, eventually, I.... Which is what I'm about to do right... now.... Hasta tomorrow.

The magic blue legacy couch that takes turns helping us sleep. A terribly soul-searching, tearduct-tickling show on TV, largely ignored, but setting a certain tone. There are two cushions, and a couple of tired limbs make contact in the middle, in the same place the cushions do, while their possessors relax opposite each other. An index finger, points, counting: here, and here, and here... new bruises, you klutz. What do you do to get these? How do you know they're new? Silent look exchange and invisible smiles. Blue couch is soft, like a very old denim cloud. Tea-kettle pops. If this isn't TRUTH... what is?