Public Service Announcement from Shadow
Attention bitches.
Golden Rainier cherries are in season.
That is all.
Cat's In the Cradle
A semi-local blogger/friend posted this ludicrously tragic (or tragically ludicrous?) tale about Some Drunk Guy who thought it would be a good idea to dedicate Harry Chapin's "Cat's In The Cradle" to his father at his wedding. Well, there's a ton more insanity in that story (go read!), but I'm here to touch upon the song dedication alone.
If you've ever listened to the entire song (and have an IQ above the average speed limit), you'd realize it is about an absentee father who basically gets his just desserts when his son grows up "just like" him, and has no time for him either. It would seem that to dedicate this song to your father, you would be essentially saying, "Hey, thanks for nothing!!"
But until today, I never thought it would be a bad idea to dedicate it to someone, because I always thought of the song in a different light. Whenever I hear the song, it makes me thankful that I have a good dad who was the exact opposite of the man in the song. My dad spent more time with me after my parents' divorce than do most non-divorce dads who live full-time with their kids.
And as I reminisce on a game of WonkEE(TM); stuffed animal football (or stuffed animal Americo-Chino-Taiwano -with Felix!- warfare, lol wut); Hot Wheels racetrack slalom; household game "Decathlons"; Pass the Pigs; never winning at Trivial Pursuit; my first PlayStation and Nascar 98 (complete with track sabotage on my part lololol); Three Stooges and Simpsons Marathons; "Mamie, Meredith, & Seinfeld!"; and everything else in between that I've destroyed my father's house with.......
.........to me, the song is a reminder to be thankful that I've had it better!
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, DAD!
If you've ever listened to the entire song (and have an IQ above the average speed limit), you'd realize it is about an absentee father who basically gets his just desserts when his son grows up "just like" him, and has no time for him either. It would seem that to dedicate this song to your father, you would be essentially saying, "Hey, thanks for nothing!!"
But until today, I never thought it would be a bad idea to dedicate it to someone, because I always thought of the song in a different light. Whenever I hear the song, it makes me thankful that I have a good dad who was the exact opposite of the man in the song. My dad spent more time with me after my parents' divorce than do most non-divorce dads who live full-time with their kids.
And as I reminisce on a game of WonkEE(TM); stuffed animal football (or stuffed animal Americo-Chino-Taiwano -with Felix!- warfare, lol wut); Hot Wheels racetrack slalom; household game "Decathlons"; Pass the Pigs; never winning at Trivial Pursuit; my first PlayStation and Nascar 98 (complete with track sabotage on my part lololol); Three Stooges and Simpsons Marathons; "Mamie, Meredith, & Seinfeld!"; and everything else in between that I've destroyed my father's house with.......
.........to me, the song is a reminder to be thankful that I've had it better!
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, DAD!
The Plans We Made
My 13-year old cat has been diagnosed with inoperable liver cancer, that has managed to completely overtake the organ in less than ten months. His prognosis (on the optimistic side) is six to nine months. Basically the only course of action is to let him live out his days peacefully, or to end his suffering if and when that day comes.
On a good note, he is still currently acting completely normal and happy.
Be strong, Shadow!
On a good note, he is still currently acting completely normal and happy.
Be strong, Shadow!
A Cautionary Tale
Today, I plan to take a break from the usual habit of not updating (or of the irritating not-habit of posting Kanye videos and leaving them there for a month), to bring you a story. A true, yet horrifying story that will hopefully teach you a moral by the time I am done.
It started about two weeks ago. I came home, entered the kitchen, and noted that the room smelled a little weird. I figured it had to be food that had been left out and was now decaying in the trash can or the sink. We have window units as opposed to central air, and, once the mercury rises in the kitchen, I figured there were bound to be some casualties.
As I am the only one in the house with a sense of smell (that is capable of human conversation, at least, and not just a series of "FEED ME" howls), the task of "Ooh, that smell - Can you smell that smell?" fell to my shoulders. I made sure the sink was cleaned out, and there were no food remnants left in the strainer. I even did a "spot check" of the room with my nose to try and determine the origin. No matter what I did, I could not place it. I gave up, since my nose had already become accustomed to the smell for the day.
This kept occurring over the next week and a half. Every day I would come home, the kitchen would reek, and I could not figure out what the source was. I checked the trash can, the sink, the fridge, the freezer, the cat's food area, the litterbox, and the food cabinets. I even checked the less-used cabinets to make sure nothing had crawled into them and died. Nothing had.
Finally, on Friday, I had the stroke of genius. I remembered there was one place in the kitchen I hadn't checked thoroughly, because I assumed the tenants of this spot were impervious to this kind of damage. I thought wrong.
To be honest, I can't take all of the credit for my "Eureka!" moment. A few weeks ago, a host on my favorite morning radio show was telling how she too had a mystery smell in her garage that she could not place. It turns out, the thing puking up her garage was a bag of potatoes that had been left out there since Thanksgiving, and had turned extremely south.
I keep my potatoes (and onions, and other non-refrigerated vegetables, still bagged) in a large bowl on my counter. At first glance, everything seemed all right on the surface, so my eyes always swept over it during my inspections.
On this fateful Friday afternoon, I decided it was now or never. I pulled the bowl closer to me, and removed the bags of vegetables, only to find half an inch of standing, opaque, brown liquid in the bowl. It smelled like death, and it was all I could do not to throw up as I threw the vegetables away, and dumped the liquid down the sink. I did not think to take a photo, but here is an artist's conception of the horror:
The lesson here, obviously, is not to waste food. Try to always use your food in a timely and efficient manner, so as not to let it become a festering, possibly free-thinking science experiment plotting your untimely demise. I urge you to check your vegetables now, for every second you don't is one more second they leak death juice into your best serving bowl! Next step: world domination.
It started about two weeks ago. I came home, entered the kitchen, and noted that the room smelled a little weird. I figured it had to be food that had been left out and was now decaying in the trash can or the sink. We have window units as opposed to central air, and, once the mercury rises in the kitchen, I figured there were bound to be some casualties.
As I am the only one in the house with a sense of smell (that is capable of human conversation, at least, and not just a series of "FEED ME" howls), the task of "Ooh, that smell - Can you smell that smell?" fell to my shoulders. I made sure the sink was cleaned out, and there were no food remnants left in the strainer. I even did a "spot check" of the room with my nose to try and determine the origin. No matter what I did, I could not place it. I gave up, since my nose had already become accustomed to the smell for the day.
This kept occurring over the next week and a half. Every day I would come home, the kitchen would reek, and I could not figure out what the source was. I checked the trash can, the sink, the fridge, the freezer, the cat's food area, the litterbox, and the food cabinets. I even checked the less-used cabinets to make sure nothing had crawled into them and died. Nothing had.
Finally, on Friday, I had the stroke of genius. I remembered there was one place in the kitchen I hadn't checked thoroughly, because I assumed the tenants of this spot were impervious to this kind of damage. I thought wrong.
To be honest, I can't take all of the credit for my "Eureka!" moment. A few weeks ago, a host on my favorite morning radio show was telling how she too had a mystery smell in her garage that she could not place. It turns out, the thing puking up her garage was a bag of potatoes that had been left out there since Thanksgiving, and had turned extremely south.
I keep my potatoes (and onions, and other non-refrigerated vegetables, still bagged) in a large bowl on my counter. At first glance, everything seemed all right on the surface, so my eyes always swept over it during my inspections.
On this fateful Friday afternoon, I decided it was now or never. I pulled the bowl closer to me, and removed the bags of vegetables, only to find half an inch of standing, opaque, brown liquid in the bowl. It smelled like death, and it was all I could do not to throw up as I threw the vegetables away, and dumped the liquid down the sink. I did not think to take a photo, but here is an artist's conception of the horror:
The lesson here, obviously, is not to waste food. Try to always use your food in a timely and efficient manner, so as not to let it become a festering, possibly free-thinking science experiment plotting your untimely demise. I urge you to check your vegetables now, for every second you don't is one more second they leak death juice into your best serving bowl! Next step: world domination.
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