Mention has been made in earlier posts on this blog about Mickey Mantle (the cat, not the ballplayer). Spend a little while with him and you'll be convinced, as my wife and I are, that he is more canine than feline. He scratches and pulls up the wood floors, he greets you at the front door when you walk in, he constantly follows you around with the hopes of being fed, he'll eat just about anything you drop on the floor, he does not always land on his feet, and he absolutely obliterates his toys.
Designers of cat toys don't take into account canine tendencies in cats when designing and constructing their toys. Take for instance the popular cat toy, "Da' Bird." It's a plastic stick with a cord attached to it, at the bottom of which is a bunch of feathers. Meant to be chased, batted at, stalked. And he does do all that- he loves the thing. But it's not meant for what Mick also loves to do: Chew and chew on the cord until the toy is two things- a stick with a cord, and a little cord with a bunch of feathers. Attempts to reattach the bird by tying the severed cord back together are thwarted when he just chews through it again. We are on our third bird in just over a year. This last one lasted about two weeks.
Mick does have his feline traits, but he is a dog at heart for sure. One of these days, we'll remember that when purchasing him a new toy.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Change is good...
There's a new winner out there, when it comes to clever pan-handling signs. In this election year, even the the folks on the street begging for coin hop the on the bandwagon of politcal humor. The guy's sign:
OBAMA & ME ARE JUST ALIKE. WE BOTH WANT CHANGE.
Of kudos, I have plenty to offer, my man. You're still not getting any money from me.
Suits & Psychosis...
My workplace is a casual dress enviroment, which fits in with my dressing standard. I am perfectly comfortable in khakis or jeans, and a button down or polo shirt- usually untucked. And that's what I live in during the work week. Well, we held an event the other evening which called for playing dress up- and I dusted off my suit and wore it in to work.
No, it's not the first time I have worn a suit to work- but it's been a while. And despite the fact I was probably one of hundreds of guys on my train wearing a suit, I of course feel like a fraud. And not only that, everyone knows it! They're all looking at me thinking, That guy doesn't usually wear a suit! Look at him him trying to be all dressed up... Yeah, that's really what I'm thinking as I ride the train, walk down the street, what have you.
Not helping the comfort level: in the time since I have last worn my suit, I seem to have expanded a bit(okay a good deal) in the abdominal region and was unable to even come close to buttoning my pants. Rather than accept defeat though, I just counted on my trusty belt- not only to fight gravity, but also to cover up the fact that my pants were indeed not buttoned. And as it turned out, mission accomplished- but my day was spent checking and rechecking the offending waistline, to make sure every thing was- for lack of a better term- on the up and up.
I'm not sure I will ever be a suit man. It's not that I don't like wearing the things, I just like hassle free, easy peasy when it come to the whole getting ready for the day thing. And frankly, the not tucking the shirt in comes in handy with the ever-expanding middle situation. (Okay, okay I'm going to gym- stop yelling at me.)
No, it's not the first time I have worn a suit to work- but it's been a while. And despite the fact I was probably one of hundreds of guys on my train wearing a suit, I of course feel like a fraud. And not only that, everyone knows it! They're all looking at me thinking, That guy doesn't usually wear a suit! Look at him him trying to be all dressed up... Yeah, that's really what I'm thinking as I ride the train, walk down the street, what have you.
Not helping the comfort level: in the time since I have last worn my suit, I seem to have expanded a bit(okay a good deal) in the abdominal region and was unable to even come close to buttoning my pants. Rather than accept defeat though, I just counted on my trusty belt- not only to fight gravity, but also to cover up the fact that my pants were indeed not buttoned. And as it turned out, mission accomplished- but my day was spent checking and rechecking the offending waistline, to make sure every thing was- for lack of a better term- on the up and up.
I'm not sure I will ever be a suit man. It's not that I don't like wearing the things, I just like hassle free, easy peasy when it come to the whole getting ready for the day thing. And frankly, the not tucking the shirt in comes in handy with the ever-expanding middle situation. (Okay, okay I'm going to gym- stop yelling at me.)
Friday, September 19, 2008
Intermittent Golfer...
I really enjoy playing golf. But due financial and time and other worldly constraints I don't get to play nearly as often as I like. Now, I hear guys complain about this all the time- how they've only gotten out to play once this week, blah blah blah. I am playing this weekend for the first time since last summer. Last summer. Yeah, that's how bad I've got it, you whiners.
Golf, like many, isn't a sport where you have the luxury of not playing for a long stretch and then coming back to with the hopes of achieving again what little success you had the last time you played. And that's really all that I ask for: a little success. And yet, for this weekend- that may just be to much to ask.
Somewhere near Princeton, New Jersey, a golf course is trembling. Not so much in fear of my conquering it, so much as it is in fear of what I may do to the course: how many balls I will leave out there, what my wake may look like, how much I will be holding up the group behind us.
And yet, I'm looking forward to it. This relationship with golf is strange and troubling- but it's one that I can't refuse. To have few hours where all my frustrations lie in my attempt to make solid contact with a small, white, dimpled ball- and the frustrations of the outside world subside, or at least take a back seat. The adding of stress to relieve stress. It almost makes perfect sense.
In a perfect world, all this would happen more often. But for the sake of golf courses all over the world, we'll probably keep to a minimum for the foreseeable future.
_______________________________________
Also posted on my sports blog The Jayfiss Report.
Golf, like many, isn't a sport where you have the luxury of not playing for a long stretch and then coming back to with the hopes of achieving again what little success you had the last time you played. And that's really all that I ask for: a little success. And yet, for this weekend- that may just be to much to ask.
Somewhere near Princeton, New Jersey, a golf course is trembling. Not so much in fear of my conquering it, so much as it is in fear of what I may do to the course: how many balls I will leave out there, what my wake may look like, how much I will be holding up the group behind us.
And yet, I'm looking forward to it. This relationship with golf is strange and troubling- but it's one that I can't refuse. To have few hours where all my frustrations lie in my attempt to make solid contact with a small, white, dimpled ball- and the frustrations of the outside world subside, or at least take a back seat. The adding of stress to relieve stress. It almost makes perfect sense.
In a perfect world, all this would happen more often. But for the sake of golf courses all over the world, we'll probably keep to a minimum for the foreseeable future.
_______________________________________
Also posted on my sports blog The Jayfiss Report.
Yesterday's news and such...
I work across the street from Lehman Brothers' corporate HQ. And with all the grim reports this past week, news vans have been camped out- with cameras fixed on the building all day, as if something spectacular was about to happen.
Now, by the end of the week, the news vans have all but dwindled and left. Somebody must have told them all that the collapse of Lehman didn't mean the building would collapse as well. So much for the big scoop.
****
Other ramblings...
Lots of action on the streets of NYC this week. As always, the freaks seem to find me- as if they recognize a kindred spirit in me. No, you don't have to agree.
Yesterday, this guy walked past a co-worker and I on the street, and as he did, he let out a very full and tone-full belch. Impressed, we got a good chuckle out of it. Wouldn't you know, five minutes later we shared an elevator with the guy. It was a snicker-filled ride, and no more gasses were expelled.
*
A couple of days ago, I twice came around a corner (once on the street, once at the gym) and nearly ran smack into a female of the species. Both times it was clear that both parties were at fault, more or less. Both times, I was the only apologetic party. And both times, I received a good deal of attitude from the other party in return. Message to all other carelessly walking women out there: Next time it's all YOUR fault! You have been warned.
*
The other day as I walked down the street, I watched a guy give his girlfriend one hells of back scratching. I mean, hands up the shirt going to town kind of back scratching. Now, I like a good scratch of the back as much as the next guy, but if I am in need of one in public- over the shirt is fine for me. I'm just saying.
*
I saw what was left of a pigeon in the middle of Seventh Avenue, nearly smashed beyond recognition. Just a bunch of pigeon-colored feathers and guts. I don't really have anything else to say about it- it's just something you don't see everyday. Ane the perfect thing to think about just before lunch.
Now, by the end of the week, the news vans have all but dwindled and left. Somebody must have told them all that the collapse of Lehman didn't mean the building would collapse as well. So much for the big scoop.
****
Other ramblings...
Lots of action on the streets of NYC this week. As always, the freaks seem to find me- as if they recognize a kindred spirit in me. No, you don't have to agree.
Yesterday, this guy walked past a co-worker and I on the street, and as he did, he let out a very full and tone-full belch. Impressed, we got a good chuckle out of it. Wouldn't you know, five minutes later we shared an elevator with the guy. It was a snicker-filled ride, and no more gasses were expelled.
*
A couple of days ago, I twice came around a corner (once on the street, once at the gym) and nearly ran smack into a female of the species. Both times it was clear that both parties were at fault, more or less. Both times, I was the only apologetic party. And both times, I received a good deal of attitude from the other party in return. Message to all other carelessly walking women out there: Next time it's all YOUR fault! You have been warned.
*
The other day as I walked down the street, I watched a guy give his girlfriend one hells of back scratching. I mean, hands up the shirt going to town kind of back scratching. Now, I like a good scratch of the back as much as the next guy, but if I am in need of one in public- over the shirt is fine for me. I'm just saying.
*
I saw what was left of a pigeon in the middle of Seventh Avenue, nearly smashed beyond recognition. Just a bunch of pigeon-colored feathers and guts. I don't really have anything else to say about it- it's just something you don't see everyday. Ane the perfect thing to think about just before lunch.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Ladies and gentlemen, this is your un-biased captain speaking...
Flying home from Seattle last Monday night, we experienced a really rough patch of unstable air. The captain came over the loudspeaker to say he was turning on the fasten seat belt sign, and to casually mention we were currently flying over Minneapolis/ St. Paul.
No word on whether the turbulence was caused by the rush of hot air that was undoubtedly flowing up from the RNC, a mere 35,000 feet below.
No word on whether the turbulence was caused by the rush of hot air that was undoubtedly flowing up from the RNC, a mere 35,000 feet below.
Do-it-yourself take out!
On a recent trip to the Northwest, my wife and I had the luxury of staying the entire time at a friend's house that they don't use... which was perfect, because the primary point of the trip was to relax- and having comfy, domestic lodging made this easy to do. We planned our days so that nighttime would have us at home, to watch movies, order take out and just chill.
Being that we were in a rather remote area, the option of having food delivered was not available- Hello, culture-shock for the city folk! We were apprised of a local pizza chain, and decide to give it try one night. Now this was a different pizza joint than I had ever experienced. A so-called, "take and bake." You order the pizza, they make it for you, and give it to you uncooked to take home and bake yourself.
My wife was all for it. And I admit, it truly worked out for that evening because we were able to grab it on the way home from that day's travels, so as not to have to go out again. But in a way it seems against the whole idea of take out. The idea that take out is something you do that's super easy. You order it, you pick it up (or have it delivered), and you eat it. Where does, you-cook-it, fit in there? Let me answer the question: it doesn't. If you want to cook, you don't order take out... it's really that simple.
The pizza was okay, and no it wasn't that hard to make- but that's not the point. It is like paying somebody to wash your clothes, and then still having to dry them yourself. All right, I'm done. Off my soapbox. Although, it was heaven last night to have a hot pizza delivered to our door- no assembly required.
Being that we were in a rather remote area, the option of having food delivered was not available- Hello, culture-shock for the city folk! We were apprised of a local pizza chain, and decide to give it try one night. Now this was a different pizza joint than I had ever experienced. A so-called, "take and bake." You order the pizza, they make it for you, and give it to you uncooked to take home and bake yourself.
My wife was all for it. And I admit, it truly worked out for that evening because we were able to grab it on the way home from that day's travels, so as not to have to go out again. But in a way it seems against the whole idea of take out. The idea that take out is something you do that's super easy. You order it, you pick it up (or have it delivered), and you eat it. Where does, you-cook-it, fit in there? Let me answer the question: it doesn't. If you want to cook, you don't order take out... it's really that simple.
The pizza was okay, and no it wasn't that hard to make- but that's not the point. It is like paying somebody to wash your clothes, and then still having to dry them yourself. All right, I'm done. Off my soapbox. Although, it was heaven last night to have a hot pizza delivered to our door- no assembly required.
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