Sunday, December 25, 2011

Bella's Christmas


Here's Bella coming downstairs on Christmakkah morning to see what Santa left her.  She was a very good dog this year.  Her mommy has purple feet.



After opening her gifts (treats, treats, & more treats, and a treat dispenser), Bella takes up her post in the chair at the window.  She keeps an eye on all the weirdos and strange goings-on in the neighborhood.  Good girl, Bella.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Little furry balls of love


After finally prying the giant space ball open, Sandy immediately falls in love with the hamster he's decided to call "Bubbles."

Monday, June 27, 2011

Sandy and the hamsters from space


Sandy was minding his own business when two giant balls fell from the sky.  After inspecting them, he realizes he can see through to their insides.  A colorful poster and ... is that a hamster?  He rolls them off to a safe location until he can figure out how to pry them open, wondering why no one ever told him that hamsters came from space.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Sandy listens to the voice of reason



Sandy listens to the voice of reason, somewhat perplexed that it sounds a lot like the voice of Papa Smurf.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

The prerogatives of a southern woman

Growing up in Atlanta in an old southern family (well-ensconced in Atlanta long before the Civil War) in a neighborhood that was being largely infiltrated by northerners, I realized something about women.  Southern women and women from other parts of the country (and other parts of the world, obviously, but that's another story) are different from one another.  Quite possibly it's not the women themselves that are different, but they do seem to have been accorded different rights, and to accept that certain liberties were bestowed upon them by provenance.  It's been especially clear to me since leaving the U.S. that southern women have certain prerogatives that other women don't seem to claim.  I've tinkered here with a list although I'm probably leaving out other rights that I just can't put my finger on at the moment.  Some of the prerogatives listed here may not be exclusive to southern women, but they certainly exercise them to a degree unknown in other parts of the world.

The tentative list of the prerogatives of a southern woman:

1.  The southern woman has the prerogative of renaming people and referring to them by any name she so pleases.  This is probably an odd prerogative, but one that I've witnessed too many times to ignore.  It especially occurs when someone is not particularly welcome or well-liked, sort of an "I can't be bothered with remembering your name because you're not important" sort of thing.  My grandmother and mother-in-law were both quite adept at this. My mother-in-law renamed each of her youngest son's successive girlfriends (and no doubt continues to do so).  Of course, pretending not to notice that they've renamed the person is part of the game; otherwise, it would be considered rude.  I remember a man named Kasim being introduced to my grandmother; she immediately decided she would refer to him as "Cosmo" and did so for the remainder of her life, even after she had decided she liked him after all.

2. The southern woman has the prerogative of inventing words.  Actually all southerners have this prerogative as linguists have recognized this as one aspect that sets southern speech apart from other North American varieties of English.  But southern women seem to have the majority of the fun here.  I've rarely witnessed a man inventing a word, but southern women are continually coming up with words that they feel better fit a situation than any dictionary entry could.  And then the southern men, like the good sheep that they are, use the words parceled out to them.  One word that my mother always used was "bushka" which meant to her that is was cold outside.  Or "flute" which, granted is already a word, but she re-purposed it as a mild oath instead of a word describing a musical instrument.

3. The southern woman has the prerogative of flirting unmercifully without recrimination.  Actually this is expected of her in many situations.  A southern woman who doesn't flirt is seen as cold and aloof and a poor hostess.  Perhaps using words such as "darling," "sweetheart," and "honey" to perfect strangers seems strange to a northerner, but it's perfectly normal in the southern woman's world.  Even ceaselessly telling men how handsome they are and batting her eyelashes at males is part of her average exchange.  It's all innocently done, of course.  Once a southern woman has an interest in a man, she immediately and ruthlessly ignores him.

4. The southern woman has the prerogative of speaking her mind on any subject without seeming rude or inappropriate.  This, of course, assumes that she avoid the topic of money, which no southerner is allowed to discuss anyway.  This prerogative seems to be spreading throughout the country due to media  portrayals of opinionated southern women, but the real southern woman still does it best.

5. The southern woman has the prerogative of being eccentric.  Actually, there's a fine line between being eccentric and being crazy in the South, and the older she is, the more eccentric (or crazy) she's allowed to be.  There's no shame in the South surrounding craziness; it's kind of expected to a certain degree in every family.  Faulkner wasn't just making up stuff; southern folks have more than their share of weirdness.  As Julia Sugarbaker said on a "Designing Women" episode (and god help me, I can't believe I'm quoting from "Designing Women"), "In the South, we treasure our crazy people." And it's true; we do.  So the southern woman has great leeway in her actions (whether she's really crazy, or just pretending to be).

6.  The southern woman has the prerogative of ruling the dinner/supper table with an iron fist.  There are certain behaviors that are simply not tolerated at table, and the southern woman has the right to invoke any and all rules of manners while people are seated around hers.  Such as leaving the table for any reason without excusing yourself first.  Not discussing business is another one that's usually upheld, as well as not beginning to eat until everyone is present.  This one was probably true all over the country at one time, but only seems to be true today in the South.

7.  The southern woman has the prerogative of inventing stories.  The veracity of her story is not what is important; it is how she tells the story, and whether or not she is funny or entertaining, that is the deciding factor.  You're expected to be a good storyteller in the South; a good story trumps the truth every time.

8.  The southern woman has the prerogative of transversing boundaries of masculinity and femininity without contradiction.  In other words, she can ride and shoot one morning, and then ladle drinks from the punch bowl that evening without any raised eyebrows.  And even if this were a contradiction, it would be overruled by number nine:

9. The southern woman has the prerogative of contradicting herself.  Actually this is classically assumed to be a woman's prerogative across the board, but I wanted to include it in my list because it's done so blatantly (and graciously) in the South.

10.  The southern woman has the prerogative of reinventing herself.  This seems to have gained popularity everywhere in recent years due to a spate of self-help authors who have redefined this as healthy behavior.  But the southern woman has been doing it for eons without anyone regarding it as unusual.  It's notably done every ten years as the southern woman readjusts her date of birth, but it's apparent in other areas as well, the most famous example probably coming in the form of Scarlett O'Hara herself.

This is my list as it stands at the moment.  I may add to it as I think of things, or delete items, or rethink the entries.  I may even completely contradict it next week.  But after all, that's my prerogative.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Sandy contemplates the universe


Sandy was listening to Cyndi Lauper's "She Bop" when a thought struck him.  What if being called "plastic" wasn't just a reference to being amenable to a new situation?  What if it wasn't the compliment he had always taken it to be?  And furthermore, what exactly does it mean that she bops?

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Doubt and the zombie apocalypse

"Philosophy begins when one learns to doubt - particularly to doubt one's cherished beliefs, one's dogmas and one's axioms. Who knows how these cherished beliefs became certainties with us, and whether some secret wish did not furtively beget them, clothing desire in the dross of thought? There is no real philosophy until the mind turns round and examines itself."
- Will Durant, The Story of Philosophy

My washing machine has broken, so I've decided to amuse myself by writing about a very important topic: the coming zombie apocalypse. And yes, I've been assured by various sources that it is, indeed, coming (Maybe I read it in the Wall Street Journal.), although I'm pretty sure it'd be hard to tell when, exactly, a zombie apocalypse starts. It'd be kind of like the movie Shaun of the Dead where everyone turning to zombies doesn't change people's behavior a whole lot. The mindless clerks are still mindless clerks, the people staggering down the street and still staggering down the street. How would we know there had been a change? A store employee mopped over my boots the other day while I was standing there trying to figure out why Ultraman was hawking dried fish snacks. Just mopped right over my boots, didn't look up, didn't acknowledge the act in any way. Just went on, probably mopping over other customers' feet until her shift was over and she could shove and jostle her way home through the subway probably pretending that she still had a mop in her hand. Actually carrying a mop through the Chinese subway system might not be a bad idea, kind of like a staff to part the Red Sea. Or in the case of a zombie apocalypse, the Dead Sea.

I had really been looking forward to the coming of the Rapture, and was greatly disappointed that it failed to manifest itself (again). I'd be pretty content if all the religious nuts were sucked up into the ether leaving the earth for the rest of us. Of course the Rapture would have to be pretty all-inclusive for that to happen. They'd have to take the Jesus freaks, the Muslims, the Mormons (magic underpants included), the snake handlers, and a bunch of other windbags who aren't going to get along with one another no matter how prettily the angels strum their harps. Pretty soon Paradise would look like a war zone, and earth would probably start to look pretty peaceful. I wonder if we could figure out how to get the Chinese raptured too; that would make my life a lot easier. At least I could go grocery shopping without getting my feet mopped over.

The next big thing is, of course, the zombie apocalypse. I'm looking forward to this even more than the Rapture. It's a similar concept, I guess, except that you get to partake in a lot of brain-bashing activity, which, no doubt, is good for the figure. And since it's hard to know exactly when it has begun, it's good to prepare early and stay prepared. And by prepared, I mean that you should probably have a lot of canned peaches and such. Canned-peach breath alone may be an effective deterent against zombies, but also the less you have to run to the corner grocer's, the longer you can avoid being eaten by brain-sucking creatures.

I imagine you should also have a stockpile of shovels, axes, and anything else that might have skull-bashing potential. And it's absolutely essential to be on Twitter so you can tweet any zombie activity in your neighborhood, although it's quite likely that your friends have all been zombified and won't be able to cognitively appreciate the message (and they may also have eaten their phones at this point anyway).

Of course, we could just forget about obliterating zombies and instead try to get along with one another's differing viewpoints and well,... smells, and such. Living next to a family of zombies is probably no worse than living next door to Guatemalans with machetes carving up goats in the backyard. The zombies just do the carving sans machete. And you wouldn't have to make inane conversation with strangers anymore; you could just grunt and keep shuffling along (Wait, I may do that already). Ah, if wishes were horses....

Anyway, it appears that my washing machine has been repaired (damn, that was fast), so I no longer have to blog to amuse myself. I can now go sort socks for amusement. But take care, ye careless revelers. The zombie apocalypse will come and there will be great destruction and the innards of disbelievers will be scattered in the streets. And there will be the miswielding of mops and shoving in the subways (no, wait, that's modern-day China), and demons will roam the earth and eat your brain for tea. Although, I have to say, even if I end up tearing into a live goat in my neighbor's backyard, I still wouldn't want to be raptured. I mean, seriously, who'd want to live with those freaks?

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Poor, poor blog. Poor, poor, poor blog.

Dear blog,

I'm sorry that you feel I've let you down over the past several months. It's just that with the learning of Mandarin and the thwacking of zombies, I've had little interest in recording my daily thought processes with you. Please don't feel badly about it. It's only natural that we should have tired of one another at some point. If only you had sent me flowers, or perhaps had made some small wooing gesture that caught my eye.... But, seriously, nobody reads this crap anyway.

Okay, okay, I'll make an effort going forward to record more stuff. Jesus, stop whining already.