Proceed with caution, Vogon poetry ahead.

In honor of the forthcoming (opening today, in fact) "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" movie, I have composed a little poetry for your reading (dis)pleasure.

As I have already issued a warning, you may proceed as you choose.

Flatulence and Death

See, see the cratch sky
Marvel at its big aubergine depths.
Tell me, you smag, do you
Wonder
why the vulture ignores you?
Why its foobly stare makes you feel snerly.
I can tell you,
It is worried by your filkot facial growth
That looks like
A rotting parsnip.
What's more, it knows
Your rutch potting shed
Smells of peas.
Everything under the big cratch sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You only charm dilges.

I'll have some revulsion with my martini.

Saturday afternoon, after hours of walking around and being productive, I decided to sit and have a beer and relax with a friend of mine at the local watering hole.

We had a clear view of the bar and looked on with interest as the following took place (we could also very hear very clearly, as well.)

You see, a waitress came to pick up two martinis for some customers and noticed something in one of them.

"Hold on." The bartender looked closer.
He then picked up a straw and performed a minor surgery on the drink by suctioning up whatever 'it' was using the straw and his forefinger and depositing it on the counter.

"Ew. What is that!?" The waitress peered down closely.

"Is it still alive?" Bartender queried after the health of what I believe must have been a fly.
"Oh, well" he decided quickly, "It won't kill 'em."

And with that, the waitress whisked the drinks off to the unsuspecting patrons. *

The bartender looked up and saw us staring at him in disbelief.
"You didn't see anything."

Uh...


*I always suspected things like that happened, but I really didn't expect it to be so BLATANT!
I mean, shouldn't the removing of flies from a customers drink be masked by a sleight of hand trick or a little subterfuge or something?
At least go into the kitchen to remove the body, geez!!!

Last night, I died.

Yes, it's true.

I was engaged on a mission to take over a ship from the enemy, and in my state of high stress, I shot and killed a compatriot.

As I looked on in horror, he fell to the ground, and I saw one of my other team members turn and shot at me.
I realized it was the proper punishment for taking another's life, so I stood, one hand in the air, the other clutching my machine gun, and waited for the bullet.

It entered my eye and ended my life.

I was a ghost over the sea for a few moments before I awoke in a cold sweat.

I've heard that dreams about your own death are actually signs of imminent renewal in your waking life, so I guess I'll just keep my fingers crossed.

I don't think any of my team members here at work actually know how to shoot a gun anyway.

Besides, they're more prone to stab me in the back.

Jazz in a small cozy room.

I went and saw some sublime jazz Saturday night.

http://www.redholloway.com/

Sheer brilliance.
And while 'Red' Halloway is a saxophonist who's abilities are honed from years and years of playing, I have to admit that it was the stand up bass that really had me swooning.

Love that low, sultry sound.

Stain...Saint...it's all the same to me!

I guess when someone said there's a big salt STAIN on a concrete wall under the Kennedy Expressway in Chicago, everyone thought they said SAINT.

It's an easy mistake to make.

Thus, there are hundreds of devote and faithful flocking down there to leave flowers and light candles, and to pray at the foot of this enormous salt stain which dripped down from the highway above.
They seem to think it looks like Mary.

So, when's the next bus to Chicago?

Um...what just happened there?

She looked like a sweet little old lady.
But I’m very concerned that I’ve done something terribly wrong.
You see, yesterday as I walked back to my car after paying for my gas, a darling old woman approached me and we began a very strange conversation.

“Hello dearie, did you pay first?” She asked, looking up at me. (And yes, she really DID say 'dearie'.)

I looked down, an unusual occurrence for my 5’3” height, and saw her.

“Um, pay first?” I asked, not sure what she was referring to.

“Yes, do you have to pay for the gas first?” She repeated, her voice sweet, kind, and a little shaky from long years of use.

“Oh, no. You can go ahead and start putting gas in your car and then pay when you’re done.”

“Ah, but I did have to pay here first, once.” She smelled gently of Crabtree and Evelyn talcum powder, her hair carefully coiffed and a pale shade of pink lipstick on her lips.

“That’s possible. But usually that’s after dark.” I was walking back to my car as we spoke, and she tagged along.

Her car was parked behind mine, and I began to get the feeling that she might need some help pumping her gas, so I went to her car to assist.

“Oh, thank you. Just $10 please.” She was staring carefully as the numbers whizzed by.
At ten dollars, I stopped and replaced the nozzle and re-capped her tank, and said, “There you go. Now you can pay.”

“I hope I don’t get caught.” She grabbed at my arm conspiratorially and lowered her voice.

“Caught?” Pardon me?

“I’m not supposed to have…I shouldn’t be driving.” She started and stopped, looking around suspiciously.

“Well,” I laughed, “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Those people at ICBC, three times I went in there…” She trailed off, pulling her cardigan close over her rounded shoulders.

“But, the last time was in March,” she continued, “I had to, I didn’t have food in the house for months!”

“uh…” How did this conversation spin so oddly?

“Oh, yes, but now I know that Safeway will deliver.” She nodded wisely to herself.

“Okay, well, don’t go speeding around now. Be safe.” I said, sounding like a fool.

“That’s okay, they won’t catch me.” I pretty sure I didn’t want to hear that from her.

As she made her way to the store to pay for her gas, she turned, waved and coyly pressed a single finger to her lips.

At least, I think she was going in to pay.

Who knows...perhaps the minute my back was turned she held up the store, jumped into her stolen(?) car and raced away on ten dollars worth of gas to the nearest Safeway to stock up for her great escape.

Maybe I should have taken down her license plate number.

Not much to report...

...oh, except 'stupid idiot boy' ran his Ferrari into the back end of some ladies car so hard the other day that her tail pipe came off and stuck in his hood like some deranged unicorn caricature.

And "The Lesson" for today?

Sometimes bad things happen to nice cars.

(There's a lesson in there about Karma too, somewhere. See if you can find it.)

Benedict the 16th, eh?

Quite the big kurfuffle over the new pope.

"OOOH, the smoke is BLACK!"
"No no, that's definitely white!!"
"uh..I think it's kinda gray, don't you?

I realize that it's a tradition, but it just doesn't seem to work that well.
Mind you, it's my understanding that the Catholic Church is run on archaic, out dated 'traditions'.. like putting the kibosh on condoms. *

I wonder what Benedict is going to be like.
Wonder if he'll be a hard-liner and really start enforcing the religious policies, or if he'll take a more modern approach.

The modern approach has MY vote.

*There is no way that could be a good idea.

Po' Girl

I've never seen anyone play a washtub before, but WOW!

What an great band!
A little Ani DeFranco-ish and whole lot of their very own original sound.

http://www.pogirl.net/bio.html

Check 'em out, they sound great!

The apology to Mr. Satriani still stands.

Those tickets I was mentioning...turned out I judged stupid idiot boy to harshly.

He DID send them, yeah, he really did...at 6:30 at night to my work e-mail.

So I did get them.

Yup, at 7:45...THE NEXT MORNING!!!

Way to go, dude.

Please forgive me, Mr. Satriani.

Dear Mr. Satriani,
I'm really sorry I missed your show on Wednesday night, Joe. (Can I call you Joe?)

I was waiting for my EX, also known as "stupid idiot boy", to send tickets to me over my e-mail as a thank you for looking after his cat. (see my last e-mail regarding my "recently-returned-to-me-on-a-temporary-cat-sitting-basis-cat").
But he never did.

So, Joe...I guess we won't meet this time around.
I DID see your wicked guitar talented self a few years back, but I was sitting with a different boyfriend at the time, so any chance of our meeting was null then, too.

Anyhoo...please accept my apologies for having ever dated such an inconsiderate lout.

And please, don't hold it against me next time you're in town and we finally meet and fall madly in love and you are crushed to learn that another man kept me from your arms all those years ago.

Yours in sorrow and rage,
Tai

p.s. I doubt we'll ever fall in love Joe, that hat just looks goofy!
http://www.satriani.com/2004/

p.p.s. The hat in no way affects my respect my awe at your talent however. Just so you know.

p.p.p.s That shade of skin blue is a little dodgy, too.

What ever happened to natural instincts?

I recently got my cat back after 7 years (that all by itself is a long story).
However, this is not about the events leading up to the return of my little cat, but about what is currently going on in my apartment.

You see...
I already HAVE a cat.
Bentley is a large 20 pound 14 year old male (hey! he is NOT fat!)

Attessa (the recent re-acquisition) is a teeny 5 pound 8 year old female.
They knew each other many years ago when she was but a wee kitten.

Now, she's back and she is behaving very...like a cat I guess.
She alternates between hiding underneath the bed in the deepest darkest recesses as if I was going to flay her and eat her alive, to parading around my apartment hissing and growling (quite meanly, I might add) at Bentley.
Rather ungrateful I think.

But what I find really strange is Bentley's reaction to the whole thing.
Which would be no reaction.
None.
Zip.

She hisses and growls and acts all aggressive at him and he sits there calmly and looks at her as if she were mad.

He doesn't mind sharing his food, the bed OR his litter box.

Sometimes, while she's cowering behind the couch, he'll go looking for her. Once he's ascertained where she is though, he goes back to whatever he was doing (lounging or eating usually), and pretends she doesn't actually exist.

I thought that natural instinct dictated that he freak out and get territorial and spit and hiss and generally act pissed off about the little bitchy cat that has invaded his space.
Instead, he takes everything in with great calmness and resides regally over his space.

He's confident, I suppose, with the fact that if he WANTED, he could kick her ass and chuck her off the balcony.

The fact remains however, that he's not behaving like a normal cat.
Which, really, is why I love him so very much.