spectacular spectacles
GOOD MORNING, TREASONOUS FRUIT
The first sentence I spoke yesterday morning happened to be: “Why must you be so disobedient?” I spoke it to a banana, at 5 am, alone in my kitchen. The banana was proving difficult to peel and I dropped it with my sleepy fumblefingers and it was just generally very frustrating. I am not sure what prompted such a sentence, though, except that I am reading Bring Up The Bodies and maybe I was just ready to pack any recalcitrant, back-talking banana off to the Tower.
GOOD AFTERNOON, JOB-SEEKER
Later I was waiting at a bus stop and this disheveled guy asked me for directions. Kind of. In a way.
Disheveled Guy: Excuse me, miss? Do you know where there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts?
Me: Uh…there’s one over on Kedzie.
DG: Is it across from a Walgreen’s?
Me: No.
DG: I’m looking for a Dunkin’ Donuts that is, like, kitty-corner from a Walgreen’s. The cross street is…something with a K? Or a K and an R? Like…Krustner? Kastner? Kramwell?
Me: Sorry, none of those are around here. If they exist.
[In my head: Krokodil? Kraken? Kreplach? Krusty Krab? Kryptonite? Why aren’t I in charge of naming streets?]
DG: Aw, damn it. Do you have a phone?
[In my head: Yes.]
Me: No.
DG: See, I’m supposed to be at a job interview at this Dunkin’ Donuts. I was supposed to be there like a half hour ago. It’s like on some kind of street that starts with a K. And it’s across from a Walgreen’s. Or, like, near a Walgreen’s. I think that’s what they said.
Me: Sorry, I can’t think of where that would be.
DG: Okay, thanks anyway.
[pause]
DG: I’m probably not getting that job, huh?
Me: Yeah, I don’t think you are.
You have to vaguely admire someone who jumps on a train with a half-remembered destination in mind, and then proceeds to sort of crowdsource/feel his way toward a job interview at a doughnut shop. You also have to be happy that you are not the manager of a doughnut shop, and that you are not continually scheduling and conducting interviews with such people.
GOOD LUCK, MESSED-UP CAT
We took Rocko cat, aka The Guy With Problems, to the vet for a routine check and rabies shot, and of course all who view Rocko need to have Rocko explained to them. Why does he bite all the fur off his belly or legs? Why does he shake and shiver and twitch? Well we don’t know. In the past vets have been like, “Whatever, you’ve got a weird one” and we have moved on, except for a brief run with topical Prozac. But now the vet thinks he has arthritis in his hips and possibly a poorly understood cat nerve disorder, so we have new and different medications to try.
First there was some injectable buprenorphine. This is something people get when they are trying to get off smack. (But unlike methadone, which is usually given under direct observation at a clinic, you often get to take bupe home. So Rocko is a more trustworthy, higher-class version of an opiate addict I guess.) Now we are going to try gabapentin, which is one of those drugs that seem to be used off-label for a bewildering variety of things (seizures AND chronic pain AND migraine AND restless leg syndrome, etc etc). Liver-flavored, chewable gabapentin, which I ordered over the phone from a very nice Texan upon reaching the “call the cat pharmacy” section of my to-do list. Oh what a glamorous life I lead.
Mr Rocko Cat seemed much better on the injectable H, but then who wouldn’t be. I held him in my lap while LT handled the shooting up, and then we would croon a soothing rendition of “Needle in the Hay” and just let the cat nod out and enjoy himself. No overgrooming since, so fingers crossed that new drug will have the same success. Wouldn’t it be nice if Rocko had fur? He would be a very handsome man.
—mimi smartypants meow meow meow cat drugs.