who dat? contest:
hint: not an actual
military group
"i know"
yesterday's results:
edward albee
playwright
three tall women, who's afraid of virginia wolfe
no winners
best guess:
james taylor
a store cat's revenge
Being an animal lover, having grown up with, at various times in various numbers, cats, dogs, chickens, hamsters, guinea pigs, rats, mice, birds, rabbits, fish, and hermit crabs, I just love walking into a store, usually a book store or small bodega, and finding they have a store cat. Store cats, or shop cats, are a rare breed, not much in evidence in LA that I’ve found, but more often in New York. And despite the fact that many of the cats seem to run out and get injured or killed by cars at some point (when I was little I saw my cute Siamese run over), I think I need more store cats in my life. I don’t have any animals right now since my puppy died, but I’m starting to feel the itch – despite sad reminders of the sad fact that life comes to an end.
I heard on the radio this morning a story about a woman in New York who is suing a local chain drug store for millions of dollars. Why? Because she was scratched by their store cat – a big orange tabby named Patrick. Oh, well, that kind of sucks but I’m sure this woman must have done something bad to the cat because store cats are by definition pretty mellow. The woman goes on to say that when the cat leapt from the counter and began scratching her face (something I don’t quite see), she couldn’t fend it off because… she was holding in her arms her little yappy dog. OK lady. Go home. Put on a few band-aids and shut the fuck up. Anyone who owns a yappy dog should have their faces scratched, let alone someone who is stupid enough to bring a yappy dog into a store cat’s domain.
Any dog that you can’t leave tied to a pole, should just not exist anymore. A dog is a big lug that you roll around with and throw stuff to. A dog is not something you tuck into the crook of your arm, or put a little cardigan on, or carry around in your bicycle basket. And a dog is not something you carry into Duane Reede and step to the store cat with and say, "Look Mr. Peepers. Look at the pwiddy kitty." I’d scratch your shit too if you stuck your trembling, hat-wearing, over-bred, toy schnauzer in my face while I was busy licking my ass on top of the Nicorette display.
Meanwhile…
…I just had a 100 dollar callback. I had a callback for the Sony Play Station commercial this morning all the way out in Venice Beach. So I had to go to it first thing and ended up missing most of the morning at work. No work = no pay. On top of it, I got a $40 ticket while in there acting like a fool for the ad execs. Thing is, there were all these other cars parked illegally also, and like Sirens, they lured me to crash against the rocks of the LA parking system. I have a feeling, however, that I’ve made myself the focus of the meter people’s ire because whenever I pay a parking ticket, I write in the memo section: FACIST L.A. PARKING SYSTEM. Perhaps that’s not such a good idea.
Elsewhere…
…my dance card is rapidly filling up and I’m feeling a bit frazzled. Not only am in the editing room constantly working on my short, but I’m working a full-time job (well, "working"), writing 2 screenplays, auditioning, and reading scripts for extra money – not to mention trying to hold a relationship together, and see friends occasionally. Additionally, I have rehearsals for Twelfth Night starting up soon, I’m going up to Berkeley in a week for my oldest friend’s wedding, then the next week I’m going to see my sister and then hang in a cabin in Northern Minnesota for a while, then I have to organize and attend another friend’s bachelor party in Vegas, then the next weekend fly again back up to Berkeley for his wedding. I also have 2 friends who’ve just moved down here and I feel like I have to show them around. Throw in my daily trips to the methadone clinic, my relief pitching stints for the Dodgers, and the hours I spend in my car parked across from elementary schools masturbating, and you’re talking a busy guy.
This is where I let Larry
King take over my body for a few minutes.