...Not the kind of wheel you fall asleep at...

This is Why


I know that people often don't quite understand why I care so much and get so upset about the shit that we do and the way we treat animals in our society, and, despite all the thinking I do on the topic, I don't yet understand it 100% myself. But upon rereading Franny & Zooey, strangely enough, I'm starting to pinpoint it with a bit more clarity, so I feel the desire to tackle an explanation a bit more. For those of you sick of hearing me "rant and rave" and proselytize about animal rights issues, I urge you to read on because there will be none of that in here, believe me.

Adopting my cats (who are also aptly named Franny and Zooey) has also helped me clarify why animals are such a big issue to me as well. Those of you who have or have had pets and have had the pleasure of feeling hopelessly in love with them, who've felt a helpless and untainted adoration and love pour out of you towards your pets, can probably understand a bit more why this is. When you love an animal, it is a completely different kind of love than you will probably ever feel towards anyone else, not in a Chicken Soup for the Soul kind of way, but in a pure and uncomplicated way that is impossible to feel towards another human being (except in rare and tiny bursts). I say this not to slight the kind of love humans share with one another, of course. But those of you who've had pets and loved them know that it is a completely different type of love.

Why is that? Simply put, it is because animals are not humans. They do not judge, they do not criticize, they do not make you feel like shit about yourself, they do not deceive, they do not hurt, they do not kill for the fun of it, they do not fail us in the way that other humans can and do. They just live and love, as long as you treat them well.

Animals exist in a pure sort of way that we (perhaps unlucky) humans will never know. They possess a purity of soul and spirit that stems from the fact that they function only as they know how to function—they love if you provide for them, they hurt if you beat them, and they do what it is they're meant to do, without a thought, without a second guess. As I am writing this, strangely enough, some marine biologist on television who is talking about sharks has put into words exactly what I mean—"They're exactly what they're meant to be." Perhaps it is just "instinct," but whatever it is, unlike humans, it is untainted; animals exist with a purity of action, of intent, of living, uncomplicated and unfettered by all the ugliness that possesses us as human beings.

I don't believe in a God, but I do believe in a goodness in the world, a kind of underground stream that feeds everything, even if the nourishment it provides may not always be apparent. And be it a God or a "goodness" that you believe in, animals come closest to that in spirit. If you were to strip all the ugly, hateful things that you despise out of your world—greed, jealousy, the deliberate infliction of pain, hatred, deceit, torture—you'd have before you goodness, correct? Well, animals are not bound by any of these evils (except when we, who possess these things bountifully, inflict it upon them). And in that, they are pure in spirit in a way that we will never know. In them, I see "goodness" in its most pure and simple form.

But us fucked up human beings have horded all these other evils, stuffing ourselves full with them, all in a bizarre and alleged plight towards "goodness." Yes, we could never live "purely" in the way that animals do, perhaps because we use our reasoning abilities and intellect in a different sort of way than they do. But instead of recognizing and cherishing their purity of spirit, the "goodness" so inherent within them, we destroy it in the most ugly ways possible in our quest to attain just that, as though we are desperately jealous that they possess that which we cannot ourselves possess and so we must destroy it.

When people talk about the despair they feel when they start believing that ugliness is taking over all the goodness in the world, there is no clearer example or symbol of this despair to me than the relationship between humans and animals. If you've ever seen a cat or dog sleep, if you've ever seen any animal sleep (that is not in fear for its life), you've most likely looked upon them with envy, picturing how unfettered their dreams must be and maybe even remarking upon how peaceful they seem. I can honestly say that I have never felt more at peace or more purely happy than when I've watched my cats sleep—it is like tapping into their purity of spirit. This peacefulness comes from the fact that they are untainted by all the ugly things that make us human. And it is we who inflict all ugliness upon them. It is we who taint the world around us. It is we who torture, who inflict pain and suffering, who kill with nothing like "instinct" to shuffle the blame upon.

This is why I get so upset, so vehement, so extremely sickened when I see the way we treat animals with absolutely no regard, with no thought to their pain. Animals are a symbol to me of all that has risen above the ugliness in this world. They are a symbol of the good, of a purity of spirit, of "love," and when I see the way we treat them, it makes me feel a loss of hope. I don't excuse the ugliness between humans, nor do I find pleasure in it. But I can at least understand it because we bring it on ourselves. But what do animals do that is deserving of such ugliness? Seeing it inflicted upon them makes me feel that the ugliness is winning and squashing out and destroying the final faint glimmers of pure and untainted goodness around us, both metaphorically and literally. Our treatment of animals is, to me, hopelessness manifest. It is a symbol to me of how this country snuffs out everything pure and hopeful and destroys it, in the ugliest and most horrific ways possible.

So when I screech and holler and grow "disgusted" with people over their meat-eating habits and their lack of concern for the animals involved, it is not because I feel superior to them. It is not because I look down upon them. It is, of course, because animals don't deserve the gratuitous infliction of pain we thrust upon them; but it is also because I am afraid that the disregard for animals that so many of the people I love possess is also the snuffing out of their final glimpses of hopefulness, of goodness, of purity and understanding. I see in meat-eating a loss of hope, a bowing down to futility, a complacency, a despair, an indifference, a defeat. And it scares the shit out of me to see this in the people I love. I fear it is the manifestation of these people succumbing to the hopelessness and ugliness in the world around us. I want to shout and shake the people I love and scream, Don't fucking give in! Don't give in to the petty ugliness of the world without a fight, goddammit! Because it is when we stop caring and hoping and wanting better that the ugliness is able to swallow us whole.

So when I sound crazed, when I sound "preachy," when I sound like I'm up on my high horse, it's simply because I'm trying desperately not to lose hope that there are good things in the world and that they can stay that way. I want to avoid contributing to this ugliness--how can I resent it, how can I complain about it, when I'm only helping it reign over this country? My passion with this topic is just me holding on, desperately, to hope. And it is me trying to shake a glimmer of hope, of realization, into the people around me.

There is beauty and goodness in this world, goddammit, and I don't want it to give in without a fight.



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Inept


So one of the guys who works at the shitty corner store at the end of my street seems to have a little thing for me and likes to flirt with me whenever I go in there.

However, I never quite realize he's flirting until about ten minutes after I've left the store, since he's rather charmingly inept at it. Listening to him flirt is kinda like listening to someone butcher a really bad joke and then having them need to explain to you why it's funny because you're just sitting there looking kinda puzzled once they're all done telling it to you. There's always way more details and words involved than necessary, making the train of thought way more confusing than anything else. So while most guys verge on irritating and/or threatening when they're coming on to you, his flirtation comes across as painfully harmless, leaving me wanting to just pet him on the head and say, "You're SOOOO bad at flirting, dude."

Case in point:

The other week when it was ridiculously and swelteringly hot, I busted in to pick up a 6-pack of beer, and he waited on me as I was leaving. As he rang me up, I commented on how much fricking cooler it was inside the store than it was outside, letting out a sigh of relief and appreciation.

His response:

"Yeah, it got really warm in here when you came in, but once you leave, it should cool down again."

I kind of half-smiled at him in response, thinking all the while, Damn, that was kinda rude. It's not my fault that I have to open the door to come in and leave and that it lets some of the warm air inside when I do so. I mean, he should just be thankful I'm BUYING shit from them, etc. etc.

About twenty minutes later, while I was sitting on my couch, drinking a beer and groggily zombie-ing out in front of some lame-ass television show or another, I was thwopped in the head with the sudden realization: "He was trying to say you're hot, doofus." Ahhhh--duh.

Point being: Boys, if you're gonna use really cliche pick-up lines, use them as ineptly as possible. It cuts the irritatingness in half at worst, and we'll be a lot less likely to roll our eyes and grip tightly at the pepper-spray hidden in our pockets.



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It smells inexplicably like cotton candy at work today.

This would be a lot cooler if it wasn't giving me the false hope that FUN is lurking somewhere right around the corner.



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The Language of Laundry, aka The Dance of Despair


Mundaneness of all mundanities (I have no clue whether either of those are actual words NOR DO I CARE), I decided to suck it up and do some laundry yesterday, which does not happen often. So around 1 in the afternoon, I dragged my laundry bag down to the laundry-room of the back house. There were loads of laundry in both the washer and dryer, so I figured I'd just leave my big mound of clothes there in a basket to show that I am next in line, and I headed back to my apartment to patiently wait until they were done with their loads to start my own.

1:45, I go back, and THEY'VE STARTED ANOTHER LOAD, despite my shit sitting there.

Fine. Folks have multiple loads to do--they got started already and just wanted to finish it up. I understand.

3:00, AND THERE'S STILL MORE (AND NEW) LAUNDRY IN THE MACHINES!

Now, I am an impatient fucker. I acknowledge that fact. People should bow down to my schedule and stay the hell outta my way. It makes me cranky if they fail to do so. But I'm *trying* to take deep breaths and not toss a broken ink-pen in with their load, seeing as I'M CLEARLY WAITING AND HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR A WHILE.

I continue to breathe deep and just decide I'll wait until 5:30 to return and hopefully they'll be all done by then.

5:30 I return, and their laundry is sitting in both the washer and dryer doing absolutely nothing. 6:30 I return and their laundry is sitting in the washer and dryer doing absolutely nothing. 7:30, and I'm writing a nasty fucking note out on a piece of paper telling them that they're not the only goddamn people who need to wash clothes and maybe they should at least KEEP AN EYE ON WHEN THEIR LAUNDRY IS GONNA BE DONE so that it's not just sitting there, taking up space, when other people could be using the machines.

7:31, I go to leave the note, but Laundry Asshole is apparently down there fiddling with their laundry. So I leave before entering the basement as to avoid confrontation and give them 15 minutes to get the fucking hell out.

7:45, I return and they have a load in the dryer but ALLELUJAH PRAISE JESUS the washer is empty. So I run back to the house and nab a load of towels and sheets to toss in, along with a small rug that needed a good washing. There is no way in hell I'm gonna be able to do more than one load tonight, given the snail's-pace of the dryer, so I figure I'll get the big shit done with.

8:30, my timer goes off, so I go to check and see if they're done with the dryer so I can transfer my clothes. The dryer is still going and there are a pile of someone else's clothes angrily sitting ON TOP OF the washing machine that my clothes have just finished swishing around in. Had they written FUCK YOU in their own shit on the machine, the message wouldn't have been any clearer.

Mind you, THEY HAD TRANSFERRED THEIR WET CLOTHES TO THE DRYER AND LEFT THE WASHER EMPTY--the unspoken rule of laundry (everyone knows this) is when you TRANSFER your wet stuff, you THROW IN ANOTHER LOAD TO WASH if you're planning on washing it. You don't sit around and pick your ass and let your wet shit joyfully dry while you eat your own feces and pick your pimples and THEN decide to throw another load of laundry into the wash. Needless to say, I am pissed by this unnecessary message, especially since they've been monopolizing the machines for EIGHT F-ING HOURS at this point. Who in god's name does laundry for EIGHT GODDAMN HOURS? I mean, seriously.

9:00, I check back and the dryer is still going, and I am fed up, so I remove all my wet sheets and towels from the dryer to carry back to my house and let air dry. I jam the angry clothes half onto the dusty-ass top of the dryer and half on the top of the washer, smirking when I notice that a chunk of some fabric of some clothing is half-jammed under the lid. Fuck me? FUCK YOU, MOTHERFUCKER. Yeah, that's what that laundry's saying.

11:00, I grab one of my half-dry towels as I get out of the shower and rub my face with it, only to realize that I am smearing massive quantities of cat-hair all over my skin. Had I picked up Zooey or Franny and just rubbed them all over my face, the effect wouldn't've been much different. Apparently the cat-hair-laden rug that I washed has gotten hair all over the remainder of my towels which will need to be rewashed. As I stand upstairs, toweling myself off with my only dry towel (which happens to be a hand-towel, of course) I grin evilly, finding pleasure in the fact that Laundry Asshole's final load is probably completely coated with cat hair.

I have the last laugh, and it sounds much like this: Ha ha ha ha ha.

Fuck me, Laundry Asshole? Fuck you.



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The week is somehow much more tolerable when you have plans on the weekend to gorge on vegan barbecue and sip mint juleps while reading and listening to Mark Twain.



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My Favorite Billboard on the PA Turnpike


Call (XXX)XXX-XXXX
For More Information on Vasectomy-Reversal

Because as a male, driving home on the turnpike, I'd imagine you'd get to thinking, Man, you know, I really think I wanna start getting the ladies all sorts of pregnant again! I wonder who I could call about that?



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It is sad when the gross stench of a bathroom can make you wax nostalgic.

Ahhh Michfest porta-janes. *sniffle*



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Personal Ads for My Cats


Zooey




Likes:

  • Running around screaming while playing with her screaming ball.

  • Piston-pawing my throat at 4am (with very sharp claws).

  • Making everyone nervous by perching on the very edge of the rooftop when we go outside.

  • Sleeping as close to my face as possible.

  • Sebastian the groundhog.

  • Eating ribbons and then throwing them back up.

  • Sniffing Franny's butt.

  • Wrestling.

  • Throwing up.


Dislikes:

  • When Franny butts-in on whatever game we're playing.


Franny




Likes:

  • Eating midges.

  • Walking around making monkey noises so that I'll play with her before going to bed.

  • Chasing flying bugs that manage to get into the house.

  • Begging me to pet her, but *only* when we're on the roof.

  • Running out full-speed onto the exposed beams about 10-feet above my living room.

  • Doing skateboarding moves when attacking things.

  • Sniffing Zooey's butt.

  • Wrestling.

  • Sniffing the stink-pole.

  • Eating.


Dislikes:

  • Being pet.

  • Being picked up.

  • Being looked at too closely.


(Clearly, I just wanted an excuse to post their pictures. Though I'm guessing you already figured that out.)



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Grapes and Fanning and Those See-Through Genie-Pants


The top 5 in your own personal harem! GO!



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I had a dream this weekend that I was sitting outdoors at a restaurant with some friends and it was snowing big fluffy white flakes. All of the sudden, the snowflakes all froze mid-descent, and everyone sitting outside looked around with awe and wonder at them. And then, just like that, they began to fall again. It was like a strange blip in the time-space continuum that a select few of us had the opportunity to share. It was strange and quite lovely.

I also had a dream that I was totally getting it on with a blond chick in thigh-high fishnets while my feller watched. Yes yes.



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TURN ON YOUR TELEVISION!


Admittedly, I hate advertising for television, but as I've mentioned before, I'm smitten with The Office, and tonight they are airing the four funniest episodes. So if you're sitting around on your ass, dare I say it--TURN ON THAT TELEVISION!!!--and check it out if you haven't already been introduced to the show (8pm-10pm).

And for those who didn't see the final episode of the season but are curious as to why I'm such a dork about the unfolding love-story, you can can catch the climax here and see what I mean about it being well-done:

Check it out


Yes, I am a big nerdy romantic girl. But only every once in a while. *Scratching balls*



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Ain't nothing like returning home from a nice, sweaty 16-hour day to find that you have no cold water, only scalding, skin-meltingly hot H(2)O, and having to squat in your tub and sponge-bathe yourself out of a half-full pitcher of cold water that (thankfully) was sitting in the back of your fridge. Woot fucking woot.



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