Mr Benchly

Trivia Night Recap

As the Wednesday sun set, and Trivia Night loomed,
we Hotties were prepared for another game doomed
from the start. I joined two regulars, Eric and Tara,
and welcomed back Adam, who stood in for Sarah
(and I have to point out, that as we entered the bar, a
calm, yet purposeful, Tara said, “actually, it’s Tara”).
The four of us Hotties had little hope for the night,
despite our team name: Luck Be a Hottie Tonight.
But as Jen delivered the first questions sugar-coated with fate
our team was clearly starting strong out of the gate.

And at the end of the round, though we feared the worst,
we had a perfect score and were tied for first!
But our spirits were crushed with the spirit-crushing sound
of Jen’s announcement: Science and Nature was the next round.
But as swiftly as they fell, our spirits then rose,
at the realization that our visiting friend Adam knows
all there is to know about science (and nature too!)
and so with confidence and knowledge we attacked that Round 2.
At the end of the round, we had every answer but one.
Our luck seemed to be fading, and with it our fun.
But then, with more confidence than a matador facing a mule,
Adam leaned in to the group and said, “the answer is Joule!”
And when the answers were read, and you could hear a pin drop,
our score was still perfect and we were alone at the top.
Heading into the Round 3, our strongest round by far,
we IDed all but two pictures: the old guy and the star.
Eric and I agreed that “Chris” was the star’s first name,
and we could name all his movies, some great and some lame,
and just when it seemed we would never shake this picture stupor,
Eric saved the day by shouting out “Cooper!”
And though we guessed Cooledge when it was actually Ford,
Luck Be a Hottie Tonight remained at the top of the scoreboard.
And then a trivia darkness fell, as is so often the case
and Miscellaneous promptly kicked us off the winning pace.
Maybe we would have done better if for another minute we stalled?
But who, for the love of god, knows what the Ouija Board pointer is called?
And how were we to know when they invented barbed wire?
If you told me that you knew, I would have called you a liar.
So at the end of Round 4, with our wounds still bleeding,
we found ourselves 2 points behind the team that was leading,
and staring stone-faced, like someone who’s seen a ghost,
into the demon eyes of the round we hate most.
But then the Music Round started with a Christmas carol gong:
We didn’t have to name the artist, only the song!
Despite our holiday luck, though, we were still short one answer
and our dreams were fading like those of a no-rhythm dancer.
But, it seems, Luck Be a Hottie Tonight was more than a name;
it was also providing foreshadow for the game
because just then, Megan arrived and to keep our team alive she
confidently answered, “The Holly and the Ivy!”
Now we were still two points back, with two rounds to go,
but our lucky night continued when Jen told us “no
Vermont trivia tonight, instead, it’s Hawaii.”
And I said, “No Vermont Trivia!!! Oh my! We
might just have a chance before this night is through!
Let’s hope that we do the best that we can do!”
With newfound confidence, and some “WannaHockALoogie” jokes,
we proved we knew the most about those Hawaiian blokes.
We almost got “Mele Kalikamaka” and so Jen gave us partial credit
and because we nailed the other six, we didn’t let it
get to us. Instead, we prepared ourselves for the thrilling final round,
only a half point out of first, and quickly gaining ground.
We knew the stakes of the round, and what had to be done:
Do one better than the first place team and then we’ve finally won.
So as Jen played different versions of the carol Jingle Bells
Our fate rested on the identity of the owner of the yells
in the very very heavy metal version of the song;
a name that we should have said all along.
Oh! somewhere in this favored land, people take their meds;
Korn is playing somewhere while Korn fans bang their heads;
And somewhere men are laughing and a child flies a kite;
But there is no joy in Hottieville, Luck was not a Hottie Tonight.

"Get Up, Everybody, and Sing!"

I spent yesterday trying to shake a migraine that has, unfortunately, carried over into today. The headache was the result of a combination of events and nonevents from this weekend:

1. My acceptance of an invitation by some friends to a local bar’s karaoke night Saturday;
2. My consumption of a handful of alcoholic drinks; and
3. My foolishness, before bed, in forgetting to take the “Anti-Hangover Medicine”: two Advils and a tall glass of water.

But I’ll be the first one to admit that my hangover was well worth the sight and slightly worth the sound of my friend singing a rousing rendition of “We Are Family.” For future reference, this friend will be known as Jay Peak, for his tongue-in-cheek desire to climb said mountain. Jay Peak nailed the first two lines of the chorus that everyone knows (“We are family. I got all my sisters with me”) and then resorted to a sad but, albeit high-quality, spoken-word delivery of the verses.

Sitting there listening to Jay Peak perform, with CAT on one side of me, and Montana Girl on the other, I was reminded of a conversation I had with Montana Girl a few months ago, in which she introduced me to the idea of an Urban Tribe, a concept she learned of in a book she had just finished (Urban Tribes: A Generation Redefines Friendship, Family, and Commitment” by Ethan Watters). Stated far too simply, the book analyzes the “white, upper-middle class, post-college, yet-to-be-married (ages 25-39) residents of bohemian garrets who host great New Year’s Eve parties and travel en masse to the New Orleans Jazz Festival.” At its heart, the book describes our generation’s establishment of the “Urban Tribe,” a “rotating network of friends and acquaintances that covers all functions formerly served by the traditional family, thus eliminating the need for marriage and intimacy.”

At first, I didn’t put much stock in this book and its core theory because I viewed the book as just another lame attempt by a member of my generation to turn a profit by trying to explain my increasingly inexplicable generation. But then I thought about it and my life and realized that like it or not, the author’s on to something.

While I often complain that all of my friends are falling victim to the desperation of a married life, truth be told, with few exceptions, the great majority of my friends are in their late 20s and unmarried. Whether by choice or heartache, here we are, legally unattached and desperately seeking Susan…or that all elusive boy named “Sue.” We’re constantly using our get-togethers to define who we are by not only the things we do, but also by the people with whom we do these things. Because if we know who we are, we are more apt to know what we want, and if we know what we want, maybe one day we’ll find it, and until we find it, we’ll have our fun. And what are these things we do?:

1. Game Nights – My Urban Tribe has started to resemble an advertisement for Hasbro. And believe me, I’m not complaining.
2. TV/Movie Nights – Honestly, who here in the last year, hasn’t spent at least one night a week, every week or month with friends, devoted to watching SOMETHING on TV?
3. Book Clubs – We love to read, yes, but it’s the monthly meetings we crave.
4. Knitting/Cooking/Wine/etc. clubs – see explanation for #3.
5. Holiday/birthday parties – I used to think the only parties ever thrown were the Chucky Cheese ones for kids; the slumber party ones for teenagers; the “we really want to be wife-swapping but I guess we’ll have these boring PTA and babysitting horror story conversations instead” parties for our parents; and the birthday cake-card-and-hug ones for our immediate families. And then I hit my mid-20s and suddenly, everyone’s throwing a party for everyone else. It’s just a guess, but I think all of the world’s major problems would have been solved in the last 5 years if my generation had devoted as much attention to the problems as it did to celebrating everything else.
6. Other – Just the other day, I was invited by Montana Girl’s Urban Tribe to participate in Christmas caroling up and down Burlington’s Church Street. Evidently, this is an annual thing for them, as is their viewing of A Charlie Brown Christmas (see also #2).

Did you notice something? A theme maybe? Aside from the fact that they’re all designed in order to make us feel included in the world, if there’s one other trait all of these activities have in common, it’s got to be their recurring nature. We leave each activity assuming there will be a next. And it seems, that is where the genius of this Urban Tribe idea can be found. In the absence of the security and comfort that was handed to us in our childhood by our traditional family, we’ve created these new families that are as stable and loving as can possibly be.

And so, while attempting to plan a February URT to New Orleans with Ms. Parker, True, and Ms. Scharf (though not for the Jazz Festival) and while simultaneously planning this year’s New Year’s Eve festivities (which will be spent with, at the very least, Mia Wallace; and at the very most, Mia, Sarah the L, Mr. Mikes, and a few more unnicknamed friends; but not with my immediate family, who, incidentally, will all be in town), I’ve come to the realization that although my traditional family still has an important place in my life and always will, my Urban Tribe has taken on a much larger role as of late. And I’m OK with that. Because, in the karaoked words of Jay Peak, “we are family!”

Hello, darkness, my old friend

11:30 a.m.
I’m at work right now and I can’t concentrate, which, in all honesty, is nothing new. But this time, I have a good excuse: it’s currently snowing the absolutely largest snowflakes I have ever seen in my life. This is how it’s supposed to look on Christmas and yet, 12 days before Christmas as I sit in my dusty cubicle staring outside the nearby window, I fear I’ll never see snow as gorgeous as the snow falling right now.

12:25 p.m.
I just returned from my daily walk with CP. Some highlights:

1. As of the completion of this walk, CP and I remain tied in the competition for the BSA title (Best Snowball Aim). In the first throw, she nailed the tree dead on while I missed wide left. In the second throw, I lofted a beautifully-made, lightweight, super-gripper snowball into a narrow tree 75 feet away and CP followed off with a nervously-thrown snowball that fell well short of the target. Her performance adds fuel to the critics’ speculation that she can’t handle the pressure. We’ll see how well she handles herself in the second round.

2. A few minutes later, CP took out her BSA frustrations by “accidentally” nailing me in the crotch with a snowball.

3. We whistled, hummed, and clapped our way through Sleigh Ride. Much fun was had by all.

4. I tried to no avail to describe my favorite holiday commercial: the Old Navy Christmas carolers and, specifically, the cute “By the way (point point), your mom says hi (wave, wave, wave)!” girl. CP wasn’t impressed.

1:45 p.m.
I just returned from a quick conversation with Sarah the L at her desk. Here’s how the conversation played out:

Mr. Benchly – Should I call the Enterprise woman? Or has too much time passed?
Sarah the L – I don’t know. Has too much time passed? You could always say, “I tried calling you Friday but you weren’t in the office.”
Mr. Benchly – I could. But has the moment passed? (And then, quoting a song from the Broadway play Into the Woods…) “This was just a moment in the woods…may I rent your car?”

That last joke will only be funny to those who realize that the original quote was “This was just a moment in the woods…may I kiss you?”

What we were discussing was the woman from whom I rented a car following Inga’s accident. I sensed a vibe there and then later in the day, she called me for a “Courtesy Customer Check Up.” I’ve rented cars 5 or 6 times in my life and never once have they called to check up on me. Maybe this is a Vermont thing (most likely) but MAYBE the woman really was giving me a vibe and she wanted to talk to me again. Taking a risk, I called her back to ask her out but she had left for the day. And now that I’ve had the weekend to psych myself out, I’m hesitant to call her again. Why am I so afraid? What’s the big deal about potential rejection anyway?

2:10 p.m.
The workplace is filled with electricity right now at the realization that the Parking Lot Extramarital Affair Couple has returned to action after a month-long absence. I can hardly control myself at the sight of these two lovebirds. For the greater part of the summer, their semi-daily encounters in our parking lot were my entertainment. And then, as quickly as they appeared, they were gone. Did they break things off? Did they go on vacations with their respective families and spouses? Did one of their spouses find out and commit a crime of passion? We’ll never know. But now, at least, they’ve returned for our viewing pleasure and all is right in the world again.

3:38 p.m.
Fighting off the temptation to not call the Enterprise Woman thanks to a newfound courage, I sat in my car and dialed the number, waited impatiently as the phone rang and said “Can I speak to Enterprise Woman?” when Enterprise Man said “This is Enterprise Man, how may I help you?” The following is the conversation that, um, followed:

Enterprise Man – She’s not in the office. Is there anything I can do for you?
Me (thinking “Yes! Tell me if she’s interested in me!!!!!!”) – Can I leave a message for her?
Enterprise Man (shuffling some papers) – Yes. Go ahead…
Me (thinking “I think I love her, so what am I so afraid of?”) – Can you please tell her Mr. Benchly called? My number is blah blah blah – blah blah blah blah.
Enterprise Man (obviously annoyed) – Sure thing. I’ll pass that on.
Me – Thanks.

3:43 p.m.
After notifying Sarah the L of my brave attempt at courting, I returned to my desk to find my phone blinking the “1 Missed Phone Call” message!!!! I don’t recognize the number and can only assume that Enterprise Woman was given the message and returned the phone call. Now I sit here waiting impatiently for her to call back.

4:51 p.m.
Taking fate by the ears one last time, I called Enterprise Woman and miraculously, she answered. I said everything I rehearsed for the last 3 days and sank to a new low emotional level beneath the ground but just above hell when Enterprise Woman said, “I can’t believe you called. I’m so flattered! But I have to decline because I have a boyfriend.” And so my depressing day ends with me making her day. So it goes.

Near death…and back before dinner

Last Tuesday night, I found myself sitting in Row L in the Flynn Theatre enjoying a Dan Bern and Ani DiFranco concert with three very random people:

1. My former boss from summer camp (aka, my father’s associate pastor);
2. Her husband (aka, my sister’s ex-boyfriend); and
3. A woman I had never met before but whose entire immediate family I worked with at said summer camp; who hours earlier left a voicemail message on my phone offering me a free ticket to the performance.

I think, for 90 minutes, I was in love with Ani. If you’ve never seen her perform, and I hadn’t until then, I suggest you check her out while you can. She’s the tiniest performer I’ve ever seen but her energy and talent equaled or bettered anyone I’ve ever seen…except maybe Weird Al.

12 hours later, I boarded the US Airways Near Death Experience Plane to visit Ms. Parker. The turbulence was so rough, my seat left my seat during the flight. I suppose I can say I experienced weightlessness for that split second. Considering the food I ate at Thanksgiving, it was a nice feeling despite the underlying feeling of terror. During our descent, the high winds knocked the plane around like a cat batting a mouse. When we were over the runway, there was a gust of wind that turned the wings nearly perpendicular to the ground. If we were any closer to the ground, we might have lost a wing. Ultimately, we landed safely and the cabin erupted into a heartfelt round of applause.

6 days later, two days after returning home safely from my trip on a less-than-exciting flight, I found myself driving home from work through a terrible snow/sleet/ice/rain storm. The weather was turning my 50-minute commute into a 90-minute one. Halfway home, I crossed a bridge, hit a patch of ice and lost control of Inga (evidently, there’s real truth to those “Bridges Freeze Before Roads” signs). I fish-tailed twice, skidded down the road sideways for a second and rammed the front right corner of Inga into the guardrail on the right lane side of the road. When the dust settled, I found myself staring down oncoming traffic from the driver’s seat of a stalled car with its butt in the right lane. I restarted the car, pulled onto the shoulder, got out to see my front bumper nearly pressing against my front tire, called 911, and waited for the cop and the subsequent tow.

People always talk about these “life flashing before your eyes” moments like you have enough time to think of anything other than how to avoid death. On the plane, yes, I had the entire flight to pray, think of my family and loved ones, and thank my morbid self for the will I always leave on my bedroom desk each time I fly. In my car, though, the only thought I had time to think was “this could be it” and it’s because of this that I fear my last words are doomed to be terribly ineloquent. After the near death experience, however, I had PLENTY of time to think. And these were my thoughts:

1. There’s no reason to be afraid to change careers;
2. There’s no excuse not to write the story that’s been in your head for 5 years; and
3. There’s no reason not to tell her how you feel.

I doubt that hearing of near death experiences is as powerful and rewarding as surviving them, but that should never stop you from trying to learn from them. Thus, know that I learned that I have the power to live the life I desire. And if I ignore my passions and desires and I fall victim to apathy, I risk a fate far worse than death.

A Five Dollar Shake

While driving up Church St. at 5:15 am this morning with an old friend from high school sitting next to me (for reasons obvious to me [and soon to you], from here on out, I’m going to call her Mia Wallace), Mia turned to me and said, “well, this night has been interesting.” I commented on the fact that people usually say that after they’ve been mugged or left for dead in Mexico. She laughed as I turned onto Main Street and headed up the hill toward South Burlington. Now, how did we arrive at this moment?

Mia Wallace and I met my senior year in high school during study hall. I don’t know how it came about that we sat next to each other but we did and so for the rest of the year, I enjoyed her company and conversation, which were both unlike anything I had ever experienced in life. She got her tongue pierced, she talked about the great love between the Pulp Fiction characters played by John Travolta and Uma Thurman, and together, through the miracles of the McDonald’s Monopoly game, we briefly believed we had won a million dollars. She told me she would be famous one day and I agreed with her. The crush I developed on her was inevitable.

As is often the case, Mia and I lost touch with each other shortly after my graduation. And by “shortly,” I mean as soon as I walked out the high school gymnasium door with my back to my classmates in black gowns. I went to college, she went to a private school her senior year and by the time we graduated college, so many years had passed, I assumed I would never talk to her again. And then, through the miracles of the Internet and specifically an alumni website, we got back in touch, then lost touch, then got back in touch again. Soon, we began making plans for a reunion.

Last year, Sarah the L and I traveled to New York City and spent the weekend of February 14 with Mia. Together, the three of us celebrated our own anti-Valentine’s Day. I had an incredible time (to this day, the trip remains my all-time favorite NYC trip) and was thankful for reconnecting with Mia. Unfortunately, after the trip, we fell slightly out of touch again save the time in June when she remembered a bitter comment I made in February (“I’d rather get flowers on a random Tuesday in June than on Valentine’s Day) and sent me flowers. Since then, we’ve remained in touch, though not enough. Over a year passed by before I returned the favor and sent her flowers last month with the note: “Flowers on a random Tuesday in October are just as nice.”

Mia and I recently began discussing another reunion; this time while she visited her parents back in our hometown. Arrangements were made and so last night, I found myself in a booth in a bar situated on Plattsburgh’s only alley, sitting directly across from Mia. We talked about her recent New York City Marathon adventure, my stalker, and the many different levels of friendship:

1. The best friend.
2. The close friends you keep in touch with.
3. The close friends you lose touch with occasionally but always think about.
4. The friends you hang out with consistently that you would like to be closer with.
5. The friends you hang out with consistently that you’ll never be close with.
6. The friends you’ve outgrown (aka, the Throw Away Friends).

After a few hours, she told me she was returning to NYC via bus Sunday morning. I asked “why not fly?” to which she responded that the only flight she could take left Burlington at 6:15 am. I said “we could stay up late and I’ll drive you to the airport.” She thought about it, called the airline and decided to go for it. We went to her family’s home and spent an hour there to hang out with her family (at 11 pm).

At 12:30 am, Mia and I drove to Burlington, played Boggle on the ferry, ate an early morning meal at Denny’s, and went to my place where we tried to stay awake. At 4 am, we decided to sleep for an hour (Mia in the unoccupied Virgin Mary’s bed and me in my own). Around 4:30 am, I heard the front door open and quickly realized that the Virgin Mary, contrary to my earlier assumption, was not spending the night at her boyfriend’s place. I ran to the living room, told her that Mia was asleep in her bed and then woke up Mia to have her move to the couch. At 5:15 am, we left my apartment and headed for the airport.

The entire ride to the airport, I wanted to tell her that I hoped she didn’t think I considered her a “Level 6 Friend” or a “Level 5 Friend.” I wanted to tell her that I wished she and I were closer and that in the next year, I was going to try to make that come to fruition. But every which way I formed the thought in my head seemed overly cliche and in need of some serious editing, which, at 5:15 am, was definitely impossible. We reached the airport, hugged goodbye, and went our separate ways. She left me a voicemail an hour ago to tell me she made it home safely and to thank me for driving her to the airport and the crazy night we had. She ended the call by saying “see you soon.” And I hope that she’s right.

Dates, Hotties, and Homosexuality

I went on a first date last night. And that’s all I’m going to say. You see, I’m superstitious about dates and talking about them. I don’t like telling people about a first or second or third date for the same reason women don’t like to talk about their pregnancies in the first trimester. I want to make sure it STICKS before I talk about it. I don’t want to get dumped on my ass after the second or third date and have to deal with the misery of rejection AND the misery of having to talk about the rejection with my friends for the next week. I suppose I do this for the same reason people don’t introduce girlfriends/boyfriends to their family until all matters of the relationship have been resolved. I once introduced a new girlfriend to my family and passed her off as the greatest thing since the Easy Bake Oven and then suffered the embarrassment and shame of getting dumped a few weeks later. Who wants that?

In other news, tonight will mark the triumphant return of The Hotties at Trivia Night!!! Although it has yet to be approved by the Hottie majority, I think it’s safe to say our team name tonight will be:

“There’s No Joy in Hottieville, the Mighty Kerry Has Struck Out.”

Tonight’s team will most likely consist of myself, CP (aka, Hottie #5), CP’s Brother (aka, Hottie #6), and their mother (aka, Honorary Hottie C). Evidently, CP’s Brother has invited a coworker to attend and said coworker once worked in a record store so if she comes, and I’ve accurately described her work experience, we could very likely kick some serious Trivia arse in the Music Round. Wish us luck!

Finally, I wrote a poem a few years ago inspired by a Vermont gubernatorial race between Howard Dean and Ruth Dwyer. Ruth Dwyer basically ran on the “Take Back Vermont” platform that said the state government had gone too far with its universal state education property tax as well as its Civil Union law. Her campaign essentially fed off the blatant old-school hatred toward homosexuals in an attempt to remove from office the man who signed the Civil Union law. In response, I did the only powerful thing I felt I could: I wrote. And 4 years later, the poem I wrote to her can now be appropriately addressed to our president-elect who, in the name of hatred, is determined to proudly discriminate against homosexuals. And so, in response to his views, I feel compelled to share this poem with you…

To President Bush:
Dressed in false truths, a devil in disguise
with tears of hatred pouring from your eyes,
you preach the Word. You’ve come to dispel
the “sin,” the love, the “weak and unwise”
and with promises of the eternal prize
you cast out your Biblical spell
coated with sugar-stained lies.
I shall enjoy watching your demise
while sitting in the throne from which you fell
perched high above in the heavenly skies
with the “sinners,” the lovers, the strong, and the wise
far from the grave you’ve dug in hell.

Idiot Leading the Idiots

Bush starts off with the lowest approval ratings ever because most of us don’t consider him a real president; he spends the majority of his first year in office on vacation thus reinforcing our theory; despite the numerous warning signs he had, the US gets attacked by terrorists on HIS watch; he can’t find the mastermind behind the terrorist attacks so he instead brainwashes the majority of the public into thinking the leader of a paralyzed country is responsible for terrorism and we should all be afraid; he invades said country under the assumption that they have nuclear weapons even when he’s told by the world that his assumption is dead wrong; thousands of Americans lose their lives; when it’s discovered he was, in fact, wrong about the nuclear weapons he keeps said dying Americans in the paralyzed country and claims that it’s in the name of freedom.

Bush spends more than we have while cutting taxes; he’s for pollution and against the environment; he ignores the economy and instead “unites the country” by preaching hatred and bigotry; he’s ready to replace enough Supreme Court justices to eliminate a woman’s right to choose while remaining passionately proud of the number of capital punishments in his home state; he’s against ground-breaking science that could save the lives of millions; he’s taken away our freedoms in the name of freedom; he’s stretched our armed forces too thin like that guy named Hitler and consequently weakened our defenses against any acts of terrorism; he’s running our country into the ground like he ran every one of his oil companies into the oil-rich Texas ground; and after all of this, after he’s given you 4 years worth of reasons not to reelect him, you march to the polls like cows ready to be slaughtered and you vote for him.

I used to think Bush was the moron. Now I know you are.

Song of My Anecdotal Self, Volume 1

– Last night, I took part in what has become sort of a family tradition: I hung out at my parents’ house waiting for trick-or-treaters to stop by, ate more candy than we passed out, and smiled uncontrollably at the sight of two of my nieces dressed up in their costumes. This year, Niece #1 was Belle and Niece #2 was Little Red Riding Hood. Niece #3 was in her home near Albany, celebrating the holiday dressed up as Blue. And, proving yet again the theory that small children will never ever understand sarcasm, I jokingly told Niece #2 that I had eaten her candy and watched in horror as she started bawling her eyes out. I’m going to hell.

– I went for my semi-daily walk with CP today. Typically, we walk up a very steep hill on a road near our company, and then turn around and come back. Today, while walking up the hill, we heard rustling in the woods to our right. CP immediately put me between her and the woods and we looked up to see a pair of eyes staring at us. After a few seconds, we realized we were staring at not one, but two deer who were probably as scared as we had been a moments earlier. After staring us down for a few seconds, they hopped away and disappeared into the woods.

– The Great Kitty Trial Run of October 2004 has officially ended! After a few kitty disputes coming nowhere near “Cat Fight” status, after Othello showed signs that he had settled into the apartment enough so that he wouldn’t be afraid to come out of my room, and after it was decided by The Virgin Mary and I that while the cats may never like each other, they most certainly will be able to coexist, I decided to officially adopt Othello. So let it be known that on Halloween of 2004, I adopted Othello, an all black cat born on Friday the 13th (4/13/01). Congratulations may be sent to my attention in the form of check or money order.

– Tomorrow, as I’m sure all of you know, is Election Day and I don’t think it’s an overstatement when I say that it will be the most important day of our lives thus far. Tomorrow is our opportunity to unite as one voice and declare to our country and to the world that we do not stand for narrow-mindedness, or hatred, or bigotry, or unjust wars in a society where the rich get richer and the poor die on the front lines. Tomorrow is our opportunity to sound our barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world and slowly, morally, and peacefully heal the wounds on which our current president has continued to gnaw. Please exercise your right tomorrow and please think before you do. When we ultimately pass this world on to our nieces and nephews and sons and daughters, I want to be proud of the world we’re giving them.

The Great Kitty Trial Run of 2004

Not since Ringo Starr’s 3-minute meeting with Ann B. Davis in a unisex bathroom of a small Omaha, Nebraska nightclub in 1972 has there been such a meeting of minds as there was yesterday afternoon in my apartment when Montana Girl’s cat Othello and I joined forces to take on the world and single-handedly put an end to cancer, starvation, crime, and subsequently, prostitution. Yes, that’s right, Othello moved into my apartment for a week at the end of which we should know for sure whether or not he gets along well enough with The Virgin Mary’s (TVM) cats Sherbert and Shu-Shu. So far so good. Here are some highlights:

1. Sherbert seems remarkably calm with the transition. After learning of the presence of a third cat in the apartment, and upon determining the food supply to be satisfactorily stable, Sherbert was business as usual. He slept on the couch, and didn’t flinch an inch when Othello greeted him with a hiss and kitty growl.

2. Shu-Shu, though remaining in TVM’s bedroom for the duration of the first day, did make a few appearances out from under TVM’s bed and was seen this morning staring through the bedroom glass door at Othello as he roamed around the dining room. Although greeting Othello with hisses and kitty growls on Day 1, she seemed somewhat peaceful this morning and able to stand her ground (behind the bedroom door) as Othello hissed in her direction.

3. Othello, as should be expected considering he’s been uprooted from his home and mother, has been acting nervous and excited rolled up in a big ball of curious reservations. With the help of his kitty tower, kitty litter, water, food, and “Catnip Box,” he’s made a home for himself in my bedroom. He’s fond of the square-box-shaped crawl space behind my clothes rack and so I’ve officially dubbed that area of my room “Othello’s Fort.” I think he realized early on that my room was really his room and should there be a kitty brawl, he has a safe haven to which he can run.

4. TVM and I have decided to divvy up apartment time between the three cats. Othello had most of yesterday evening to roam around the apartment while Sherbert and Shu-Shu were stuck in TVM’s room; then Sherbert and Shu-Shu had all night to roam the apartment while Othello was in my room. This morning, there was a brief “communal time” where all cats roamed around freely. Today, Othello has the apartment until 1, then Sherbert and Shu-Shu have the afternoon, and then Othello has the evening for an hour or so.

5. While stuck in my room last night, Othello seemed more than content to snuggle with me on my bed. This quiet time lasted until about 2 a.m. at which point he felt the need to explore the various nooks and crannies, and then mark his territory in the kitty litter box not once, but three times. It was also discovered by me that Othello is quite possibly the loudest eater in the history of cats. At approximately 6 a.m., there was a kitty confrontation through the crack at the bottom of my door between Othello and an undetermined kitty. Both cats expressed their disgust with the other with the traditional hissing. At approximately 6:30 a.m., Othello began crying to be let out of the room. TVM opened the door to feed him and thus began the aforementioned “communal time.”

In summary, after 24 hours, Othello seems to be as well-adjusted as can be expected; Sherbert couldn’t give any less of a crap about Othello; Shu-Shu has been less social than her normal self, which, I might add, is far less social than the normal cat. More updates to come.

My Universe…

Considering the many personalities I’ve introduced in the last month, I thought it best that I recap:

Friends: Montana Girl, CAT, Sarah the L, Mr. Mikes (Sarah the L’s girl), Ms. Parker, Mr. Billings, Significant Other Cross (Mr. Billings’ significant other), Young Dude, CP, and Cousin J (though she might say differently).

Roommate: The Virgin Mary

Enemies: The Prick

Loser Cruiser passengers: Al Bundy, Cute Rainbow Belt Lesbian Biker Girl, Road Rage Man, Helen, Mustache Man, Duck Girl, Make Out Woman, Cute Washington Plates Girl, Fun Curly Haired Teacher Guy

Cats: Sherbert, Shu-Shu, Othello

Cars: Inga Beep the Jeep