sturtle [dot] com

Hey, anybody wanna flashback? Check out Zbignew Rybczynski’s resume from about 1984 to 1987. You were probably aware of his “Close to the Edit” triumph, and of his ill-starred work with The Talentless Wretch Known as Yoko, but who knew he was behind Propaganda’s “P-Machinery” video–hands-down winner of the “Best Song/Worst Video Combo” award? No wonder he hasn’t done much since.

On an unrelated note, this is the best spam I’ve gotten in ages:

Good day dear Customer,

I am ready to kill myself and eat my dog, if medicine prices here (pop-up-riddled website deleted) are bad.

Look, the site and call me 1-800 if its wrong.

My dog and I are still alive 🙂

Here’s something interesting:

Louisiana currently cares for its uninsured and underinsured patients mainly through a statewide network of charity hospitals, the only state in the nation to run a statewide system of public hospitals.

— WWLTV.com

Really? Is that true?

I mean, Mississippi used to have tons of charity hospitals–there was even one in my rinky-dink hometown–and if Mississippi has ’em, you’d think maybe Connecticut had a few… But then, maybe all those have been shuttered, making Louisiana the last state to realize that public hospitals are a losing game….

For the first time in my adult life, I’ve hired a maid. Maids, actually. With two guys, four dogs, one or two cats (depending on the week), hundreds of fleas, and a couple of awfully clever mice living under one roof, I figured it was time.

Before the maids arrive, though, I have to do a little, uh, straightening. You see, given the boyfriend’s gig, there’s a sizeable chunk of porn swag lying about. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t give a damn who came across it, but in New Orleans these days, finding maid service is no small task (I had to schedule these gals a month ago), so I don’t want Wanda or Fabrice or Yolanda to come traipsing in with all their dustmops and stuff, only to run out screaming before they’ve even begun because they stumbled across Schoolteacher Sex Slave Vol. 4 lying in the bathroom sink.

But before I don my hernia belt and begin this arduous task–and if you’ve been to our house, you know I’m not kidding–let me just say one thing off-topic:

Buy this book.

Ken Foster is many things–writer, teacher, pet-lover, friend–but above all, he’s a magnificent storyteller. Don’t trust me? Read an excerpt. I finished the book in 24 hours, and given the fact that it took me nearly a week to plow through Dan Brown’s sixth-grade-level prose, I think that’s saying something….

WEEKEND UPDATE

» Nine years ago today, something very special happened. I won’t bore you with the details, since I’ve already told the story a couple of times, but, well, happy anniversary, Boyfriend.

» Speaking of the Boyfriend, about a week ago, we had a falling out over the whole “Born Free” thing. Jonno was worried that the mother cat would reject Little Edie because we’d handled her. I tried to reassure him that that only applies to birds and squirrels and perhaps–if we’re to believe Mrs. Mouth–hamsters. Besides, with my own eyes I saw the mother not only nurse the kitten, but she picked her up in her freaking mouth and carried her off…. Well, it turns out that the mother may not have minded having a daughter drenched in our B.O., but that didn’t stop her from leaving Edie to fend for herself while she took the rest of the litter on a Mayzie-eque whoring streak through the neighborhood. Or at least, I assume that’s what happened, ’cause when I walked out to the garden this morning, there was Little Edie, meowing through a chink in the fence. I looked around for any sign of the family, but nothing…. So, I guess I’m a crazy cat lady again. Well, at least Tania’s happy:

» After I’d sprayed Edie down with flea stuff and brought her inside [again], I went back out to water the plants, and whaddaya know, all that milkweed I planted has payed off. I’ve got a bona fide chrysalis in my yard:

I know, I know. I hope to get over this burp of domesticity soon and return to fun topics like Asian bearotica and tranny kickboxing. Too much more of this cat/garden crap, and I’m gonna turn into Christopher Lowell’s smaller, nellier cousin….

Big news of the day: The last time at sat at my real desk in my real office doing real work was Friday, August 26, 2005. Since then, that room has been used as a mold growth chamber, as sleeping quarters for the National Guard, and as a storage facility for gallons upon gallons of bottled water. Today, however, we begin tidying up the old place, and by this time next week, I’ll be back in business. I’m as excited as a Pointer Sister–one of the live ones, anyway.

Little news of the day: In the past six months, I’d have to say that one of my butchest accomplishments–there aren’t many–has been taking out our kitchen faucet (which I left running for Lola during The Incident and which subsequently limed over) and installing a brand spanking new one. Problem is, that the spigot part of said faucet keeps loosening, meaning that every few weeks, I have to crawl back under the sink, to the Land of Mice and Other Critters, and tighten the damn thing.

Well, this morning, I’d had enough. I searched high and low for teflon tape or plumber’s putty or anything to keep this pesky screw in place, but I couldn’t find a thing. Then, I remembered the advice of my piercer from ages ago; she suggested using nail polish to keep my jewelry from unscrewing over time. Well, I marched straight to the bathroom, dug out my cache de maquillage, found the sturdiest one-coat polish I could find–“Vamp” of course–and went to work. I believe I may have fixed it for good.

I’m guessing that my use of Chanel nail polish in a plumbing milieu counteracts all the butchness I’d previously expended on the project, but whatever. Maybe I’ve found my new calling: nellified construction…

The Last of the Kitty Porn (For Now)

I’m kind of a freak for gardening and stuff. I never cared much for it as a kid, but when I got a yard of my own…well, I haven’t been the same since. I guess I was just born to hoe. (Oh, the homonymic irony.)

Anyway, I’ve been going at it for a month now, pruning, planting, digging up stuff that didn’t survive the storm, and so on. And among my biggest problems has been the snail vine that’s taken over my neighbor’s yard. Under normal growing conditions, I’m sure it’d be manageable, but between our subtropical climate and the effects of global warming, it’s about as invasive as cat’s claw (a New Orleans nightmare) or kudzu (a real pain in Mississippi, but which thankfully doesn’t like the soil south of Lake Pontchartrain). The stuff started out at the very back of his yard; it’s now traveled halfway down the dog-trot, taking over the fence in the process:

Obviously, something had to be done before the vine colonized my yard, too, and my neighbor–who, from his waxed eyebrows, I’d guess is a drag queen, but what do I know?–wasn’t the man to do it. So yesterday, I gave up the last precious hours of my spring vacation and tackled the problem.

It was rough work. The weather was humid, and the vines were huge and ropy and kinda slimy. Half an hour into the project, I had to sit down.

So there I was, leaning against an air conditioner, slugging Diet Coke like a Phi Mu slugs tequila, and I heard–you guessed it–a tiny meow. I looked down, and there she was: the kitten, hanging out with a couple of her brothers and sisters. I scrambled for my cameraphone, and in the process, scared off the others, but she stayed put, just long enough for a photo:

I don’t really miss bottle-feeding her, but I kinda hope she’ll pay us a visit when she learns how to jump the fence….

Okay, a supercrazymagical thing just happened.

We’ve had the cat for a week now, right? Well, we’ve gotten her on this feeding schedule, morning, noon, and night. This morning it was my turn, so half an hour ago I took her out of her box to do the honors. And being as the weather’s freaking fantastic, I thought, “Wow, it’s so nice and warm today, and she’s been staying in that little box, she’d probably dig some outdoor time.” So, out to the porch we went.

The same porch I was standing on when Tania emerged with kitty in her mouth.

Anyway, I’m letting her wander around, and the hounds are playing with her, and she’s meowing, and a couple of minutes go by, and then I hear a second meow. I grip the edge of the porch, duck underneath, and there, five feet away is a cat, looking right at me, meowing plaintively.

I know what I have to do, even though I’ve grown a little fond of the thing. I hesitate for a few seconds, not entirely sure that I wanna go through with it. But eventually, yes, I put the dogs back in the house, then I take the cat over to the break in the lattice where the dogs go under the house, and I put her down. A couple of minutes later, the cat emerges and smells the kitten. Then another cat shows up. They sniff and smell, then one of them takes the kitten in her mouth and, in a motherly surge of adrenaline or whatever cats have, she bounds over the six foot high chainlink fence into the neighbor’s yard.

Then mom goes off for a bit–presumably in search of food–and kitty’s wandering around, meowing some more, not quite sure what’s going on. I’m beginning to think the mother has abandoned her again, but then, I see some movement under the neighbor’s house. Then, more small meows. Then, four kittens, each her size, a couple with her markings, crawl out and inspect her:

The first of several brothers and sisters
comes out to view the new arrival.

A few minutes later, they retreat. Kitty meows a bit more, then eventually gets the picture. And that’s the last I saw of her.

If anyone is inclined to sing “Born Free” or that diddy from Free Willy, now’s the time.

ODDITIES

Tania, being motherly.

A car dealership, being catty.

And in other news, CNN just ran a story on pet adoptions under the headline “Ruff Trade”. Does anyone else find that mildly disturbing?

Well, I may be toiling away in the salt mines, but at least my sister is having fun, shooting her new video.

Calgon? Calgon??? …Bitch is never around when you need her.

Filmstrip Day at the
Beatrice French School for Etiquette and Deportment

1. Remember the bit I posted last year about The Fuccon Family, that crazy Japanese show done with Caucasian mannequins? Oh, of course you do. Well, now there’s vidclips of the show on Google. And you thought Perfect Hair Forever was f’ed up….

2. On a far sexier but just as f’ed up note, YouTube is playing host to a number of Kirkpinar videos. It’s not every day that you see grown Turkish men coating themselves with olive oil and shoving their hands down one another’s pants.