When You've Got A Tomato Growing Out Of Your Forehead, It Gets You Thinking...

I've been thinking a little bit about stuff recently. And for me, it's never a good sign that I'm thinking about something. It tells me that I'm either bored or have a cold. Maybe I should start playing more Pac-Man or something. Or maybe I just need to get more sleep.

First off: this whole thing with the Washington Redskins. I recall thinking as a kid that 'Redskins' was a really cool name for a football team, not knowing that it could possibly be considered derogatory. Nowadays, there are people who feel that the name and brand are insensitive and need to be changed, and I suppose on some level they have a point. Personally, my own opinion on this whole Redskins thing has not changed: it's still a really cool name for a football team. Why, I can't say, because I don't know: it just is. I can't explain it any more than I can explain fantasy sports leagues.

(For the record I do have a little bit of Native American blood in me, but it's been so long ago that no one in my family was ever able to recall which tribe it was from, and it's difficult to see any sort of similarity between me and them. Aside from whoever it was that contributed to my lineage, my great-grandparents all came to the United States from western Europe, to the best of my knowledge. ...Or was it great-great-grandparents? ...I dunno.)

There is a term I've become familiar with in recent years: "insult backfire", wherein someone takes a disparaging comment about them and makes it out to be the greatest thing that ever happened to them. The ultimate in 'insult backfiring' in this situation, I feel, would be to have the Redskins win the Super Bowl within the next few years. I don't think it'll get people to believe that the name's connotations are ineffectual nowadays, but it should at least shut some of the critics up for a little while.

Yeah, I'm a naive idiot who doesn't always know what he's talking about, but it's not like "noisy" is all it's cracked up to be. Take it from someone who's had to put up with The O'Reilly Factor in my house for about seven years.

Second: a house devoid of Sabrina. As I've mentioned previously, she was our eldest cat... with emphasis on 'was'. Three months ago, over the course of about 4-5 days, her condition rapidly deterioriated to the point where she couldn't eat, use the litter box, or move very much at all. My parents made the decision at that point to have her put to sleep, and I said my good-byes to her on March 30, 2014.

I hate having to write about this. Even as I'm typing this I'm crying, but I just can't help it. That spunky little runt (seriously, she really was a tiny kitten, and I couldn't tell when she stopped growing because I couldn't see any difference) was part of my life for 19 years, bridging the gap between my adolesence and my adulthood. No words that I could ever say could fully describe that sense of loss, and it would be pointless for me to try: words have never been my strong suit. It's probably ridiculous of me to like cats that much, but when you get right down to it it's no less ridiculous than liking anything else to that degree. Those of you who paint yourself in team colors and attend professional hockey games without your shirts know that I'm right.

(And on that note, have any of my readers actually done that? For another, isn't it cold in those places? I mean, I've never been to Joe Louis Arena or anything like that, but I have to believe that they keep the interior cool to keep the ice layers from melting. Maybe it's your team pride that keeps you warm, or something; I've fallen asleep at pep rallies before, so I wouldn't know.)

It wasn't all fun and petting, admittedly. As a kitten, Sabrina and another cat were tearing around the house at high speeds and ran straight across my arm while I was waiting to go to school; I still have the scar from that experience. Still, it was nice to come home from school and talk to someone who neither insulted me or tried to toss my duffel bag into the locker room shower.

I hate saying good-bye. Too many of those good-byes have turned out to be permanent, leaving nothing but memories of better days behind.

Third: those whose vehicles are allowed to roam the roads. People have been wondering for decades: "where are the flying cars"? Here's why we haven't seen any: if they get in an accident, it's a long way to the ground. And judging from what I've seen of peoples' behavior on the roads, there's going to be a marked increase in casualties if the hovercraft ever becomes commonplace.

If you honestly believe you're a good and safe driver, then props to you. But if you're doing things like attributing quicker speeds to pedestrians at intersections, travelling 80 MPH on a 70 MPH highway, ignoring no-passing zones, having dates with Captain Morgan before driving, and believing that everyone else on the road are morons, and you have the nerve to suggest to me that I should learn to drive just because I'm 30 and I'm long past due... ... *stops to catch his breath* ... ...Really not helping your case there, people.

Fourth: I can't get the Tick's theme out of my head, so I'm going to pass it on to you and see if it helps. C'mon, sing along with me. Duh-dweeeee-da-da-da-dwee-dow...

From one Extreme to Another

People who drive responsibly and safely tend to get annoyed at the reckless idiocy of others on the road. They're not alone; people who don't drive period tend to get annoyed, too. In my case, while I was on my way to work, it almost led to an unneeded stay in the hospital.

I was a block from my destination this morning, crossing the street at a green light. You know how those intersections have these white lines painted on the road to show where vehicles should stop at the lights? There was this truck that approached from my right, slowed down and stopped at that white line. As I was walking just to the left of that line, I thought that the driver was letting me get past first (sometimes those cars will come to a stop partway across the line, forcing pedestrians to go around), so I hurried up and started to go in front of the truck. In retrospect, I should've walked behind it instead; when I was about two, maybe three feet away from actually being in front of the truck, it abruptly sped back up and cut in front of me in order to make a turn.

Is it any wonder why I don't drive? Stuff like that bothers me something fierce. I've griped in a prior post about pedestrians who cross the street at red lights, but this is a whole other kettle of meat loaf (I don't like fish). People, your destination isn't going anywhere. It doesn't matter if you're five minutes late or five minutes early: taking a few extra seconds to look around and make sure you're not going to hit something or someone is not going to kill you; just as importantly, it's not going to kill us. Not all of us are intelligent people who can cross the street intelligibly; some of us can be complete morons who forget things at the worst of times, like I very nearly demonstrated.

You want to prove that you earned your driver's license? Then for our sake and yours, MAKE SURE THE AREA'S CLEAR BEFORE YOU PROCEED. It does not take a genius to figure this out, people. It's called "common sense"; exercise it!

*sigh*

Alright, I'm sorry. I'm through venting now. Since we started on a low note, why we don't continue on a higher note--- preferably a few octaves higher with a 4/4 signature?

Pictures of my family's cats, ladies and gentlemen. The one up top is Sabrina, the resident old lady of the house (around 16 years old, if my memory is accurate). While her health isn't as great as it was when she was younger, it hasn't effected her mobility; when she's not asleep, she demonstrates more grace than any other pet I can recall us having. Jumping from the counter over a person's shoulder onto the kitchen table, jumping from the table clear over a large baby gate, stealing our computer chair while our backs our turned... she does it all so quietly, with not even a 'thump' to mark where she landed. If it wasn't for the bell on her collar, we'd never know where she was.

Next is Callista, right around 3-4 years old (closer to the 3 than the 4). She was originally a feral cat with a group of kittens, but my mom took a shine to them and started feeding them outdoors. Eventually the cat and her surviving kitten (three of them disappeared without our knowledge, leaving just the one) took a shine to her in exchange, and my mom was able to catch them and take them to the vet to take care of the neccessary health issues. She lives indoors now, and for those that she's used to she's probably the friendliest cat I've known. And she's very protective of her last kitten, despite it being nearly as large as she is now.

Speaking of that last kitten, Clover's the resident tomboy. When we first brought in her and her mom, we couldn't give them the standard cat toys to play with (fake mice, feather toys and the like), so we had to give them dog toys instead. Both of them play very strong and rough, but Clover moreso than her mom. She still exhibits traces of kitten behavior, and while she's friendly with us she still gets the urge to swat at us while we're petting her. And she's a bit of a bully, too.

Our most recent fuzzball, the tortoiseshell and scaredy-cat, is Gianna. She's rather distrustful of humans as a whole. She'll let my mom pet her, but only on her terms. My dad and I she avoids like the plague; she'll usually lay around quietly or play with the others, but the second I reach down to pet her, she's gone. We've only had her since this past winter, so time will tell how she turns out.

That'll be it for now, folks. Maybe next time I won't be quite as mad when I decide to write something. >^_^<