"All our times have come."

"Here,
but now they're gone."

Things I saw today on TV:

THE SCARIEST KITTY IN THE WORLD!

TRACK LISTING: Blue Öyster Cult, "Don't Fear the Reaper"

"I had a dream."

"I had an awesome dream."

Things I saw online today:

This post by /a -- but before we go any further, let's just give old AGF a hearty "Welcome Back!" and not even bother with the "Where have you been?"

Now let's move on, as his post is not actually the point of this one. Basically, his whole Kim Carnes=Rod Stewart thing reminded me of being a kid and refusing to believe that the line from "Say You, Say Me" was "I had an awesome dream." For some reason I could not comprehend the idea of an "awesome" dream, and figured that the line must be "I had an awful dream." (That I could only imagine dreams to be awful and not awesome speaks volumes, probably, and may eventually lead me to a therapist's couch, but obviously we'll have to leave those stories for later dates.)

Really, what a/'s post reminded me of was a conversation I had with Rob and Brendan and PF on Friday night. We were sitting around R&B's new living room eating angel food cake with whipped cream and strawberries; "Say You, Say Me" started playing on the TV, so I felt compelled to tell them about my childhood interpretation of the "dream" line. I finished speaking in time to sing along with the lyrics in question, at which point Brendan cracked up and all I could see was a mouth full of Cool Whip, so I promptly forgot everything and started laughing at his ensuing struggle to swallow.

Anyway, "Say You, Say Me" played on the radio this morning as well, like some friendly reminder from out of the ether. Thanks, universe! I GET IT NOW.

TRACK LISTING: Lionel Richie, "Say You, Say Me"

"And the hole in the screen is barely big enough for you."

"But I'm leavin'
the back door open
'til you come back."

Things I saw in the apartment today:

The glaring absence of Baby C, who is now safe and sound in his hometown.

PF and I knew all along that his presence was temporary, but that doesn't mean we miss him any less.

Goodbye, Kitty! Farewell until we meet again.

TRACK LISTING: Old 97's, "Murder (Or a Heart Attack)"

[NOTE: As you may have noticed, the cat in the photo above is not our dearly departed. (The kitty you see -- barely -- is in fact lovely Rudy, the Fat White Prince, who is part of /a's family.) But, you know, artistic licence, etc etc.]

"A billion souls all dying to know me."

"Well here I am!
Loaded with promise
and knee deep in grace."

Things I saw while floating around a foreign land:

The unexpected kindness of strangers, as a fellow Canadian heading into town for a business meeting offers me a ride on his dime. He doesn't ask me for anything. I am floored. After pulling over at his stop, he hands the driver enough cash to get me where I need to go, including tip.

The driver doesn't mind the extra mileage and as we crawl through mid-morning traffic I see the beauty of New York City on a rainy day -- or any day, for that matter. I feel like Serge Gainsbourg singing about "New York USA". Waldorf-Astoria, oh! C'est haut! It's almost mythical and more than stunning.

The driver and I talk to pass the time. He is friendly and sharp and proud of his business. He was recently granted US citizenship! Wow, it was only three days ago! He's beaming. His father sponsored him; now he, his wife, his son, his older sister and his much younger brother all live here. His mother is still "back home" and he is making plans to bring her to New York, too. He has lived here for ten years and cannot imagine living anywhere else.

Later, in the East Village, I run into Ron Livingston. Well, not so much "run into" as "walk past without trying to stare". Hey, do you know that I, like countless others who have accosted you in the middle of a sidewalk, love Office Space? Also, Swingers, right? That was really great, too. These are things I could have said to him, but didn't.

Back on East 11th, Gloria Reuben is across the street, looking for something or someone, pacing a little, doubling back. Someone yells something at her, possibly the name of one of the characters she's played, possibly something flattering, possibly something lecherous. She waves, smiles, hails a cab. I am fond of her, perhaps only because she is another fellow Canadian.

The last thing I see before Kimmmmmyyyyy and I head out to meet up with PF and the kitty is the guiltiest of guilty pleasures, or at least one of the guiltiest. Kimmy justifies the detour as "retail therapy" and I follow my own dubious logic, that it's okay to spend money at a store that doesn't exist in Toronto. In my defense, at the time, I didn't know how fleeting that excuse would be.

TRACK LISTING: Prefab Sprout, "Hey Manhattan!"

"See these eyes so green."

"I can stare
for a thousand years."

On Sunday afternoon, my cousin's wife broke the news to us gently: "I'm afraid you two have become cat people."

It's true. We speak about the kitty as if he were our own child, our own flesh and blood; when people casually inquire about him, we ramble on at length, never failing to go into detail about each and every quirk our cat possesses. We know we're boring the listener, yet we cannot stop ourselves. It's very much as if the cat has turned into a baby.

Look at the little one! Isn't he precious?

I can't wait until we start dressing the kitty in sweaters! He is going to LOVE that.

TRACK LISTING: David Bowie, "Cat People (Putting Out Fire)"

"Every fang is polished gag-colored green."

"Like a sun so sick
it only shines
when it sinks."

It's hard to deny that Lucy Buchanan is a total bitch, but there's no discounting Channel 4 and Shipwrecked's culpability in this whole mess, either. There aren't many networks and TV show producers who would scramble to quash a controversy, especially if said controversy had a positive impact on their ratings. As for the stupid child herself, Buchanan might be excused for being young and very sheltered. However, it's doubtful that she would be so naive as to be unaware that "any publicity is good publicity." It's rare to find a teenager who isn't well schooled in the politics of celebrity; who wouldn't understand that, when the cameras are rolling, they're usually going to be trained on the bad girl.

TRACK LISTING: Blood Brothers, "Rat Rider"

"As I go my way, I don't care what people say."

"I'm in love with a man
nearly twice my age."

Congratulations, Butch: apparently Sundance gets handsomer as he ages. Evidently, Brad Pitt -- like "McDreamy" and The Matinee Idol -- has grown into his looks. (Anyone who knows me can attest that this preference for Silver Foxes is not unusual.)

But hold on! I hear some of you women crying in protest. Brad Pitt was always handsome, if not an outright babe! I don't know what's wrong with me. I just found Pitt the Younger a little too, er, soft-focus
-- too gorgeous, if you will.

I guess when it comes to male celebrities, I'm often attracted to the unlikely heartthrob...and I know I'm not the only one. Witness: my beloved bug-eyed Bashful and slack-jawed Dopey routinely making the hot list, just like Sleepy before them.

Oh! you Ugly Ducklings. How you've come into your own!

TRACK LISTING: Shabba Ranks featuring Krystal, "Twice My Age"

"Vacation!"

"All I ever wanted!"

In a little over twelve hours, we will be boarding a plane for New Mexico (with a FIVE-HOUR layover in this behemoth thrown in)! I'm ridiculously excited, but PF must be over the moon, as they say, since it's his hometown and his friends and family we're going to visit for a week. While we will certainly miss the kitty, it will be great to see everyone in the ABQ again, especially CMP.

In honour of Duke City, I am planning to take numerous photos of our surroundings and post one of these images each day, on its own. (No words -- just pictures.) The accompanying score is an easy choice: all songs will be performed by Albuquerque's pride and joy, The Shins!

Happy holidays, everybody!

TRACK LISTING: The Go-Go's, "Vacation"

"How lucky am I?"

"I'm young
and I don't even care."

Today you will work at a totally welcoming office, a friendly place you know from your past; and you will have a really good day full of promise; and lots of your favourite songs (even the "guilty" pleasures) will play on your way home; and you will come home to the one that you love and who loves you, not to mention the one who loves you even though he pretends otherwise; and you will eat chocolates before bedtime; and you will know that you are truly fortunate.

TRACK LISTING: Maggie Gyllenhaal, "How Lucky Am I?"

"We thought he was gone."

"He just could not stay away."

Yes, it's true, the little man was supposed to leave us today. However, due to circumstances too complicated and sensitive to divulge, our very own N^o 8 will remain sprawled on his armless armchair for some time to come.

On occasion, his meowing does seem incessant, and we often wish he would stop clawing at closed doors. He may be a bit too fond of nipping at ankles; he may enjoy chewing on plastic and cardboard; he may be the issuer of puncture wounds to the large ottoman and the cause of small trinkets batted off shelves and dressers. He may even be as relentless as a puppy when it comes to begging for food. Yet every time he rubs a flank across our shins to greet us; every time he keeps us company while we're working in the kitchen; and every time he leaps onto the bed to nestle against our legs while we sleep, I know I'd miss him terribly if he were gone, and I'm happy that we'll share his yawns, snores, winks and purrs for a few months more.

TRACK LISTING: The Phantom Surfers, "The Cat Came Back"

"Well, I went and seen the doctor."

"You're goin' insane."

This post is something of a cheat, as it's really a glorified comment that probably should have been posted under the original entry. However, when PF wondered why I hadn't addressed The Trip to The Vet in my own blog entry on the same day, I couldn't explain the omission. Maybe I was just trying to repress the memory.

I mean, until Calvin's freak-out at the animal hospital -- after the vet and the nurse managed to get their hands on him -- after they tipped the cat carrier forward so it was ALMOST PERPENDICULAR TO THE EXAM TABLE, in an attempt to shake him loose from the plastic -- well, until then, I'd never heard a sound in life that could truly be described as "guttural". It was like a scene out of The Exorcist, except with a twenty-pound feline in the role of Regan MacNeil. (It must be noted that the illustration accompanying PF's entry from yesterday is as good as a photograph of Calvin at the vet.)

Last night, while sleeping on my leg, Calvin had another nightmare. He was whimpering and whimpering, like he was having rectal thermometer flashbacks, and I suddenly grew very frightened that he would snap into a waking dream and start clawing through my flesh as if I were the one trying to probe him.

Ah, bring on parenting! Bring on the sullen, cranky offspring and the endless doubt that "we're the ones who made him like this!"

TRACK LISTING: Ted Nugent, "Cat Scratch Fever"

"We're gonna pass out on the couch, alright. Tonight!"

"Don't talk about anything else --
we don't wanna know!"

It's amazing how much television I'll watch. It's more amazing how much bad television I'll watch. Give me a rainy Saturday, a burgeoning cold and a remote control, and it's like hypnotized. (Some might say lobotomized.) I make no apologies even though I know how lazy I am. I give the cat a run for his money (and I use the word "run" lightly)! I only get up for more French Twists (Maple French Toast flavour) and the occasional bathroom break. (Some might also say that this is one of the worst days to act so apathetically.) I'm trash.

My eyes glazeth over: respectable screwball; promotional material masquerading as "the untold story"; cartoons I've seen a million times before; and childhood nostalgia, at which point my husband returned from a thoroughly un-potatoish art gallery outing and joined the sprawl.

Train wrecks; ghostbusters; overly smug pundits; eager enumerators; crazies and backstabbers -- they seduced us. It wasn't a difficult sell. We only spent about ten minutes with most of them, anyway. The ADD-ish attention span shouldn't surprise, should it? I myself can't believe that I actually took time out to publish this entry. (However, the attention deficit and devotion to the tube didn't quite let up when I put my mind to this task; prior to writing, I spent an inordinate amount of time reading elaborate Project Runway recaps. That's right -- I read a play-by-play article about a television show I'd already watched this evening. But as long as we're on the subject of PR, I would just like to say: Damn you! Rob and Brendan, for properly introducing me to this program and the shameful pleasure of hating Jeffrey Sebelia.) We will most likely, against our better judgement, end up watching this inevitable disappointment at the end of the night. And then we will sleep the sleep of the just!

I swear I will definitely get out of the house tomorrow.

TRACK LISTING: Black Flag, "TV Party"

"Why hide it?"

"Why fight it?"

Happy Hallowe'en!

No costume this year. I used to pay close attention to my Hallowe'en disguises; quite often, I hit the ceiling of my budget (if I even had a budget), though I was always thrilled when I could pull off the outfit on the cheap. In the first few years following the move from our parents' houses, the apartment was always dressed up for the occasion, too. One year we even had a party.

It's been almost two decades since I stopped trick-or-treating. I don't go out at all on or around Hallowe'en anymore, but this can be chalked up to either laziness or the real joy I find in staying home. This would probably be the perfect time to transition to Hallowe'en Candy Giver. We have some chocolate in our apartment that will pass for loot, should either of the two children in this building knock on our door tonight. (I doubt it will be the superintendent's son, as he's a teenager now. The toddler from the apartment below us might be too young to go out; if he's not, he'd do better to travel through the wealthy neighbourhoods across the street. I wonder what they're giving away tonight! Something more than random squares of Hershey's Special Dark, that's for sure.)

I'd be excited to see the kids' get-ups, though. I still love Hallowe'en! It's not that it's an excuse to eat tons of sugary snacks -- I'm an adult now and can shovel terrible things into my body whenever I please! There's just something that seems to happen on October 31: the air switches to a constant crisp; even the most reluctant pull out sweaters for the season; and we begin our slide towards holiday celebrations. Hey! congratulations. We made it through another year! Don't take that too lightly.

The apartment is barely decorated this year, but it's decorated. A twelve-inch ghost made out of Christmas lights and thin, curved strips of white plastic sits on a speaker in a corner of the living room, waiting to be plugged in when the sun goes down; two fake but convincing stuffed ravens are perched on the window sill with their beaks to the living room window, giving the evil eye to anyone who dares look up. A dancing skeleton from that old Hallowe'en party is placed by the television; if we turn it on, it will sing a verse from "Super Freak" any time it senses motion. (We're not going to turn it on, by the way.) We're definitely going to turn on the motorized black rat, with its blood-red claws and eyes. It will scurry around the apartment, changing direction when it bumps into something. Maybe that something will be our black cat, our ready-made symbol of Hallowe'en -- imagine how freaked out he'll be. That's the spirit, kitty!

HAPPY HALLOWE'EN!

TRACK LISTING: Ministry, "(Everyday Is) Halloween"

"Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you."

"Birds singing
in the sycamore trees..."

The cat is grunting and kicking his hind legs; I wonder what he's imagining. His head is resting on my ankle and he's draped one of his front paws over my shin. Lately I have been fascinated by his naps, studying his sleep like a mother with a new baby. Now he's twitching.

Five minutes later, sprawled on his back, he looks oddly human. His mouth hangs open and he is actually snoring. It's disconcerting! He wheezes as his eyelids raise but he's not waking up. It's like he's in a trance; I can see the whites of his eyes. Or the yellows. It's difficult to tell in this light.

"Kitty?" I nudge him. His eyeballs dart back and forth; maybe he's about to channel some spirits. I hold my breath.

"Kitty?" I nudge him again, just in case he's trapped in a nightmare. The eyes slowly focus and roll forward; here is the return of the golden green irises, the black-diamond pupils. He stares at me, dazed.

"Sorry," I whisper. He yawns and wiggles, settling his head. I rock my foot back and forth like a cradle, watching him as he slowly closes his eyes.

TRACK LISTING: Louis Armstrong, "Dream a Little Dream of Me"