My kitten is growed up and feisty.

I got this kyoot ass kitten a few months back. He was tiny, and orange, and fuzzy. He purred and curled up under your chin. He made tiny cat biscuits on your chest. He was the softest, warmest piece o' kittyflesh ever. He had an excruciatingly endearing face, with a pink nose and perky ears. His stripy legs and body showed the most exquisite marks in their downy fur covering. He peeped quietly when awake, and slept hard when he was sleepy. He played with stuff, but in a cute, baby-on-a-blanket sort of way.

Fast forward about 6 months. My kitten is HUGE. He is about as big as a full size cat, but I know he has a way to go, so I'm afraid he'll be as big as a dog when it's all over. That's not a big deal (big kittehs rock) but what is is the fact that while he is still a very attractive cat, he is possibly the most criminal kitten I have ever known. He thinks he's somebody, you know? He will find any small piece of plastic packaging, candy wrapper, receipt, barrette, paper clip, jewelry, check from somebody's dad in the mail, or other item that is somewhat small, and play with it. Not just play, but make irritating noises while playing, and then place underneath or behind furniture or closed doors where you will NOT find it. He also loves feet. Not just feet resting on the floor, but feet SLEEPING. And not just feet moving tantalizingly under the covers, but feet minding their own business. This kitten also has taken to spending time lying in wait to jump onto the toilet when you get up so that he can watch "stuff" go around and then drink from the bowl (EW.) This kitten enjoys sinking his claws into leather computer chairs that cost a pretty penny and ripping the upholstery with abandon. Why is this criminal, you ask? Is this not the behavior, more or less, of any good, red-blooded baby cat? Well, what's criminal is that he is old enough and has a stern enough Daddy that he is COMPLETELY AWARE of what bad kitties do and what will earn him a dousing with the squirt bottle and/or good whupping, but rather than avoiding these actions as a result of effective training tactics, he WAITS until we are sleeping/out of the house and proceeds to jump on countertops, drink from sinks, crawl on tables, remove things therefrom, and then destroy/hide them. That is a bad and diabolical boy. And also, he has a disturbingly large and bulbous ball sack. Just sayin'. It's rude, man. I haven't the time or money to get it removed right now, but boy I am hoping he is taken down a few considerable pegs when I do, because at this rate, he is going to destroy everything I own in short order, including my poor lacerated toes.

But, he does continue to make biscuits in the bedclothes, purr contentedly when napping, and be cute as the dickens, so I guess he's got that going for him. And when he crawls up on my boyfriend's chest and rubs his lil' pink nose in Brian's beard, it is disgustingly cute. So I'll let him live. Dunno about Brian. He has a short fuse for ill-behaved pets, but I did hear him say that he loved him in the other room a while back when he thought I wasn't listening.

So just a warning. Kittens grow. And get crazy. I think that happens with kids, too, but I don't have any. And, I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to cut their testes off.

MIA = Sad but getting better.

Sorry I've been out of action for a while; I had some family tragedy and then the holidays compounded the stress, and while I've watched some movies in the interim, I haven't been able to muster the same joi de vivre that renders me unable to keep from typing up a veritable storm of commentary on movies that I truly enjoy. Things are looking up, and I hope to move into the new year with more to share and less to be utterly depressed about. Bear with me, reader, and I promise to inundate you with my wordy testimonials to the pop culture of my childhood that will have you mildly amused at best.

Here's to new beginnings, and THANK GOD X-mas is over,

Naptiger

Epiphanic Street Dancing = Pure Unadulterated Bliss

Holy cow, guys. I normally don't post so often, but in light of the fact that my last was mostly just a big whine-fest about my current workload, I figured I owed you something good. Also, I'm bursting with things to say about this movie I watched last night. Now, I have seen this movie probably 30 or more times, and listened to its soundtrack, and practiced the dance moves therein, but I just watched it again for the first time since I had this blog on which to wax eloquent, so I had to throw down.

Dude. Breakin 2: Electric Boogaloo (1984). That biz is hands down a frikkin' laugh riot from start to finish. Movies simply aren't this entertaining by a long shot anymore. I mean, the festival of optical excitement alone, what with costuming and break dancing and break dancing with special effects, is some top notch stuff. Then you have your actors, and the plot, and bitter social commentary, and this movie becomes the stuff of legend. I tell you they could re-release Breakin 2: E.B. in its original format, completely unedited, and it would be an instant smash hit. I am not kidding. Especially since, in spite of all possible taste, kids today are actually resurrecting the fashions (some of them, not all, thank goodness) that are featured in the film. Well, you might wonder why I am doing the sequel and not Breakin' itself. I'll just say that it took the second movie for them to distill the essence of perfection from the material that Breakin' 2: E.B. represents. Anyway, if you haven't seen it, it goes like this: Ozone and Turbo (played by Adolfo "Shabba Doo" Quinones and Michael "Boogaloo Shrimp" Chambers, which are two of the best names EVER) are street dancers who live together and work at a community center in a sort of East L.A-ish neighborhood. They dance in a team with Kelly, or "Special K," who is a rich white girl who has been classically trained but loves to break dance, and joined them in Breakin', which tells the story of how they met. Breakin' 2: E.B. opens with the two boys enjoying their volunteer work, but worried that the community center won't be able to raise funds to keep open, and Kelly finding it tough to get inspired by hoofing it in the chorus line as a professional dancer. She heads down to the slums to meet up with her homies and they introduce her to their neighborhood pals, at which point they all DANCE on over to the community center: Miracles. She gets to see all the super stuff they are doing there to keep kids off the streets and teach them how to do giant synchronized dance numbers involving popping and locking. Miracles is a wonderful place; painted with vibrant graffiti from floor to ceiling, inside and out, with hundreds of creative youths practicing dance moves, acting, miming, gymnastics, boxing, and looking cool. Kelly decides while she's in between jobs, she'd like to help out, and becomes aware of their troubles with money. Meantime, a big developer decides that he wants the building for a supermarket, and begins legal proceedings to take the place over, since Miracles owes back taxes and isn't up to code. The kids decide to have a benefit, with break dancing, naturally, to raise the money they need to keep Miracles open. Kelly asks her dad if he can give them any advice, but he doesn't approve of her hanging out with the riff-raff and accuses her of trying to get money. Meanwhile, the Miracles crew has a DANCE RUMBLE under a bridge with their rivals, ElectroRock, who are clearly bad guys because their outfits consist entirely of red and black, with studs. They get served by Ozone and Kelly and Turbo, who are on the side of the righteous, so they are obviously better dancers. Later, Ozone realizes that ElectroRock needs to be on their side, because they are all from the same neighborhood and need to band together against White Developer Man. He goes over to the dance club where they hang out and pleads his case. I mention this because the club has a stage and on that stage is ICE T, performing in football shoulder pads covered in metal studs, studded belts, armguards, and fingerless gloves, plus sunglasses and a hat. It is...fantastic. There are animal tails on Ozone's hat, and pants. There are too many things about the way things look in this movie for me to give them all the comment they deserve, but MY GOD it is a sight to see. Right down to the final number, which features all the Miracles kids, and ElectroRock, and our protagonists, dancing in FLUORESCENT OUTFITS right up until the credits roll.

The thing I have to tell you is, after all this time, I finally realized that the funny little sequences where Turbo dances on the ceiling and Ozone floats through the air are not just for entertaining special effect. And the name Miracles doesn't just refer to the wonderful work they do at the community center. It refers directly to the MIRACLES that can be wrought when a group of young people learn to break dance, in unison and solo, for the forces of good. I don't know why I didn't make this connection before, but I now know. And I am better for it.

And because there are truly no words to describe how fantastic this movie is, I am going to attach my first ever clip of streaming video, so as to testify. FEAST YO EYES!

And if you are interested in learning more about the history of the dance forms featured in the movie, this website has a pretty good background for you.
www.fast-rewind.com/trivia_breakin2.htm

Non-Swine Illness, Self Publishing, and Mexico!

Well. I was sick for a while there. Fever, snotty nose, sore ass throat, fever, sweating, bad stummy, etc. Doc said not the flu, but nasty as heck nonetheless. The only good thing about it was that my boyfriend got it too, so we were in the same boat (sorry, B) and I got to catch up on a lot of unwatched reality tv episodes (thank you, Gina, for telling me about realitytvfan.org!) and I got to play my new Lost game on the XBox. But I swear I wasn't having fun. I was sweaty and feverish, dammit! And very sleepy. But cats therapy and a good amount of cuddly napping, plus a dash of antibiotics, cured me. I'm getting a rep at work for being sickly, which sucks, because I never was in my life until I worked for both the public library and began attending a huge university. I mean, the germs are stacked against me, yo. ANYHOO. I went back to school and found out that even though some groups in my class get to present their project on December 9, and some on December 2, MY group is going to present on November 18th, because of Thanksgiving. So while it counts for my final exam grade, I only have like 2.5 weeks to come up with a 50 minute presentation on what Buddhism and Catholicism think of Abortion, from a religious ethical perspective, read Ethics for the New Millenium by the Dalai Lama, and write an analyzation of Martin Luther King's Letter From A Birmingham Jail. While concurrently composing a 32 page paperback book for my other class, comprised of Photoshop manipulated photographic images of my own design. Oh, did I mention that I'm getting together inventory for a craft show on the 14th of November? Yeah. By getting together, I mean creating from whole cloth, as it were. The craft show, or the Lee-Davis High School Band Boosters Holiday Craft Show, to be more accurate, was my bright idea for making money for my Thanksgiving trip to Tulum, Mexico, commencing on the 21st of November, and concluding on the 1st. At least there's a week-long taco and cocktail siesta at the end of the next couple of weeks, because I reckon I'll be friggin' pooped. POOPED. I swear, I tried to intimate to the doctor that some Xanax or the like would be helpful, but he didn't take the hint. They think you're a junkie or something if you are like "I just feel really stressed out" or "I get so anxious sometimes." Oh well. I suppose if I ate whole grains and slept and exercised regularly, I would handle deadlines and extra work with aplomb. Instead I'll handle it with snappish behavior and beer, like a good American. If Mr. Prez has to come up with a way for everyone to have health care, I can do a little homework, I guess. So, readership. Whoever gets me to 900 peeps (and everyone else, too) wish me luck in the coming weeks. I'm hoping for at least two B's and a couple hundred bucks for my Tulum Getaway. (And if Montezuma could possibly take out his revenge on someone else, I'd be truly grateful. I already left most of my intestines in Peru, 2007, so I've paid my dues to the gods of Latin America.)