Tag Archives: cute

In Lieu of Post, a Funny Picture

In lieu of a post today, please accept my offering of a humorous picture, complete with detailed description

This is a picture of my dance troupe circa 1993. I am in the middle, and my sisters are on either end in the lower row. They are not smiling. I am not smiling. I can’t remember what exactly was going on that day, but I do remember my sisters and I both hated ballet, like we would cry and cry when we were going there and refuse to put on our tights, etc.

The only thing I liked were the outfits, and I wore this particular red number for roughly a month after our recital, which was completely FUBAR. The pressure that age is really overwhelming and you should have seen how many cheetos some of the girls were cramming down backstage, just trying to cope with the stress. It wasn’t pretty.

So you can’t blame us for not being able to smile and pretend that everything’s all right when behind the tutus and the glitter, there are four-year-old minds that would rather be watching Barney.

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Cats Are Attacking My Mind

The keeper of the gate to hell.

I was going to write a blog post, but instead I spent three hours looking at pictures of cats licking their paws. For one hundred and eighty minutes I was spun through various levels of cat-lover-heaven, which is most other people’s hell, as I saw photo after photo of Patches delicately cleaning himself with all the poise and precision of the Mother Queen. It was terribly mesmerizing and I lost track of time and self.

But the saga doesn’t end there.

Hours later, I found myself waking up from some kind of stupor and realized that I was surrounded by horrible, bizarre, and altogether disturbing drawings of—what else?—cats licking their paws. It looked like a crazed zookeeper had escaped from a lifelong prison sentence and gone on a grotesque artistic binge.

The obvious, though terrifying, conclusion was that I had perpetrated these awful depictions, depictions that could only be used to cause human torment. I had been taken by cuteness-madness. What does this mean? Is my mind so fragile that something harmless like a few hours spent enjoying pictures of cats cleaning themselves could cause me to lose consciousness and perform acts of unspeakable horror?

Does this mean I’m unfit to live in this society? What if I’m walking through a park and see too many babies, puppies, or volleyball players and the madness takes me again? How will I explain my sickness to my family? How will I hide the monstrosity that is me?  I can only burn so many pictures before I start trying to sell them on the internet and then how will I explain myself? I certainly can’t blog about it.

Maybe I will find healing in twitter, and through tweeting the disfigured demons of my own creation to my small following I will be able to purge myself.

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A rabbit goes home

When I was in first grade, I wrote a short story about a bunny named Snow that had fur that was white as snow. The story was a paragraph long and recounts the emotional journey of a young girl who loses and then finds her bunny: she was sad and the she was happy. Today, the story has a slightly different ending: Snow’s fur is stolen and he is cooked in a stew, devoured by the people who once loved him.

After our “Cultural Exchange” today, I went rabbit hunting with a fellow who hosts meat nights, when we eat different kinds of meats like camel or in this circumstance, rabbit. The hunting process turned out to be fairly simple, taking place in the old Bab al-Louq market downtown. Unlike forests where one must watch out for witches and outlaws, the main danger at this market is inhaling the noxious fumes emanating from various stalls and patches of earth, smells frightening in their strength and physical proximity to food. The market’s ceilings are bizarrely high since it used to have two stories, and a deep feeling of faded grandeur pervades the place. It feels a place half-forgotten with characters that defy being swept away by time, sticking around year after year in the dimness as the place becomes more dilapidated and the smells multiply on top of one another like flies on the vegetables. The venue is available for weddings and bar-mitzvahs, if you’re interested.

We entered the cavernous market with the goal of getting us a rabbit, and find one we did at a certain butcher stall. To the left of the front counter was a tall narrow cage with different levels, the top one holding all of our furry rabbit friends. After we asked for a kilo of rabbit meat (we as in the fellow I was with), an eight year old climbed up the side of the cage, reached in, and grabbed a fluffy white bunny. It was at this point that I remembered the short story I had written so many years ago, and stopped to ponder how it was my life had led me to this point. “Capitalism,” I concluded. But then things got interesting, kind of. The boy took the bunny to the back of the stall, a long knife in his hand. To make an obvious story shorter, moments later the white fur was streaked with blood, and a few minutes after that we left the market carrying a little over a kilo of chopped up rabbit meat neatly packaged in a Styrofoam container.

Later that evening we ate a rabbit stew that was actually quite tasty, though I have to admit one of the reasons I liked it was because it reminded me of the meal Sam cooked for Frodo when they were on their way to Mordor, except for they had two rabbits that Gollum had caught for them, and we just had the one that an 8 year old had killed and skinned for us.

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