3/13/12 – Tuesday

Sunday night I stayed up after Fred went to bed, and I watched the Footloose remake. Oh. Just. No. No no no. I’m sure it’s because I’m ancient and set in my old-lady ways, but ugh. Just no. I’m going to have to watch the original (which I saw like 15 times in the theater) … Continue reading “3/13/12 – Tuesday”

Sunday night I stayed up after Fred went to bed, and I watched the Footloose remake.

Oh. Just. No. No no no. I’m sure it’s because I’m ancient and set in my old-lady ways, but ugh. Just no. I’m going to have to watch the original (which I saw like 15 times in the theater) to wash the remake off my eyeballs.

I’ve never been a fan of Lori Singer, but I think she was the better Ariel (though Julianne Hough is adorable). And why did they have that tall skinny boy as Willard? For the love of god, Willard’s supposed to be a big burly bullish lunkhead, not some skinny boy who couldn’t hold his own in a fight.

I wanted to like Dennis Quaid as Reverend Moore, but I find Dennis Quaid extra annoying lately (“Hi, I’m all charming and DEVILISH! Let me unleash my devilish smile at you!”) so I wasn’t able to get past that, even though he was perfectly fine. Andie MacDowell was fine, I was pleased to see Ray McKinnon (who played the delightfully odd Lincoln Potter in the most recent season of Sons of Anarchy) as Uncle whatshisface, I liked seeing Kim Dickens (born and raised in Huntsville, AL!) as Aunt whozits.

I guess I’d say that if I hadn’t seen the original, I would have rated this one “Meh, okay”, but there were too many things I missed from the original. For one, Ariel’s poem, which I can mostly recite from memory (I sing to you of Silver Swans/ Of Kingdoms and Carillons/ I sing to you of bodies intertwined/ Underneath an innocent sky)(I am not proud that’s taking up space in my brain, by the way), Uncle whatshisface picking up the rock and yelling “Burn in Hell? This says ‘Burn in Hell!'” and Ren and Chuck playing chicken with the tractors. What’s this race track horseshit?

I love a good dance movie, and so I would have watched the remake regardless. I don’t recommend it, though – the original’s available on Blu-Ray, go get it. I’m going to!

On second thought, I think I’m going to get the Blu-Ray from Netflix. I’ll probably buy the movie eventually, but no hurry right?

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Along with assorted other dumbassery that makes up being me is the inability to tell where, on a processed chicken, the breast is located. I can hold up the chicken, I can tell where the damn legs are (I’m not an IDIOT)(yes I am), I know where the wings are, but when it comes to figuring out which side is the breast and which is the back, I don’t fucking know. I can hold the chicken up in a rough approximation of the position it would be in if it were alive and marching across the back forty, but it just doesn’t translate in my brain. I can’t figure it out. It’s like MATH, except that MATH is less complicated. What the FUCK? Every time I want to cook a chicken (I made a chicken in the crock pot yesterday), I have to call Fred and say “Drumsticks on the top or the bottom if I want to cook this chicken breast-side down?” Then he gets all EXPLAIN-Y and I have to say “For fuck’s sake, I don’t need a monologue about the evolution of chickens and debate which came first, DRUMSTICKS ON THE TOP OR BOTTOM? IF THEY’RE ON THE BOTTOM, IS THE CHICKEN BREAST SIDE DOWN?”

And because I made a chicken yesterday, I currently possess the knowledge that it needs to be drumsticks on the bottom, but I can feel the knowledge leaking out of my ears as I type. By this time tomorrow, I won’t be able to remember and the whole vicious cycle will begin anew.

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“Yeah, they’re sleeping again.”

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“Shhh. If you wake them up, I will cut you.”

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I don’t know that I’ve taken a picture of the whole box before now, it’s usually close-ups of Emmy and the kittens. Fred made this a few years ago with the idea that perhaps cats would like to hang out in it as well as on top of it. Until now, the only cat who has shown any interest has been Miz Poo, who likes to hang out in the foster room when there aren’t kittens confined in there.

We actually put that box in the room as an option for Maggie to use last year. It was really too small for Maggie, and though she did start laboring in the box, she actually gave birth in the kennel across the room and that’s where her babies stayed. The box is 18 inches wide, two feet, deep, and 18 inches high, if that gives you any idea of Emmy’s size. We had to tape that piece of cardboard across the front because the day the babies were born, I went upstairs to find one of them out of the box looking lost and Emmy wasn’t paying attention. Perhaps before we have our next pregnant cat, we need to rethink the birthing box options.

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Eyes are open on all the babies now – some more than others.

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That baby in the middle, laying on her back, kills me dead with the toes and the stripes.

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Bath time.

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More bath time.

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Over the past year or so, Maxi has stopped wanting to come into the house. Well, she acts like she wants to come into the house, she sits there at the door and looks longingly at us. When we open the door to invite her inside, she looks past us and says “Ugh. Are there kittens in that house?” and stomps away.

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Instead, she wants to spend time in the garage. And it’s not like there’s anything in the garage she can hurt or that can hurt her, so we’ve taken to letting her go inside when she wants to. We set up a litter box (which she uses) and bowls of food and water. She spends her time upstairs on a pile of old bedding or stretched out on the floor, and we check on her every now and then and ask if she wants to go outside. Sometimes she does (on those occasions you can hear her hitting the floor, and she’ll usually call out so you know she’s on her way to the stairs) and otherwise she just ignores us. So basically, we’re crammed into this house with two humans and 12 permanent residents and a rotating cast of fosters, and Maxi gets that entire garage to herself.

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Spoiled rotten.

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2011: No entry.
2010: No entry.
2009: Oh, we never allow our cats on the counters or the table. Never!
2008: What you don’t know is that there are moments of pure glamour interspersed with all the drudgery.
2007: No entry.
2006: That is an amazing and scintillating fact, right there.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: Y’know, sometimes I wonder how I make it through the world, clueless as I am.
2002: Her portly butt probably cut off the circulation to something important.
2001: I should have her arrested.
2000: Work was just heavenly today.