But the beauty of cats is they give the finger to the mantra of cheerful industry. They remind us that because something isn’t industrious doesn’t mean it’s useless. When you come careening around a corner and run into a wall, the subsequent laughter at your expense is a net positive in the world. When you jump on someone’s blanket-clad feet and knead them for 10 minutes before passing out cold, the warm fuzzy you provide adds something to the world.

And....

You hear a lot from people who haven’t had cats that cats don’t actually like people. To my mind, this is a ludicrous statement. Independent-minded doesn’t mean they don’t have affection for you. Sure, you can say they rub on you, sit in your lap, and punch your suitcase angrily when you pack it because they’re purely mercenary, but you don’t know that any more than I know 100% that they kind of like you.

I detect anti-cat stereotyping, I’m afraid to say. Pets are subject to the same vicious stereotyping that women are familiar with. Independent-minded self-starter who doesn’t take commands, go out of her way to please you, and who seems to have an internal life that’s not all about you? If cats were women, they’d be tarred as “career women” and “cold”, no matter how loving and kind they are. Loyal to a fault, living only for the master, obedient, eager to please, and seemingly not possessing many interests outside of the master (well, a couple of cute hobbies like chasing the ball that don’t conflict with the loyalty-and-obedience traits)? If we’re talking women, that’s the patriarchal ideal!

From Pandagon: Cats: Masters of their own destinies.



And now, I go to straighten up some research on one short story in progress and maybe start re-writing (long-hand) "Tide Drawn."

That thing's been giving me fits for so long, I may very well need to shove it in a box somewhere and just ignore it for a year or two. Or maybe it's a matter of just shoving pen to paper...

Hastings is constantly getting a new influx of used books. I just can't help myself... But it's time to try, so I can get some of these new books read.

Bought:



I loved Smith's Saving Grace. And from what I've read of this novel so far...I think I recognize some family members.


And




What I've read so far is really entertaining. They had the third novel in this series, used. But not the second. So I refrained. In case I'm close to pulling out hair or pages by the end of the first book. (I don't think I will be, but...)

I'm finding much more interesting fiction lately in the novels that are geared toward teens. Which seem to have absolutely exploded over the last couple of years.

Unfortunately, I've seen quite a few that look like they're following in the footsteps of Twilight (vampire romance specific with or without a sparkling male lead) Of course, publishers would say, that's what's moving.

It's like a tween/teen version of the hype that followed (and is still following) Laurell K. Hamilton's scene burst.


Honestly, my mind spends quite a bit of time contemplating whether I would even want to attempt getting anything larger than a short story published (er, which I still need to do), with the way these fiction trends seem to start and stay...

I don't really want to be a part of a trend. (And I sure as fuck--I'm taking a rather narcissistic side for argumentation--wouldn't want to start one.)

But, I digress.

The thing to do is, in all respects, to write what I want to write. What gives me pleasure. What entertains me. And when the works are "finished," (what is ever finished?) then I can see to the "business end."

And Wicked Lovely did jolt my brain in a few areas regarding current short stories (and one novel) in progress.



You are looking outside, and that is what you should most avoid right now. No one can advise or help you - no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must," then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your while life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse. Then come close to Nature. Then, as if no one had ever tried before, try to say what you see and feel and love and lose. - Rilke

Then I realize how long that would take.

Fox News' Kilmeade: We "marry other species," Finns "pure"

I like the face (Gretchen?) is making.

And keep an ear poised for the tune of "If I Only Had a Brain" near the end of the segment.

I definitely need to go home and take a nap.

There's also an ache in my forehead. Lack of sleep. I've been bad about my sleep schedule the last two nights.

Bad about everything...


Again, I'm not writing. Not with any kind of consistency. I'll scribble and then go two weeks without working on anything. (I don't count blog entries...)


I've got to get back in the groove.

I was actually doing o.k. (writing several days a week) before I hit that two/two and a half month slump dealing with the eye and head problems. Fucking body.


Sleep first.

Then planning.

And part of that planning is figuring out how to compartmentalize other areas of my life so that they don't intrude on time that should be for my writing. This includes feelings of guilt for not doing things I "should." (Or think I "should.") Though it's hard to get past a lot of those.


I'm frustrated with myself.

With the generalities and the day to day banal needs of life itself.

What is it with three day weekends taking so long to get here and then being gone before you can blink?

Friday night, Matt and I went to Bellbuckle for the Tennessee Shakespeare Festival and watched "A Midsummer Night's Dream." It's the first time I've gotten to see Midsummer live. Actually...the first time I've seen any Shakespeare performed live, now that I think about it.

The setting was on an old plantation in 1930s Athens Georgia. Oberon and Titania were spirits from the Civil War era. And Puck was...well, Puck. Mischievous and spastic and prone to tumbling. I enjoyed it a lot.

The only downside had nothing to do with the play. Saturday morning I woke up to find my feet had gotten flea bit. (Last time I do anything outside for an extended period without some kind of bug repellent.)


Saturday was rather a day for lounging. Checked on the girls (cats) in Smyrna and cuddled them for a bit. (I have to run by again today. Mom's staying a day longer in Chattanooga.) Then Matt and I stopped by Best Buy for some mp3 player accessories (which they didn't have for an appropriate price) and swung into Off Broadway Shoes where I had no luck finding any boots. They didn't have my size in the ones I liked and in the ones they did have my size, the color was all wrong or there was a three inch heel to contend with. I already have boots with a heel. I want some I can wear for an extended period of time.

After that, we were Hastings bound where we found said mp3 accessory (a cassette adapter for the car) and I found:



and




Yeah. Like I need more books. (Still haven't finished Jane Eyre. Working on it. Still need to finish Strangewood also.)


Saturday night I had a bout with insomnia. Stayed up until about 4 a.m. ...And I watched Twilight. It wasn't as bad as I had expected. Though it was pretty cheesey. I've seen worse. (No, really. Ever hear of Bloodsucking Pharaohs in Pittsburgh? Hell...ever hear of Jeepers Creepers?) I digress. I liked the cinematography and a lot of the setting/ambiance. Special effects were a bit: eh. And...glitter vampires! Ha.


Sunday morning, I slept through coffee, having only had about 4 hours sleep when Matt woke up.

Sunday afternoon consisted of watching several episodes of The Sopranos and then driving up to Nashville, with Matt, to see Joseph and Mia and check out their new house.

And in the evening we visited other friends and got to play with the kittens Ashley and Kevin trapped and are currently taking care of and trying to find a home for.

Oh, God. Kitten love. Their names are Silver and Mythril (and they're sisters). They are so adorable.

I always forget how tiny and soft and warm kittens are.

My kitten biological clock is ringing. But I know we're probably not ready to deal with four cats in the apartment... (Particularly in a complex that has a two pet limit. And they only know about one of our cats, officially, just in case they'd decide to screw us on a pet deposit.)

But: awww. Kittens.

Forgot the rent check. Need to do that as soon as I get home. It's not late until the 5th, but still.

I set up e-mail reminders on the google calendar for the damn thing and still it slips my mind. But, as slippery as my mind is, I guess I shouldn't be too surprised.

~*~

In other news...


I feel stagnant.

And I'm not sure what to do about it...

So...all men actually want other men. They just don't realize it. If they realize it, they will have sex with other men (inevitably) and, in turn, find that the female form is severely lacking and never go back to having sex with women even (perhaps, especially) if they are married to them. Which hurts women. And women's sexual pleasure depends entirely on men. There are a few stories of women having sexual pleasure with women, but we can pretty much write those off as mythology (no doubt made up by some disgruntled woman who engaged in sex with another woman for the sole purpose of trying to get back at her husband who, I assume, stopped having sex with her so he could fuck other men instead).

But men will only realize that they like sex with other men if we legalize gay marriage.

So if we keep gay marriage illegal, no man will ever have sex with another man and realize he likes it.

....Or something like that.



Then there's this...

At the risk of getting too explicit, I leave it the reader's basic grasp of anatomy to figure out why in ancient Rome a man who found pleasure in a woman, could also find pleasure in a man, while the record shows that a heterosexual woman rarely found sexual satisfaction in the company of another woman.

So, basically men are just trading one orifice for another. (And I do love how these people tend to focus on anal sex more than any other activity.) And women, as you know, absolutely need the cock. They just can't get sexual pleasure without it. (And, as per usual, these talking heads display a lack of a "basic grasp of anatomy" when it comes to women's bodies. The clitoris is just another myth. Made up by feminists, no doubt.)

And what record are we talking about here? There was a record of women's sexual pleasure? In ancient Rome? What?


From: How Women Will be Hurt by Gay Marriage

Dan Savage posted about this: Once You've Had Crack, You Never Go Back



I think this can be filed under Epic Altruism-Fail. Among other things. Like epic history fail. Men having sex with other men was more about class and status (not to mention societal roles and age). It wasn't a free-for-all hedonistic orgy.


You people really need to stop pretending to care about one half of the human population just so you can use them as part of your denigration of all the rest of those who don't fit your dogmatic mold.



Now my head hurts.


Damn you.