A day with Pickles and me

I think a lot about my beloved, dearly departed cat Pickles. Some of you who know me in real life had the distinct privilege of knowing the Divine Miss P. For everyone else, click on the image below for an idea of what she was like:

Pickles was unlike any other cat I’ve ever known. She was her own breed—a breed of One. Fiendishly smart, contrary, spoiled, overbearing, disdainful, and endlessly lovable.

I’d like to share a little of what our days together were like. Below is an example of a typical Saturday for us. The dialogue has been altered for creative purposes, but the events are all true.

4:00am
I’m sleeping.

Pickles:  Bored.
Me:  Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Pickles:  BORED.
Me:  Zzzzzz–sngh?
Pickles:  BORED! BORED! BORED! BORED! I’M BORED!!!!!
Me:  What the fuck? I was sleeping!
Pickles:  You were boring me. You will entertain me now.
Me:  It’s 4 o’clock in the morning.
Pickles:  I fail to see your point. You will entertain me now.
Me:  I’m not entertaining you now. I’m going back to sleep.
Pickles:  Suit yourself. But one day I’ll smother you. You’ll be sorry.

10:0am
Pickles is sitting on my lap. She peeks in my coffee cup and wrinkles her nose.

Pickles:  Is that coffee?
Me:  Yes.
Pickles:  I don’t care for coffee.
Me:  I know. We go through this every morning.
Pickles:  You insist on drinking coffee even though you know I don’t care for it.
Me:  I’m not asking you to drink it.
Pickles:  (sniff sniff)  What is that smell? It’s foul.
Me:  It’s toast.
Pickles:  NOXIOUS VAPORS!!!  YOU’RE TRYING TO KILL ME!!!
Me:  Sigh. We do this every day, Pickles. It’s toast. It won’t kill you.
Pickles:  VILE!!!  ASPHYXIATING!!!!
Me:  Oh stop, you’re being a drama queen.
Pickles:  You should cook whatever you made yesterday. That smelled delicious.
Me:  I didn’t cook anything yesterday.
Pickles:  Yes you did. That blue liquid you had in the kitchen. It smelled delicious.
Me:  That was Windex.
Pickles:  I don’t care what the recipe is called. I want some.
Me:  You’re so weird. You don’t like food smells but you like cleaning products.
Pickles:  Don’t judge.

This was how Pickles looked most of the time: annoyed.

2:00pm
I’m about to go out to run errands. I can’t find one of my flip flops.

Me:  Have you seen my other flip flop?
Pickles:  No.
Me:  It was right there. You must have seen it.
Pickles:  I haven’t seen it. (Pickles shifts position, revealing what appears to be part of a flip flop.)
Me:  What are you sitting on?
Pickles:  I’m not sitting on anything.
Me:  Is that my flip flop?
Pickles:  No.
Me:  Yes it is. That’s my flip flop.
Pickles:  No it isn’t.
Me:  Pickles, I can SEE it. Get up, I need it.
Pickles:  No.
Me:  Get up. Come on.
Pickles:  No.
Me:  Don’t make me take it from you.
Pickles:  No.
Me:  Come on, give it to me. (Tries to slide shoe out from under Pickles. She takes a swing at me and her claw snags on my arm.) Hey! Look, you drew blood! Give me my shoe, you rotten cat.
Pickles:  No. I’m keeping it.
Me:  Sigh. (Puts on sneakers instead)

5:00pm
I’m in the shower. Pickles is curled up on the bed, sleeping.

Pickles:  WAIL!!  BLOODY MURDER!!!!!!  HORROR!!
Me:  (running out of the bathroom and almost slipping and cracking my head open)  What??? What happened??? What’s wrong???
Pickles:  (sitting calmly on the bed) I want to go under the covers.
Me:  That’s IT? That’s your emergency? It sounded like your tail was being hacked off, the way you were carrying on.
Pickles:  I want to go under the covers. You will lift up the covers so I can go in now.
Me:  You know very well how to go under the covers yourself. You do it when I’m not home.
Pickles:  But you’re home now.
Me:  So what? You can still do it yourself.
Pickles:  Not when you’re home. When you’re home, you do things for me. That’s how it works. So lift up the covers and let me in. But if you don’t make an interesting enough tent, I will come right back out and you will have to try again. And stop dripping on me.
Me:  Sigh. (Lifts covers so Pickles can go under them. After three attempts, a satisfactory tent is created and Pickles is reasonably content.)

This sort of thing might explain why Pickles looked annoyed all the time. 

9:00pm
I have music playing. Pickles is sprawled on the couch. Shirley Bassey’s “Goldfinger” comes on.

Pickles:  This song is too loud.
Me:  It’s the same volume as all the other songs.
Pickles:  I don’t like it. Turn it off.
Me:  Maybe you’ll like this one. (Plays “Diamonds Are Forever.”)
Pickles:  No. I hate this one too.
Me:  What is it with you and Shirley Bassey??
Pickles:  I don’t like her voice. Turn it off.
Me:  No, I like this song.
Pickles:  TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF!!!!
Me:  Okay, okay. Relax.
Pickles:  Yes. This song is acceptable.
Me:  There’s nothing playing right now.
Pickles:  Yes.

Midnight
Pickles is taking up a disproportionate amount of space on the bed.

Me:  Time for bed.
Pickles:  Whatever.
Me:  Move over, you’re in my way.
Pickles:  Why can’t you sleep around me?
Me:  Because it’s not comfortable.
Pickles:  Yes it is.
Me:  I can’t curl up into a perfect circle the way you can.
Pickles:  Too bad for you.
Me:  Come on, shove over or I’ll move you myself.
Pickles:  (Moving) I was going to move anyway.
Me:  Good night.
Pickles:  Good night.

12:15am

Pickles:  Stop that.
Me:  Stop what? I’m not doing anything.
Pickles:  You’re in my area.
Me:  I am not in your area.
Pickles:  Look at your arm. It’s on my blanket.
Me:  So what? It’s not in your way.
Pickles:  It’s on my blanket.
Me:  Big deal. You drape your tail over me half the time and I don’t get all bent out of shape about it. Or how about when you sleep on my head?
Pickles:  That’s different.
Me:  How is that different?
Pickles:  Because it’s me.
Me:  That’s not an answer.
Pickles:  Yes it is.
Me:  (long sigh)  Fine. I’ll move my arm. Is that better?
Pickles:  I suppose.
Me:  Good night.
Pickles:  Good night.

12:30am
Pickles comes over and curls up against me.

Me:  What is it?
Pickles:  Nothing.
Me:  You’re right up against me, you know.
Pickles:  I know. I was bored with my blanket and wanted to lie over here instead, that’s all.
Me:  I see. Okay. Good night.
Pickles:  Good night.

12:35am
Pickles rubs her face against mine, purring loudly.

Me:  What’s all this about?
Pickles:  I’m—my cheeks are itchy. Yes. I’m just using you to scratch them, that’s all.
Me:  Is that purring? You’re purring.
Pickles:  No I’m not.
Me:  Haaaa, you’re purring.
Pickles:  Shut up and go to sleep.

12:40am
Pickles rests her head in my palm.

Me:  You have your head in my hand, you know.
Pickles:  Just in case my cheeks get itchy again, that’s all.
Me:  Mmm hmm. Good thinking. (Kisses her on the head)
Pickles:  Stop that. (Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr)
Me:  Good night, little Pickles.
Pickles:  Good night, Mommy.

She was the best cat ever.

Winging it

I started this blog in February 2012. I didn’t have any real vision for this thing, I just wanted to start writing again. As time went on I tried out a few different approaches but none of them took. So I decided to wing it. It’s worked out pretty well. I tend to wing it with most things in life, come to think of it, so why not here?

See, I don’t have a “hook” or a consistent theme like a lot of other bloggers have. I don’t have kids. I haven’t experienced many serious life challenges or traumas (and I know I’m very lucky). I’m not an artist or poet or fiction writer. So it’s just me winging it and writing about whatever. I’m not complaining, mind you; Fear No Weebles has become an eclectic, eccentric mix of Fuck You posts, Hot Dead People, ranting, activism, history, satire, paranormal stuff, and other random shit. I dig it.

As you can see, I also gave the blog a makeover. I wanted a darker, haunted house-ish sort of vibe. I considered a brighter, happier vibe with a cute theme but then I remembered that I’m not Mary Fucking Sunshine.

This is what I think of Little Miss Sunshine.

 
So here we are. As usual, my thanks to this guy for his help in getting my blog sorted out, and as always, my heartfelt thanks to all of you for visiting time and time again.

Coming Soon:  A Hot Dead Extravaganza!

Waffles with Writers: Madame Weebles

Reblogged from heylookawriterfellow:

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Welcome to my new interview show, Waffles with Writers! Every month I will chat with a working writer over a nice, waffle-centric meal.

Today’s brunch guest is Madame Weebles, who is best known for having recently taken the blogging world by storm with her sometimes profound, sometimes profane, and always compulsively readable posts. Decades before she named herself after a 1970s choking hazard, however, Weebles’ writing credentials were firmly in place; her career includes long tenures as both a professional historian and medical editor.

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I recently had the pleasure and honor of being interviewed by Mike Allegra, Children's Author Extraordinaire. Come on over and join us. And if you're not already following Mike's blog, you should be. Seriously. Follow him.

Television is good for you

I love television.  I’m not ashamed to admit it.  From my earliest childhood, with  Sesame Street, Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, Captain Kangaroo, The Electric Company (the original, not that bullshit remake), Zoom (the original, not that bullshit remake), and a zillion cartoons, that big box has been a huge part of my life.

A lot of buzzkills argue that too much television is unhealthy.  My reply to them is, “Suck it.”  I learned to count to 20 in Spanish thanks to Sesame Street.  Schoolhouse Rock taught me about the parts of speech, and I can still sing the preamble to the Constitution.  And raise your hand if, like me, you learned to twirl your arms from watching Bernadette on Zoom.  Now tell me that trick hasn’t held you in good stead all these years.

I have learned much from TV shows over the years.  I’ve also drawn very important conclusions from my recent TV watching habits.  I’d like to share a few of them with you.

• Life insurance companies should automatically report to the police anyone who takes out extra policies on their spouses.   Per 48 Hours Mystery, Dateline, and everything else that runs on the ID Channel, this should be a no-brainer.  If you take out an expensive policy, you may as well be wearing a sandwich board that says, “I’m about to commit murder!!”  So just go ahead and report these folks to the police and save them some legwork.  (Note to Mr. Weebles:  That million-dollar policy I just took out on you is in NO WAY related to this.)
• Similarly, people with Crazy Eyes should be summarily reported to the police. Check out the perps featured on the ID Channel.  They ALL have Crazy Eyes.  I don’t care what profilers and psychologists say—ocular creepiness is the most reliable indicator of criminal intent.

These are Crazy Eyes.

These are not Crazy Eyes.

• No matter what day or time it is, some version of Law & Order is always on.  ALWAYS.  I find this oddly comforting.
• Any man who tried to call me “Baby girl” would get the asskicking of a lifetime.  Except for Derek Morgan on Criminal Minds.
• There are a LOT of aliens, chupacabras, sasquatches, and other mysterious creatures around us.  Be careful out there.
• Most ghost hunters are obnoxious dickwads.  They walk around allegedly haunted places trying to taunt the spirits by yelling, “Show yourself!!”  If I were a ghost, I’d scare these idiots so badly that they’d need diapers for the rest of their lives.  Just because you’re talking to dead people doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have good manners.

Surely, my friends, you have also gleaned crucial learnings from your TV viewing.  Please share.

An open letter to Innocean and Hyundai

Reblogged from Copybot:

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Dear Hyundai and your advertising agency, Innocean,

This is my dad.

His name is Geoff. He married my mum in the eighties and had two little girls, by all accounts the loves of his life.

This is the note he left when he committed suicide in his car:

And this is your new ad.

As an advertising creative, I would like to congratulate you on achieving the visceral reaction we all hope for.

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Per my post from yesterday, this is EXACTLY the sort of bullshit I'm talking about. Hyundai execs need to understand that their advertising is in disgustingly poor taste. Let the viral shaming begin!

I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore

I’m infuriated by how things are at the moment.  Politicians who support legislation that suppresses women’s rights.  Corporate officers who maintain their own profits—and those of their shareholders—by cutting jobs left and right and manipulating the financial system at our expense.  Religious zealots who would drag us all into a new Dark Age if they had their way.  The destruction of the environment across the globe.  Violence against women, children, and animals.  I could go on and on and on.

Social and political problems are nothing new.  But I’m so fed up with how the Powers That Be are failing to address them despite the wishes of the general public.  Look at how the Senate rejected the bill that would require background checks prior to gun purchases.  Public support for gun control is at a record high, yet these fuckwads still voted against this measure.  Women make up 50% of the workforce, yet the Equal Rights Amendment remains unratified, the glass ceiling is still firmly in place, and misogynist douchebags are as vocal as ever.  Despite the number of Americans who expressed their disgust during the recent fiscal cliff talks, Republicans and Democrats couldn’t work together to find solutions to our economic difficulties because they were too busy having a dick-measuring contest.

Carl von Clausewitz, the famous military strategist, said, “War is a continuation of policy by other means.”  I believe its inverse is also true: policy is a continuation of war by other means.

I realize that I’m overdramatizing and oversimplifying much of this.  But you get the idea, hopefully.

We can protest, sign petitions, write letters, boycott, and try to vote shady politicians out of office.  But there’s not much hope of success; corporations enjoy “personhood,” politicians are beholden to lobbyists more than to constituents, and companies don’t care about consumers until their bottom lines are adversely affected.

Typically, petitions are effective only when small, specific goals are involved.  A petition to keep one animal from being euthanized, for instance, can be successful; a petition to abolish wholesale animal killing won’t be.  Although I like how in the UK they have e-petitions, where petitions that get more than 100,000 signatures are considered for debate in the House of Commons.  There’s no guarantee that a petition with 100,000 names will be chosen, but it’s an interesting way for British citizens to get their voices heard. [Note: Since writing this, I've learned that the US has a similar thing in place---I suppose I didn't know this because our politicians seem hellbent on remaining deaf to us  Color me shocked.]

Protests can help to shine the spotlight on problems, but in themselves they don’t change anything.  Occupy Wall Street was—and still is—a vital voice for the 99% of us who are getting shafted by the 1%.  But nothing in corporate America has really improved.  Corporate leaders and shareholders are still making money hand over fist while houses are still in foreclosure and the job market continues to languish.  And to date, not one brokerage CEO has been sent to jail for his part in destroying the financial market.

Writing letters to your representative or senator?  One constituent voicing displeasure with a certain policy isn’t going to make much of a difference, unfortunately.  Same with boycotting certain retailers or other companies.  What’s one less consumer to a franchise or a multi-national corporation?  Nothing, really.

Voting idiots out of office can be effective, but government is like a hydra—a multi-headed clusterfuck.  You cut one idiot out, there will surely be two more to take his or her place.

Negative publicity (or what I like to call “public shaming”) can sometimes serve as an impetus for change.  Just a few weeks ago, Disney was slammed for its “I Need a Hero” t-shirts for girls.  News of these shirts spread like wildfire, sparking multiple online petitions and news stories.  Shortly afterwards, Disney removed those shirts from their website.  It’s hard to know whether they would have lost a lot of revenue if they hadn’t—I suspect they wouldn’t have—but it was refreshing to see that corporations can respond to public sentiment and do the right thing.  There are other examples of the power of the consumer backlash, like the New Coke debacle and the Tropicana branding fiasco.  But they largely involved products, not policies.

It often takes years, even generations, for sea changes in attitudes and practices to occur.  At times it takes acts of civil disobedience (e.g., Rosa Parks, the Woolworth’s sit-ins) or rioting (e.g., the Stonewall Riots) to get the ball rolling.  But those daring, drastic acts aren’t ones that most of us have the cojones for.

Power and money are the two things most likely to influence people and organizations to change.  As long as their current practices are lucrative and/or keep them in power, they won’t have any reason to change the status quo.

In one of my favorite acts of civil disobedience, loss of both power and money led to a policy change.  In 1989, Margaret Thatcher instituted the Poll Tax, which set off a series of riots in London, and more importantly, it inspired a massive non-payment campaign.  An estimated 20-30% of the British public refused to pay the tax, and it was abolished by Thatcher’s successor, John Major.  Such protests can succeed because of the sheer number of people involved; what were they going to do, throw all of those people in jail?

So what can we do?  We can write blog posts and use Twitter and Facebook to broadcast information about the injustices we see around us.  And I’m not talking about the impassioned-but-utterly-futile “Share this status if you think child abuse is wrong!” posts on Facebook.  Social media can be immensely helpful in spreading negative publicity, raising awareness, and promoting thought-provoking dialog.  But individually, we can do only so much.  (But if a blog post alone could generate change, then this post would have worked wonders.)

I don’t want to be powerless anymore.  I’m tired of sitting here sputtering with impotent rage.  I want to ACT.  The old saying goes, “Think global, act local.”  Today, with people, countries, and economies being so inter-dependent, we can think globally and act locally AND globally.  I want to make a genuine, tangible difference.  I bet a lot of you do as well.  Now we just have to figure out how to go about it.

The Return of the Weebles

That’s right, people.  I’m back.

I do apologize for my prolonged absence.  SO many things have happened over the past month.  Some highlights:

• I went to my doctor for a checkup, and my blood test results confirmed what I have long suspected: I’m about as venomous as a black mamba.  Over several weeks I donated multiple pints of blood poison for scientists to use in developing new medicines and antidotes.  What can I say, I’m a giver.
• After another nasty bout of insomnia, I finally gave in and took some Ambien.  But in my drug-induced sleep haze, I evidently boarded an Aer Lingus flight to Dublin and somehow ended up as a masseuse for a local rugby club.  Imagine my surprise when I woke up with a bunch of naked flankers on the tables in front of me.  But these poor guys have a lot of kinks to work out—I couldn’t just leave them there.
• I won first place in a bunny-sorting contest.  The challenge was to sort 100 black, black & white, white, cream, and grey bunnies into separate circles by color.  It wasn’t easy because the circles were just drawn in chalk on the floor so the bunnies kept hopping out of place.  My time was 3 hours and 21 minutes—just shy of the world record of 3 hours, 18 minutes.

And now I have returned.  You’ll hear more from me on Monday…I’ve got plenty of venom for my next post.  Use your weekend to rest up.

Also, if you haven’t already checked out The Outlier Collective, hosted by yours truly and this guy, then you need to go over there right now.

Also also, be aware that next Wednesday will be the last day of life as you know it—because next Thursday, the great Meizac and I are meeting in real life, and she’ll be staying at the House of Weebles.  Expect new planetary alignments and other world-changing events to occur.

McCrabass + Bat-eatin’ spiders = FUN!

First, I must say, that I am completely honored and humbled to be axed by Madame Weebles to be a guest blogger. I swear, it’s better than anything I’ve ever had to drink barium for.

On to why I’m really here–to point out the weird, the wacky and the uber-choady. Oh and the creepy.

Like this story.

Prepare to feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand the fuck up and run for cover, because this just creeps the shit outta me.

Bat-eating spiders are everywhere, study finds

From CBS News.

Now, first a bit of history. McCrabass (me) was bitten by a Black Widda Spider many years ago while I was living in LA. I got very sick and ended up hallucinating in the Cedars-Sinai ER for about 12 hours. Ever since that day, I pay attention to spiders. Now, I don’t kill them, I keep a healthy distance from them. Just like they  know better to NOT fuck with the McCrabass–or else. On my McCrabass blog, I’ve even written about spiders you can fucking throw a saddle on and go “Tally ho!” Then, ride off into the sunset.

Here is yet another post about the wonder that is the creepy as all hell spider.

Back to the arachnids that EAT flying mammals, and I bet they don’t do it just for sustenance..they probably do it for sport. Fucking asshole spiders. Sheesh.

“There’s only one place in the world to escape bat-catching spiders: Antarctica. These arachnids ensnare and pounce on bats everywhere else in the world, researchers say.”

Please don’t pack up the U-Haul just yet to move to Antartica–that’s an awful place too. There is other shit that’ll kill you there faster than a spider and that shit is called sub-zero temperatures.

“Approximately 90 percent of known bat-catching spiders live in the warmer areas of the globe, in the third of the Earth surrounding the equator. About 40 percent live in the neotropics — the whole of South America, and the tropical regions of North America — while nearly a third live in Asia and more than a sixth live in Australia and Papua New Guinea.

 Eighty-eight percent of the reported cases of bat catches were due to web-building spiders, with giant tropical orb-weaving spiders with a leg-span of 4 to 6 inches (10 to 15 centimeters) seen catching bats in huge, strong orb-webs up to 5 feet (1.5 meters) wide.

 In instances seen in Costa Rica and Panama, the spiders had built their webs near buildings inhabited by bat colonies. Bat-catching via spiderwebs was also witnessed particularly often in the parks and forests of the greater Hong Kong area. Future research may investigate whether the huge webs that sometimes block the entrances of tropical bat caves in east and southeast Asia and the neotropics may occasionally snag any members of the giant swarms of bats thatemerge from the caves at night.”

Ok. WHAT. THE. ENTIRE. FUCK????

(courtesy livescience.com)

Waaaaaaait for it ….

COME THE FUCK ON!!

Poor Batman …

You know, there really is nothing more to say on this subject except this: I smell the plot of the next Batman movie.

*shudders*

 

ISAACS INTERVIEWS MADAME WEEBLES (PART 2)

Reblogged from Isaacs Picture Conclusions:

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Hello and welcome to another edition of ISAACS INTERVIEWS!! Today I proudly present interview session two with the great and powerful MADAME WEEBLES from the wonderful, hilarious, wry, poignant and occasionally sentimental FEAR NO WEEBLES! Have you ever met MADAME WEEBLES?? If not – you SHOULD! Her site is a fantastic place to be! And just so you know a little back story, MADAME WEEBLES used to be a NYC Cop who once vacationed in L.A.

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Please join me for Part 2 of my interview, where Mr. Isaacs asks more hard-hitting questions.  I'm serious, I still have the bruises.

Sing along with Madame Weebles

Like many of you, I sing along when I’m listening to music.  It’s not pretty, but I do it anyway.

There are a lot of singers I can’t keep up with—their voices are either too high or too low for me.  Usually I get around it by going down or up an octave.  Or if I’m feeling fancy, I’ll harmonize.  But sometimes I feel stupidly ambitious and try to hit the actual notes.  The other day I tried to match Pat Benatar.  That was a mistake.  I sounded like I had my ovaries caught in a vise.

I don’t fare any better when I try to match someone with a really deep voice—Elvis Costello at his deepest, for instance.  I sound possessed, and it makes my vocal chords itch.

But there are some singers with vocal ranges that I can almost always match perfectly.  I call them Goldilocks Singers:  Not too high, not too low.  Juuuuust right.  For a chick, I have a relatively low-pitched voice; I’d most likely be a contralto if I were a legitimate singer (I have no problem singing comfortably well below middle C).  And for whatever reason, I find that I sing along best with Michael Hutchence from INXS (RIP, sir).  Most of my Goldilocks Singers are men but there are women on the list as well.  Sadly, the vast majority of my favorites aren’t Goldilocks (Geddy, honey, I’m so sorry but you often sing too high for me).

Here’s a partial list of my Goldilocks Singers:

Michael Hutchence
Billie Joe Armstrong, Green Day
Peter Murphy (except when he hits those basement-level notes)
Elvis Costello (ditto)
Billy Joel
Richard Butler, Psychedelic Furs
Dave Gahan, Depeche Mode
Pink
Shirley Manson, Garbage
Fiona Apple
Chrissie Hynde
Stevie Nicks

Okay, I’ve showed you mine.  Now you show me yours.