acid-washed face

Besos de Tacos: Or, the power of Twitter

2009-06-09T15:08:00.000-07:00

Many times, I am at a loss to explain my fascination with Twitter. Am I über-narcissistic? A complete nerd? Do I get a kick out of saying "micro-blogging?"

Well, before the stealing of the Iran Election (#iranelection), the biggest news about Twitter was how @aplusk challenged @cnnbrk to be first to 1 million followers.
But now Twitter is legitimate. It has a purpose: the whole "individuals have voices" thing has finally come to fruition, and we can participate in a revolution.

Prior to this total awesomeness, I thought the selling point of Twitter was the ability to write a song with another twit. I present to you "Besos De Tacos"...

P.S. Please ignore the lack of accent marks. Proper foreign grammar/punctuation can be a bitch on the Blackberry.

kristinaking tenemos un cancion que se llama "besos des tacos."7:55 PM Jun 7th from UberTwitter

jaredcarrasco Me gusta besos de tacoooooosss. Quiero poner tus labios en mi peneeeee por que hacen que mi pene tenga el sabor de tacos! Beeesos deee tacos7:59 PM Jun 7th from UberTwitter

((samuelrutldge@kristinaking cuando besan tacos, lo unico que obtiene es salsa fresca en la cara.8:02 PM Jun 7th from Power Twitter in reply to kristinaking))

kristinaking tengo un corazon de carne asada. Mis besos son tacos! Me encanto tus labios de frijoles!8:04 PM Jun 7th from UberTwitter

jaredcarrasco Cuando tus labios tocan mis labios me enamoro con tacoooooss! Tus besos de taco hacen que mis frigolitos se pongan calientes!8:11 PM Jun 7th from UberTwitter

kristinaking Tus besoooooos des tacoooooooos son lindoooo, y calienteeeee, y cuando yo pruebo tus labios y sus ojooooos, me en amoro.8:17 PM Jun 7th from UberTwitter

jaredcarrasco Me gusta tacos y tus beeeeesssoosss! Pero contigo tengo los dos juuuuntooosss! Cuando me besas queire explotar mi corazoooonn!8:22 PM Jun 7th from UberTwitter

See, this is why I love Twitter! Jared and I had no reason to write our song via Twitter—we were standing two feet apart. BUT, if we had been on opposite ends of the Earth, we could have accomplished the same feat! AND, if we had written this song on paper, another random twit, Samuel Rutledge, wouldn't have been able to contribute. That's another beautiful thing.

KK

Untitled Feline Space Opera by me.

2009-05-05T22:59:00.000-07:00

Note: This story was written as a space opera. Contrary to its name, the genre is not in any way musical. (I know, this is a letdown). It is best described as Sci-Fi lite, as explained by writer Brian Aldiss (xi):

Science Fiction is a big muscular horny creature, with a mass of bristling antennae and proprioceptors on its skull. It has a small sister, a gentle creature with red lips and a dash of stardust in her hair. Her name is Space Opera...Science Fiction is for real. Space Opera is for fun. Generally.
What Space Opera does is take a few light years and a pinch of reality and inflate thoroughly with melodrama, dreams, and a seasoning of screwy ideas.

Space Opera isn’t dependent on technology or futuristic plot devices to tell the story. It could just as easily take place on an island as it could an alien planet. Bring it on, L. Ron Hubbard!

UNTITLED FELINE SPACE OPERA
Kristina King

U.N. ADVISORY: THE SUPPLY OF DRINKING WATER IS DANGEROUSLY LOW. VERY LITTLE OF THE EARTH’S SOIL IS FERTILE. OFFICIALS RECOMMEND SECURING OFF-PLANET HOUSING. THERE WILL BE GOVERNMENT-SUBSIDIZED TRIPS TO MARS FOR RESDIENTS OF THE UNITED STATES, CANADA, GREAT BRITAIN AND THE NETHERLANDS. THE COST OF LIVING IN SPACE LINERS IS BECOMING MORE AFFORDABLE; THE U.N. RECOMMENDS CITIZENS CONSIDER THIS ALTERNATIVE TO SEEKING REFUGE ON MARS. WITHIN 6 MONTHS THE EARTH WILL NO LONGER BE ABLE TO SUPPORT HER POPULATION OF 10 BILLION PEOPLE.
“Is this the end of the world?” Jayne asked Carrie as the bulletin segued into a news story. “I remember when ‘off-world’ was a joke—something we saw in Blade Runner and dreamt would happen by 2020. But here we are, year 2030, and not only are we about to live off-world, but we’re being encouraged to FLEE EARTH AND NEVER RETURN.”
“Don’t say that,” replied Carrie. “You’re going to worry Max.” She fingered the touchscreen on her handheld and changed the channel.
THE END IS NIGH! RAPTURE IS COMING! THE SOUTHSIDE BAPTIST CHURCH IS HERE FOR YOU! IF YOU NEED TO REPENT, BE BAPTIZED OR HAVE YOUR SOUL SAVED, JOIN US ON SUN------
With a bemused look on her face, Carrie muted the handheld. “I don’t think so. I am really not interested. It didn’t scare me at 13, and it’s not going to scare me now! Besides... we have our arrangements made. Mase and Kagan are boarding at the same port as us. With any luck, we’ll be roomed near each other on the liner. I talked to my sister—she and John have secured accommodations for themselves and Betty.”
“So what you’re trying to say is, this isn’t going to be that bad?”
“Jayne, it’s not the end of the world.”
“Except that it is. Aren’t we going to mourn, or something?”
“Well, given the past few years on this shithole, I’m inclined to say ‘No, not really.’ Our best friends are going to be with us on the liner. We have a pet permit. The only thing we’re losing is space to collect junk. And really, if we keep accumulating crap at this rate, our apartment would look like our view out the window—a landfill. I see this as a fairly positive action.”
“I know you’re right. I guess I’m just sad. As a kid I never thought about this happening. I made mud pies, and I thought every kid did that, and that every kid WOULD DO THAT. I know these liners are nice, but I don’t think they’re going to come complete with ditches, fallen leaves and filberts.”
“Jayne, why are you so damn poetic about everything? You going back to school was the worst thing ever. What happened to that hot girl who played hockey? Sometimes I really miss my jock who was just interested in booze, sex and living life. Not thinking about the past and feeling the burden of mankind’s mistakes. I wish you would just get over it. We don’t have any other options! It’s really happening. And it will be fine. Besides, we can join the 300 Million-Mile-High Club. Ha ha.”
“Ouch. Me evolving as a person is such a horrible thing, right? Fuuuck!” Jayne stammered as she slammed the door to the bedroom.
“Well, Max, sounds like someone is on the rag, huh? Haha. C’mere!”
For the record, Max is a terrible name. If I were allowed to choose my own name, it would be Septimus. Hell, if all cats were allowed to choose their own names, no “Tiger,” “Garfield,” “Fluffy,” or “Princess” would exist.

I awoke from what felt like a weeklong nap. I remember riding the bus to the veterinary clinic, sitting in the waiting room, seeing the vet, and being caressed for a moment before having a large needled shoved in my skin. No worries, though. It didn’t really hurt. Cats like to play this game. We aim to make the biggest deal out of things that aren’t really that bad. Baths? The vet? Immunizations? Dry food? None of that is a big deal... but it is so much fun to pretend it is! We’re natural actors. Plus, we appreciate the sympathy treats afterwards.
However, when I woke up that night, I wasn’t in my usual natty green cat bed. This place was more sterile, but it wasn’t the vet’s office. As I heard John explain it, it was a big ship barreling through space. On the hunt for a more precise explanation, I stalked the long halls with my ears perked. According to Captain Monroe, it is a C765X Space-Liner, and it houses 10,000 humans and many, many cats. From what I understand, space travel used to be a commodity, undertaken by rich guys and operated by Virgin. But now the common man, and cat, travel the great black void.
Looking out the windows, I determined that this black void was unlike any attic or basement I’d seen. It was endless and sprinkled with more than stars; there were planets and spiral-arm galaxies visible, but the scenery was incredibly repetitive. Although there were thousands of humans and cats on board, looking out the window, I felt lonely; our only neighbors were an occasional space-liner passing by.

I threw my paws out in front of me, remembering how good it feels to stretch after a nap. I twisted my body around and came face-to-face with Scruffles, the fugly Persian owned by Mase and Kagan. Of course, she isn’t known by Scruffles among cats... she calls herself Genevieve. What a joke!
Nevertheless, I playfully batted her fuzzy face. Finally, some cat contact! Hi, Genny, it’s been a while; although, it’s hard to have a concept of time when you’ve been knocked out. Genny meowed in agreement, and flicked her tail, suggesting we explore. Having done little exploring and a lot of napping, I agreed and followed her as she snaked through the pet door.
Through the long familiar tunnel, I followed Genny. We were looking for nothing in particular, but changed our minds when we picked up the scent of many other cats. Noses to the ground, we followed a scent until we stopped before a nondescript metal door. Entering through the rubber flap, we came upon Heaven. Hardwood floors (great for sliding!), low chairs, cardboard boxes, scratching posts, tall chairs, and newspapers filled this room. In one corner we had self-dispensing food and water dishes—in bulk, I believe, in case those humans forgot about us. In another corner we had cordoned-off litter boxes. Are you joking? Privacy? This is awesome! Sometimes our humans can really follow through. I suppose we don’t really show our appreciation enough, though. If we did, maybe dogs wouldn’t be called Man’s Best Friend. But do we care? No. Cats have always preferred the self-sufficient reputation.
I surveyed the room and took in what would be our home for a couple years. There was a massive sisal rug in the middle of the room, and there were eight other cats in all manners of rest: some in a fetal position, some lying flat on their backs, others still contorted like circus freaks. I walked over to Betty, pawing at her tail. Betty, it’s nice to see you haven’t lost any weight. This move to space obviously hasn’t stressed you out. It’s ok, though. I’m digging the place too.

My bed, as it turns out, is like every other pet bed on this ship. Betty, Genny and I see the same things; the only differences we have are our owners. In that respect, our new home is nothing like Earth!

More about our ship: it possesses thousands of windows, through which we can watch space junk float by, and of course, the other space-liners, which are stuffed full like pimento olives. I think about the lives of cats on board these other ships. Do they have tasty food and a sisal rug? How about cat doors affording them maximum playtime? Could my life get better? No, Genny, I really don’t think this move to a space-liner was bad. It’s not like we’ll make home on another planet. This is it—this is life. Relaxing, playing, sleeping, eating; nothing too strenuous. Sure, I miss chasing the occasional bird, but I make up for it by having more social time with my fellow felines. Genny and Betty are solo cats, too, so they must know what I mean. But we have our humans and we have companions, so life truly is good.
The argument I most often hear my humans engage in is the quality-of-life. Carrie thinks everything about the ship is fine-and-dandy. They have creature comforts—and each other—so what more could they need? Jayne, on the other hand, just can’t shake this feeling of grief. She’s really missing Earth, and all of its landfills, bullet trains and rabid dogs. Really, though, what’s there to miss?

Day 650 on C765X, and all the inhabitants are settled into routine. The humans work aboard the ship much like they did on Earth, and the cats laze aboard... much like we did on Earth. Speaking of which, we have visited the place once in the past two years. We made a touchdown to pick up more passengers—replace the ones that had died or something. While there, we were allowed to walk around and visit the ol’ rock. Not much changed—it was just crappier and emptier. Dustier and darker. I can’t say I missed the place.

APPROACHING PLANET LUNIK. DO NOT LEAVE CRAFT WITHOUT EXPRESS PERMISSION FROM CREW. DO NOT ATTEMPT COMMUNICATION WITH LIFE FORMS ON PLANET LUNIK. AT THIS POINT IT IS UNKNOWN IF THE PLANET IS FRIENDLY. REPEAT: APPROACHING PLANET LUNIK. DO NOT LEAVE CRAFT WITHOUT EXPRESS PERMISSION FROM CREW...
Do they have cats on this planet? I could certainly stand to see some new faces. Seriously, seeing Genny, Betty and Paco daily can really grate on one’s nerves. The novelty of living on a ship has certainly worn off. Then again, the novelty of living on Earth wore off... so maybe, it’s just the novelty of living that has worn off? Time to stop before I get all existential. We’ve just received word that the planet Lunik appears void of any life forms as intelligent as humans.
“I don’t like the idea of this. Just because there aren’t any human-like creatures, it’s assumed safe?” Jayne cried. “What if there is some super-intelligent plant or animal life?”
“What, like a genius ficus?” Carrie retorted. “Relax. This is an adventure! When we were being cleared off of Earth, we had no idea we’d see AN UNKNOWN PLANET. It was supposed to be your standard flying-through-space kind of deal.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jayne said. “At least we’re in this together, anyway.”
Wow... humans can be so sentimental. They could be starving or dying, but ultimately fulfilled as long as they aren’t alone. Geesh.
THE CRAFT WILL REMAIN ON PLANET LUNIK FOR 48 HOURS WHILE NECESSARY REPAIRS ARE MADE. SECTOR A MAY DISEMBARK AT 1100 HOURS. SECTOR B, 1130. SECTOR C, 1200 HOURS. SECTOR D AND E, 1230. FINALLY, SECTOR F AND G MAY DISEMBARK AT 1300 HOURS.
“All right! Just one hour and we can get a breath of this Martian air!” Jayne said.
“You know, this isn’t Mars, so it’s not really Martian air. According to the message sent out by Captain Monroe, this atmosphere is nearly identical to Earth’s, so we shouldn’t even notice a change from the cabin to outside. This will be a completely routine visit, except the air is Lunikan. We can even let the cats roam around, with no problems,” Jensen said while reading his handheld.
“Thanks for the info, jackass,” Carrie replied. “We didn’t ask.”
“Well, he is right, though. I shouldn’t worry. If this planet is anything like Earth used to be, this visit will be nice. Nostalgic,” said Jayne.

All the scientific analysis and Jensen’s blather didn’t prepare us for Planet Lunik. The ship’s equipment specified the atmosphere was safe for humans to breathe in. That there was even water safe enough to drink. The state-of-the-art labs of the C765X Space-Liner confirmed there were no harmful foreign bacteria.
It sounded perfectly safe. It looked perfectly safe. Even walking on the soil... it was absolutely normal. Like walking on the old Earth, before the soil became dry and crunchy.
But you see, all the testing confirmed to the crew was that nothing on Lunik could affect humans. But they forgot an important demographic: felines.
We weren’t hurt. None of us died or got sick. But what happened on that Earth-like planet certainly affected our current and future relationships with humans.

I followed Genny outside of the ship, rubbing my flank against Carrie’s, then Jayne’s, legs. Kind of a “see ya soon,” gesture. That was the last time I displayed a sign of affection toward my owners.

Genny and I headed towards a wooded area for a fiesta. I watched Jensen’s tom Spunky get too close to Paco. Poor Paco... that cat sure is pretty—and an uninterested neutered male. But that Spunky’s got a horrible name, and a creepy owner, so you can’t really fault him for trying. Paco screeched and swatted at him futilely, looking at Genny and I. Seriously, get this cat away from me! he pleaded. Being bigger and more intimidating, we made our way over to Spunky and had a few words. No need for an altercation, though; we treat Spunky like he’s a kitten—well, like a kitten who fell out of a tree, and for the rest of his life thinks he’s a squirrel.
We gathered around a watering hole, waiting for the rest of our feline companions. It was time for some good old-fashioned hunting, something that we hadn’t done for years.
We’d been fed exceptionally well on the liner; even if our meals were a meat-substitute, they tasted like flesh. But where is the fun in that? All cats retain a hunting instinct, no matter how domesticated they are! And here we were, on a foreign planet with nearly two days of free time. Hunting felt like the right thing to do.
Ginger, Betty and Paco met up with Genny and I, and we slunk under some low, leafy bushes. Part of the fun of the hunt is being sneaky—we’re sneaking away from our friends and sneaking towards our prey. With a group of five, you leave little chance for subtlety, but retain quite an opportunity for an ambush. That’s what we were hoping, anyway—to find some space-bird or space-rodent to sink our claws and teeth into. Plus, it was a competition. We had two hours to come up with the biggest haul, and we wanted to win!
As I stalked in front of my friends, I paused and tilted my head to the right. My ear swiveled slightly as I caught a rustle no more than ten feet away. Without saying a word, the five of us spread out. There has got to be an animal in that bush!
A black-furred thing scurried out of the bush... and into our trap. Pinning it down, the five of us suffocated it quickly and stepped back. What we caught was definitely rodent—long, gnarly, yellow teeth poked out of a stubby snout. But those eyes! Oh, those eyes. They were small, black, and infinite.

We dragged the ugly black thing, along with some rather common-looking birds, back to the watering hole. Our instinct told us the contest was almost over. Now, to wait for the rest of our friends. We’ll count our catch and declare a winner.

Carcasses of ugly rodents and plump birds scattered the shore. We napped contentedly in small groups. We didn’t win the hunting contest—but the prize was bragging rights, so really, who cares? Everyone knew those scary-looking Toms would win anyway. I woke up every now and then as an odd sensation pulsed through me, wondering what sort of pathogen was coursing through my veins. I most definitely felt “off”—but like any good house-cat does, I ate some grass and went back to sleep.

“Where’s Max? And all the other cats?” Jayne worriedly asked Carrie.
“Jayne, relax. I saw them all take off together after landing. They’re just doing cat stuff—when was the last time they got a chance to hunt?” Carrie said.
“You’re right. Sorry about that. I just forget that our beloved Max has that killer instinct. I wonder what kind of animals they’ll find on this rock?”
“I don’t know, the Montauk Monster and Sasquatch?”
“Haha. Sounds about right. Should we organize a search party for them soon?”  “For the Montauk Monster and Sasquatch?”
“And Nessie, too. No, smartass, the cats.”
“Well, we’ll leave this place in a day, so I think we’re safe for now. Keep your worrying to yourself for another 12 hours, alright?”

As it turns out, we really shouldn’t have gone hunting. If you hunt, you end up eating parts of your prey. But in eating our catch, we changed. I looked around at the other cats. Some were napping, and others were lying down, sneaking surreptitious looks at the other cats. That’s exactly what I was doing.
Those of us awake didn’t want the others to know we stirred. We wished we remained asleep—among other things. We wished we never went hunting, we wished we never left the ship, we wished we were still on Earth. There is absolutely nothing like waking up to realize you are humongous. Not pregnant with a baby or swollen with hives, but physically, much bigger. I mean to say, we had grown overnight. Looking at Genny, I estimated her to be two meters long—taller than most humans.
So what about me? I was huge too. If I stood up, I would certainly tower over Carrie and Jayne. But I didn’t want to get up. Getting up meant facing our humans again. I’ve heard horror stories of big cats in captivity suddenly attacking their masters—would Jayne and Carrie expect that out of me? Betty’s fat face was uncharacteristically worried, as she expressed the sentiments I shared: Would we all be shot on the spot? Would they leave us here? Depart from Lunik immediately?

Somebody had to do something. We couldn’t sleep this away. I stretched my paws out in front of me, rolled over, and made my way onto all fours. Then I meowed, loudly.

The other cats immediately responded with meek rooos in return. They were all awake—Paco, Betty, Genny, the Toms—but not wanting to face reality. We were all larger-than-human, like our relatives, the Big Cats: Lions, Cheetahs and Leopards. Which is fine, if we were contained in zoos or the Sahara. But our humans—our benefactors—were not going to be pleased. Looking at each other, we had a collective fear: the humans were not going to take this lightly. Carrie and Jayne, Mase and Kagan, Suri and John, Jensen... they wouldn’t welcome us back on bended knee, catnip in hand.

The human reaction was anticipated to be bad—we expected to be greeted with shrieks as we boarded the liner, then perhaps quarantined until some scientists discovered an antidote for our extreme growth. After all, we didn’t want to grow like this... we had been perfectly content being cared for and doted upon. Besides, just because we were six feet long didn’t mean we would start walking upright and take arms against our owners!

The reaction was much worse than we had imagined. Yes, there were shrieks. No, our humans didn’t bend down to rub our bellies. They didn’t have a calm discussion about how to herd us on the liner. Pandemonium is a better description of what ensued.
“HOLY SHIT! WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?” screamed Jensen, whose face now matched his shock of red hair. “These cats are the size of humans. Maybe bigger! LOOK AT THOSE TEETH! AND THOSE CLAWS! THEY WILL KILL US!”
“Holy shit is right,” Carrie said, surprisingly calm. “All of these pets—these cats—could easily take us down.”
“CARRIE!” Jayne screamed back. “HOW COULD YOU! DO YOU—do you really think they are planning to attack us?”
“I doubt they are planning anything,” Carrie replied. “But to be safe, we need to get everyone boarded on the ship. NOW.”

ALL HUMAN PASSENGERS BOARD THE CRAFT IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT STOP FOR POSSESSIONS. DOORS 1-6 STARBOARD ARE OPEN. DOORS 10-18 PORT ARE OPEN. THIS ORDER IS MANDATORY. ALL HUMAN PASSENGERS BOARD THE CRAFT WITH URGENCY.
“Honestly? Do we really think a cat attack is imminent? They aren’t stupid creatures. They know we provide for them. Their increased size doesn’t mean they are devious!” said Jayne. “I really think we are overreacting!”
“Yeah. Even if Betty were 18 feet tall and blowing flames out of her nostrils, I don’t think she would cause any harm,” John replied. “But what about those other cats? They could be unpredictable. We can’t trust everyone’s animal. We have to come up with some sort of test.”
“Theoretically, that’s a good idea,” Carrie cut in. “We’ll screen all the cats to weed out the potential evil-doers. We can leave them here, and just allow the nice ones back onto the ship. BUT THAT WON’T WORK. How can you predict an animal’s behavior? If their size changed this radically, do you think that would affect their demeanor?”
“So there’s really no way to know,” Suri added. “Anyway, how do you think people are going to react to their pets being tested? It would be chaos if we told half the people on this ship that they have to ditch their animals.”
“Then there’d have to be some sort of appeals process,” John stated.
“And where are you planning on doing this, anyway?” Jensen interjected. “We can’t very well stay on this planet for weeks while we work it out! What if the cats did attack us? It’s just not worth it. THEY’RE JUST ANIMALS!”

We sat outside the space-liner, painfully awaiting our destiny. Funny concept, that. That we would be destined to remain on a foreign planet while our caretakers ditch us. I looked around at my feline companions. Ginger looked me in the eyes, saying we aren’t supposed to care. This is how we are. We’ll let this roll off our backs.
That has been our reputation for ages. The Egyptians were so impressed by our ability to not give a damn, that they encased us in sarcophagi to accompany them on their trips to the afterlife. I guess they needed something to calm them down during that ride.
But this isn’t the same sort of not caring. We pretend like we don’t need our humans; we pretend to not get excited; we pretend that the most fun one can have is hiding in a box-spring. Cats are really gifted at the nonchalant thing. Betty slinked over to Ginger and me: but we do care. I don’t know what I’d do without John and Suri.
We lack that dopey “I would die for you” characteristic that dogs have, but that doesn’t make lying on alien grass and wondering if the ship will just take off without us any less painful. Heartbreaking, added Ginger.

“We need to make a decision NOW! I am not going to sit here while a force of 900 rabid animals plots to take over this ship!” a loud voice echoed through meeting room 3A.
“Jensen, relax, please,” Carrie said, gritting her teeth. “Who said anything about rabid? Or a plot? There is no indication that OUR mild-mannered cats turned into bloodthirsty mutineers! Let’s think rationally here for a moment. Our cats are being watched from the observatory deck upstairs. Just wait ‘til we get a report, OK?”
“Realistically,” Captain Monroe started, “the most pressing issue we have to consider is room. Provided the cats haven’t undergone a personality change, we would bring them all back on board; it’s our obligation. However, we have room for ten thousand humans and 1000 house-cats, tops. Given the size the cats are now, where do we intend to keep them? They can’t all fit in the cat rooms. Plus, their diet has certainly changed. Do we have enough food to sustain them until we reach a colony?”
“YOU ARE OBLIGATED TO YOUR PAYING PASSENGERS, CAPTAIN!” Jensen screeched. “HUMAN LIVES ARE AT STAKE HERE!”
Jayne turned to Carrie. “But at what point do we consider our pets sub-human? Simply because we aren’t the same species? I know Max is cognizant of his environment. And intelligent. And loving. More so than that jackass Jensen!”
“Jayne!” Monroe raised his voice. “Not helping.”
“May I address the crowd, then, Captain?” Jayne asked, as Monroe nodded, preemptively responding to her request. “I asked my wife, ‘At what point do we consider our pets sub-human?’ Is it because they don’t walk on two legs or speak English? Is it because you don’t see them operating on themselves with mini-scalpels or ringing bells outside of discount stores at Christmastime? Is it because they don’t accumulate possessions as if that’s the greatest measure of worth?”
“GET HER OFF THE FLOOR!” hollered Jensen, as his face turned scarlet. “THIS IS IRRELEVANT!”
“NO, JENSEN, Jayne will not cede the floor!” shouted Carrie in return. “Jayne may seem overly emotional. A bleeding-heart. But she makes a great point. Why are you treating our pets like trash? You brought a cat on board. Is he really that easy to throw away—because he threatens you?”
“As all of us got back on board,” Carrie continued, “I took a look at our cats. You know what they were doing? Lying in the grass. Like they did years ago, when we still lived on Earth. Do you know what Jensen and countless others were doing at that time? They were screaming and flailing their limbs around like Kraken! At that moment, who was sub-human?”

We waited for three hours before getting up and walking around the ship. We didn’t want to look threatening—but at this point, anything an overgrown domesticated cat did would be considered a threat. I looked up and into the main conference room, where it appeared our fate was being decided. Alongside the kind Captain Monroe stood Carrie and Jayne, each of them speaking unknown sentiments emphatically, their eyes welling up. I know they are on our side, I tried to express to Genny. But she looked at me as if to say, Yes, of course they are. But we can’t hear them. We don’t know anything.
My curiosity got the best of me. You know that old adage—curiosity killed the cat. Well, cats have nine lives, so they rarely pay for their curiosity. Haha. I’d better be careful, or excessive clichés will kill this cat.
I stalked closer to the window, lifting my front paws against the plexiglass. I could see closer—and things weren’t looking that great for us. Jayne, Carrie and their friends seemed to be battling against one hundred people with louder opinions. Captain Monroe did his best to mediate between the groups, but it was fruitless. It looked like we were nowhere near getting back on that ship. I turned around to Genny, wondering if she saw the same bleak forecast I did. When I looked at her, her eyes darted towards Jensen, who pushed himself past Jayne and out of the conference room. Where’s that sonofabitch going?

Soon enough, we had our answer. The boosters powered up and the space-liner started to shake. I stumbled towards the ground as the ship moved upwards. This is really happening. They are leaving us on this godforsaken rock! Genny and I exchanged looks of disbelief. I turned my head towards the window as a silent mew escaped my lips. Jayne and Carrie looked down, mutely apologizing for their abject failure to protect me.

WORKS CITED

Aldiss, Brian W. "Introduction." Space Opera: An Anthology of Way-Back-When Futures. Ed. Brian W. Aldiss. Garden City, New York: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1974. ix-xiii.

eff Cathy—unfunny.

2009-02-15T16:09:00.000-08:00

I recently moved into a new apartment with my hetero-lifemate Tara. Pets are allowed in the complex, and there are a few cute ones I regularly pet near my steps. One is big, orange, and fluffy. Said cat caught the eye of Nate—while admiring this prize, I said he reminded me of my first cat, Garfield.

To which, of course, Nate guffawed. Garfield? What was my problem? What's up with the utter lack of creativity?

I chose to name my flaming orange cat Garfield, but please, give me a break; I was five. Creativity hadn't entered into the realm of pet names. I was too busy pretending there were ghosts called cocoabeans living in the filbert tree.

So, Garfield: totally unoriginal. Shortly following his adoption, we picked up a kitty who loved to eat french bread: Cathy.

You may notice a disturbing trend here... these people can name their pets only after characters in the Comics section.

True. But of all comics characters, Cathy? Seriously? That comic sucks! It was never funny or endearing!

Cathy is a woman. She likes chocolate. She likes to shop and can't control her compulsive spending. She has PMS. Life sucks. Cathy is a bitch.

It's really too bad I was making myself sick looking at these comics. I know more shining examples of Cathyness exist.

What was my point? Oh—fuck Cathy. If I ever find children and decide to call them my own, I'm keeping them the hell away from the comics section when it comes to naming our cats.

Quarter-Century Crisis (25th birthday=I am effing old)

2009-01-21T16:40:00.001-08:00

The absurd has really been getting to me lately. They say ignorance is bliss—I often believe that. College and student teaching taught me all these stupid theories about how much life sucks. Well, that it is pointless. We weren't created with a meaning here.

Sure, it is at times optimistic: we weren't created with a meaning, but that can't stop you from creating your own. Why not do that—decide why you exist? What are you on this planet for?

Therein lies another problem. I hate making decisions. "Where do you want to eat?" or "How many eggs do you want?"

I know you can't tell me how many eggs I want. Only I can tell me that. But what if I just straight-up don't care? If eating one leaves me hungry, I'll eat soon. If three is too much, someone else will eat my leftovers. Well, I guess two it is.

The egg thing must be a metaphor for my life, see. I could exist doing many jobs. If I work at the credit union all my life, I'll be hungry for more. If I teach five English preps a day I will have leftovers I need help with (but in that case, no one will eat them).

I am struggling to find that two-egg part of life. I know life doesn't end because I've reached a certain threshold (quarter-century). I know life doesn't have goals and standards I have to meet like working at a credit union does. I KNOW THIS. So why do I feel this: ennui, dissatisfaction... the meh.

I just want to get over "it." But what do I want? What is it I am so desperate to "get over?"

Honestly, this wasn't spurred by my turning 25. I just like the catchiness of "Quarter-Century Crisis." Reaching this arbitrary descriptor allows me to bitch a little more.

KK

P.S.
Can I blame this on being American? That life is so easy for me I have to create problems? Yes... it's a plan. See, "The American Dream" dictates I have a husband, 2.5 kids, a house, a picket fence, etc... and I have none of those. I don't even want those (well... maybe I could use a house... for all my He-Man toys...). I don't want them now, and I don't want them later. So why do I feel this void for something I don't even want? Must be that damn consumer culture. I love to shop. Maybe that's the void I feel—I'm so broke I can't shop. Yeah, that's it.

Banning books update

2008-12-11T09:04:00.000-08:00

Remember when I got all mad a few months ago, because an Oregonian mother was refusing to return a The Book of Bunny Suicides to her son's school?

Said mother thought the book was tasteless and would turn all children into rapist serial-killing elitist liberals?

So, remember, I taught at that school last year. You may have heard stories (I love a lot of the students and respected the other teachers, and that's the extent of the nice things I can say)...

The mother filed a grievance to have the book banned from the school library. Fine--it's her right as a parent to take that action (that is much better than her idea to steal the book).

Well, the board voted 3-3 about banning it. In January they will reconvene with all seven members and vote again.

This is just preposterous! I cannot believe they are thisclose to banning a book. Well, I can believe it--there are some backwards folk there.

Seriously. If the board bans this book, they are setting an extremely dangerous precedent. I suggest they ban the following works of literature I taught to students at that school last year:
Brave New World
Hamlet
Things Fall Apart
Catch-22
Cat's Cradle
The Awakening

They all feature suicide. If we're banning suicide, we should probably ban death as well...

The Great Gatsby
Harry Potter
The Scarlet Letter
short stories of Flannery O'Connor
The Crucible
The Hobbit
The Stranger
Tom Sawyer

Oh, wait. That was almost everything I taught. Damnit.

BURNING BOOKS is always the solution.

2008-10-21T21:16:00.000-07:00

While reading Jezebel today I see this link: Taffey Anderson, a mom from Oregon, says she plans on burning The Book Of Bunny Suicides, which her teenage son checked out from his high school library, because she thinks the book is "not OK."

I don't know why, but I instantly thought "Halsey!"

Unfortunately, I was right.

Taffey Anderson has filed paperwork to have a popular graphic novel banned from the library of Central Linn High School in Halsey.
There’s just one hitch: Anderson refuses to return The Book of Bunny Suicides to the school district so a committee can review her complaint.
She won’t budge. In fact, she reportedly plans to burn the book. (The Oregonian, via Oregon Live)

I taught English at this school last year, so it pains me to see this happening. Central Linn is a small underfunded school—typical for rural areas (typical for Real America, yeah?). I initially thought it was so funny because it rings of redneck stereotype: I don't like this book, so dangit! I'm settin' it aflame! Just like your homosexual sinning soul!

Then, I thought it was funny because a different book, Shutterbug Follies, was challenged last year, mostly because of cartoon nudity. We were pretty split about what we should do with it. Being a young liberal, I thought we should read it to kindergartners. Others didn't like it, for it was a little prurient. One History-sometimes-English-teacher said "it wasn't written well." Which, as others agreed with him, means ultimately "I don't like cartoon nudity, cursewords, and a female protagonist who sneaks around detective-like." Because you know what? It was written well. If you agree with Oscar Wilde, you can't make any other judgements about it.

MOVING ON...What is so heartbreaking about this story?

First, rather than take advantage of this "teachable moment" (something that was harped on constantly in the College of Ed.), the mother tears the book away from her son and says she is going to burn it. Because she doesn't like it. Second, the mother, in knowingly not returning the book to the library, is stealing. Well, as it turns out, in this great teachable moment, the mother is imparting a lesson to her child: if something upsets you, get rid of it. Preferably illegally (stealing) or violently (burning).

Luckily for mom, she has a legal recourse to get this book out of the library: she can challenge it through the district by filling out some reconsideration forms. This is a good thing, should there truly be some offensive literature in the library (perhaps a "How to Start a Juvenile Chapter of the KKK" book). Parents participating in their school community is always a good thing.

But pushing their own agenda on other students? Rather than use this opportunity to talk about what is reponsible or appropriate literature, she leaves her child wondering. And perhaps this taste of forbidden fruit will leave him wanting more liberal trash! He may vote for Ralph Nader in eight years?

And why should she get to dictate what other students in the district have access to? This book didn't magically appear in the library. The librarian is not an irresponsible woman out to corrupt your children. She would never order a book she thought was harmful! In fact, last year's nearly-banned book and this one have something in common: they are critically acclaimed and recommended by librarians across the country.

It is refreshing to see parents get involved in their student's curriculum and reading. However, trying to get a book banned helps no one, and stealing the book sets a very bad example. And burning it? Shit. I really wish Central Linn had copies of Fahrenheit 451. That book would spurn the greatest, most relevant English lesson EVER at that school.

The great thing about blogs is that this story is all over the place. Commenters upon commenters have said, "I sent a new copy of the book to CLHS via Amazon." Which is great, because this mother will never be able to check out all the copies (in just reading two blogs' comments, I saw that there are at least 10 copies headed to the school).

But on the other hand, if this story is all over the place, other parents may get the idea to fill out "Material Reconsideration" forms. When we reviewed Shutterbug Follies last year, each person on the committee spent hours in meetings/reviewing the book/reading relevant articles. This school district cannot afford that—it is spread too thin as it is!

AND DAMMIT, it just makes me mad. I don't think books should be banned because they contain suicidal cartoon animals, cartoon nudity, profanity or sexual content.

LAST YEAR, in Senior English, the students (well, realistically, four of 23) read Brave New World. If we apply the same standards of these controversial books, it should be banned too. Hell, I should have been fired on the spot. True, there are no graphics, so we nix the suicidal animals and nudity. However, it is full of profanity, sexual content, and perhaps most dangerously, satire.

OK, I MUST STOP or I will go on forever. Please comment! Let's discuss. Your thoughts?

I have much more to share concerning this.

This is why I don't start conversations.

2008-09-30T09:59:00.000-07:00

Hundreds, if not thousands, of frustrated and hungry Americans filter through a single CostCo store on any given Sunday. This past Sunday, I joined the flock (Josh's mom bought us some groceries! I'll do anything for free food). Surprisingly, I didn't get mad at the crowds or the scholarly college students stocking up on party cups for their first weekend of beer pong. No, I got mad at a guy who wanted to talk music.

We finished shopping, so I stood in line at the "Cafe" for a 59-cent soda. Earlier that day I made the mistake of wearing a Lou Reed shirt I screened last summer:

I like Lou Reed's music so much I made a shirt. Not that you can tell here, but I screened it slightly off-center. Oops. Back to Costco: the conversation below is not verbatim, but an approximation:

"What's your favorite Velvet album?"
"I don't really have one. I prefer Lou Reed solo."
"I gotta go with Velvet Underground & Nico. But that's BS, I'm a Lou Reed fan too."
"They are very different."
"Lou Reed is the Velvet Underground. Well, Nico's great too, but she's a whole different woman."
"There are other people in the band."

Ok, condescending music nerd, I am checked out of this conversation. It could have been a fruitful conversation. Heck, we could have been best friends!

But me stating I don't really have a favorite VU album is BS? Personally, I think it makes more sense to admit that than to pose and pretend I have a favorite when I don't. I can look at the tracklistings to & Nico and White Light/White Heat and recognize the songs and perhaps sing along, but is that enough of a basis to proclaim what my favorite album is?

Besides, I was wearing a Lou Reed shirt. Why didn't he ask what my favorite Reed album is?

Oh, and saying Lou Reed is the Velvet Underground (except maybe Nico?). Give me a break. Does this guy really think Velvet fans are the only people who have ever heard of John Cale?

And Nico? Andy Warhol put her in the band and she sang on a few tracks.

Bah! He probably thought I was a dumb girl because I stopped talking to him. There are things I wold rather do on a Sunday than debate how my opinion is OK and not BS.

Like, I'd rather bitterly blog about it two days later.

Bicycle update (Girl, you need Pussy Control!)

2008-09-09T20:10:00.000-07:00

It's funny to think, it was just a little over two years ago that I got back onto a bicycle (I hadn't been on one since the beginning of high school). I was in my first semester of grad school, and liked the idea of biking to the UO. Well, I really liked the idea of starting a bicycle gang.

One time Prince wrote this little ditty "Pussy Control":

Our story begins in a schoolyard
A little girl skipping rope with her friends
A tisket, a tasket, no lunch in her basket
Just school books 4 the fight she would be in
One day over this hoodie
She got beat 4 some clothes and a rep
With her chin up, she scolded "All y'all's molded
When I'm rich, on your neck I will step"
And step she did 2 the straight A's
Then college, a master degree
She hired the heifers that jumped her
And made everyone of them work 4 free?
No! Why?
So what if my sisters are triflin'?
They just don't know
She said "Mama didn't tell'em what she told me
'Girl, U need Pussy Control'" (Are U ready?)

Suffice it to say, I love "Pussy Control." So much so, that I named my crap-Royce Union bike after it.

Well, that bike came and went. For a little over a year I've been rocking a Raleigh Passage 3.0, which I purchased mostly because it was a beautiful shade of purple. I am not going to lie.

Now, a natural move would have been to stick with the Prince song bike names and call her "Purple Rain." But that is just so... obvious. And besides, the Biker Ghouls were trading up bikes left and right... and giving our new bikes sequel names.

So, Pussy Control became Pussy Control II: The Secret of the Ooze (thanks, Ninja Turtles!). Parenthetically speaking, her name is Prairie Rose, after the Roxy Music song (her technical color is like Dusty Rose or something acrylic-painty like that).

Pussy Control wore a cheap Dymo label announcing her name to the world. Up until last week. While doing a St. Vincent De Paul trip I stumbled upon some really cheap, really ancient, decorative letters—the kind you get wet and stick somewhere. They happened to be gold, which is one of my favorite colors. So...

What do you think of her now? I suppose I need to find a spot to add the necessary II: The Secret of the Ooze.

KK

Costume party run-off

2008-09-09T13:48:00.000-07:00

There wasn't too much enthusiasm for the last October Costume Party poll. So, we are having a demented run-off. I am putting up the most two most popular ideas from the last poll, as well as some suggestions that I received.

3 parties=vote 3 times!

October Costume Parties

2008-09-01T10:24:00.000-07:00

So, we generally have a bunch of costume parties in October. This year is no exception.

We plan on having three parties. Which parties are you most likely to attend?

KK

The 48 Hour Film Project

2008-08-14T12:49:00.000-07:00

Our historical fiction flick, "Lafayette" screened last night. This film was made in 48 hours; we drew the genre and received a mandatory character (Jane Gravenstein, Wellness Practitioner), line ("Ok, I think I got it straight") and prop (jumper cables) on Friday night. On Sunday night, we turned in the final cut.

It was so much fun! Words here cannot describe, but you can find running commentary: Fetus in Fetu blog.

So, funny thing... the screening started, in Portland, at 7. We left Eugene at 4:30, which put us on track to be in Portland at 6:30.

Then fires erupted on 1-5. Apparently trees were spontaneously combusting; the flames from one tree licked a hay truck, and that shit took the whole freeway down. For hours.
I also lost T-Mobile service. Right off of I-5 I had an "SOS" on my screen. I blamed the government for stealing my spectrum. But it might have been Al Qaeda.
Oh, and Sami texted me saying some intrepid enthusiasts found a dead Bigfoot? It sealed the deal... Armageddon.

We made it to Portland at 8:30, approximately one minute after our film finished screening. We went last, so we made it for the Q&A. But those jerks didn't let us vote :(

Dawn recorded the audience reaction to our film—and it was great! Laughs (and cringes) where we wanted 'em.

Check it out:

P.S. Here are the handbills
:

KK

Jukefrüt, or The Hottest Band that Never Happened

2008-08-04T10:14:00.000-07:00

Can you pinpoint the moment of your life you decided to be a rockstar?
If you say, "No, I never wanted to be a rockstar," you are a liar.

My moment occurred in late 1995, when I saw God on my TV:

and by God, I mean Billy Corgan in the "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" music video. Seriously... if it weren't for this watershed moment, I might still be listening to shitty countrypop.

Lying on the couch that morning, I wanted the following things: silver pants; a black Zero t-shirt; and a guitar. Over the years, I failed with the silver pants, but got the Zero shirt in various colors, and finally, a guitar. Did I ever learn to play it or take lessons? No.

But I was in a band, for like, 10 days. In the 11th grade my sister, friends Jessica and Ann, and I decided we would form a band. Luckily, we had some talent, as Ann could play the guitar and sing. The rest of us, not really so much.

Here's our story:

I filmed "practice" in 2001. Seven years later some footage sees the screen. You know, I might have more, somewhere, but all I have on my hard drive is fighting. Go figure. Did we ever play a song?

My apologies for the choppy editing. Back in the day I used Adobe Premiere, and I just tried Final Cut Pro yesterday. I've found it's not so intuitive as Premiere, and damnit, I just can't figure out how to make transitions work correctly.

Anyway, here's to your inner rock star...

We are having 3 October costume parties. Vote for your 3 fave themes!
	Tabloid party (dress like paparazzi, or a celebrity, or something from Weekly World News, etc.)
	YouTube phenomenon (dress as something from a YouTube video, or a YouTube user)
	Comic book character (obviously, dress as a comic book character)
	Y2K party (Dress as if Y2K brought on Doomsday: post-apocalyptic, like Mad Max)
	These all suck, give me more options.

pollcode.com free polls

What is your favorite idea for a costume party for Halloween? Feel free to vote three times, as we plan on having 3 costume parties in October!
	Tabloid party (dress like paparazzi, or a celebrity, or something from Weekly World News, etc.)
	YouTube phenomenon (dress as something from a YouTube video, or a YouTube user)
	Safari party (like you are on safari, duh)
	Rocky Horror (like a character or inspired by)
	Politics party (dress like a politician or a hot issue, such as tax cuts)
	TGIF (dress as your fave TGIF TV show character)

pollcode.com free polls