My So Called Life

I wish the cat would stop talking with her butt

/ Shane / 1 Comment

After a certain age, our cat just kind of decided that the world was her bathroom. Rather than using the perfectly good litter box, she decided that she mostly prefers the bathtub and/or floor.

Now, in case you’re not familiar with the habits of cats, poop and pee are more than just a necessary side effect of consuming nourishment; often they serve to send a message. Haven’t been spending enough time playing with the cat? Better check your pillow before bed. Not properly showing your obeisance to the true master of the house? Say goodbye to something you love.

At first I thought she was just unsatisfied with the state of her litter box. In the past she has “voiced” her displeasure over this matter in a similar fashion. Not this time; no matter how clean I kept it, she just kept on keeping on, often pooping on the floor directly in front of the just-cleaned litter box, as if to say, “See what I think of THAT, my friend.”

I hate to say I got used to it, but what was I to do? Eventually I just started making it part of my nightly rounds. Move the laundry to the dryer, scoop some poop, call it a night.

I fell a little behind on cleaning her litter, and I started to get nervous. Waiting for the “shoe” to drop, if you catch my drift. But it never came. No extra poop anywhere. In fact, I realized, there hadn’t been any improperly located feces in days.

When I finally got to the litter box, that sucker was full. And yet, no poop on the floor. No displeasure was voiced. How could this be? After going where she pleased for so long, what could have caused her to stop? Had I finally broken her? “These stupid humans. I’ve been sending them poop messages for MONTHS, and they still can’t properly clean a litter box. I give UP.”

As I pondered this mystery, I suddenly hit on the answer. Right about the time this all started, I had purchased a different litter than usual. It had been on sale, and it never for a second occured to me that Nala would notice, or care. However, we had finally used up our stockpile, and the current litter was the kind we usually buy.

Apparently, Nala is a Fresh Step girl.

I actually kind of felt bad for her. She had been trying to tell me in the loudest, smelliest way she knew how. “I would rather poop on a -5° tile floor than let my precious bottom touch that ABOMINATION you call Scoop Away!” She can’t exactly come out and say it, and besides, didn’t I already know? Cats talk with their butt.

On the other hand, SUCK IT UP, FANCY FEAST. Until you’re chipping in on the bills (or doing anything at all besides matting fur on all the winter hats), you can deign to rest your haunches on whatever is on sale this week. It’s a poop-box; you’re not eating off of it.

Oh well, all’s well that ends well, I guess. I just wish she could find a different way to send messages. One that doesn’t come from her butt.

The Creative Type

/ Shane / Leave a comment

I never thought of myself as “the creative type”.

When I hear “the creative type”, I picture some funky artist. She’s got some colorful, loose-fitting clothes, maybe a chunky necklace and ill kempt hair. She probably salutes the sun, practices alternative medicine, and has never been on time for anything.

In fact, I probably couldn’t stand that person.

I make lists. I measure twice and cut once. I like science, and rules, and I double check everything on the Internet. If I’m only 10 minutes early to something, I feel like I’m running late. When I took an art class in high school the art teacher told me, “You make art like an engineer.”

That’s the exact opposite of the creative type, right?

Perhaps. But what I’ve learned lately is that there is a difference between being a creator and being a creative type. Art, music, movies, novels — those things don’t come from showing up late and doing whatever you want. Those come from putting your butt in a chair, day after day, learning, studying, making deadlines, struggling, over a long period of time. You simply can’t be a flake and sustain all of that.

A lot of writers talk about how writing is an itch that they can’t ignore. They simply have to itch it. No way around it. I assume it is the same for artists, composers, etc. I don’t think that’s exactly true for me, per say, but I would say that I do have an itch for creating things. It doesn’t have to be writing fiction; there’s blogging, and knitting, and writing software, and playing music. All of these things scratch that itch for me. But I absolutely, 100%, have a need to create.

I get SO EXCITED when people I know create things. Whether someone is starting a new blog, or starting a sewing business, trying their hand at fiction, starting a podcast, or making a short film — whatever it is, I am in. I don’t care if it is good or bad, as long as the effort is being made, I am excited (often, it turns out, more excited than the person doing the project, to my chagrin).

That’s what humanity is all about. That’s what keeps the vastness of space from crushing us. That’s what holds back entropy.

Only in my 30s have I realized that you don’t have to be a “creative type” to be a creator. You can be a planner, or a rule follower, or a meticulous researcher and still be a creator. Engineers are creators. So are plumbers, and lawmakers, and archeologists.

And the more creating we have, of all kinds, the better off we are.

Green Bay Packers missing a key ingredient

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Well, the Packers made it all the way to the NFC championship this year, but they couldn’t quite get over the hump. In retrospect, I feel like there is one missing, crucial ingredient that is holding them back from going all the way.

I am talking, of course, about their lack of a fight song.

You know what I mean. The cheesy big band songs from the 1920’s with the awful lyrics, like “We’ll never forget the way you thrilled the nation / with your T formation!” and “We’re gonna do it for our super fans!” While the songs are groan inducing when taken at face value, there is something about having a shared song or go-to chant that makes a universal bond between fans. Get a group of Boilermakers together, and there’s going to be a “Hail Purdue”, regardless of the race/gender/income level/background of the participants. It’s literally the one thing they have in common (also, it’s legally required by the ritual blood oath performed at all graduation ceremonies).

I’ve lived in two places with great fight songs, and I’m here to tell you what a difference it makes. If you get at least 2 Philadelphians together, you might not get the full “Fly, Eagles, Fly”, but you will at least get an, “E-A-G-L-E-S-EAGLES!” I am not kidding, you would not believe how often this comes up. I’ve heard it at fast food restaurants (during the offseason!). I’ve heard it while waiting in line to get into a haunted house. I’ve heard it basically every time I’ve gone for a cheesesteak. In Chicago, nobody really sings “Bear Down, Chicago Bears”, but I do hear the music quite a bit, and I’m sure any Chicago football fan would recognize the opening few bars of music.

Where is our “San Diego SUPER CHARGERS!”? Our “J-E-T-S-JETS-JETS-JETS!”?

The main thing the Packers have is shouting, “Go, Pack, Go!” Not very inspired. Some might say they have the “Beer Barrel Polka”, which is definitely played prominently in the stadium during game days. However, that is not Packer-specific; quite frankly there are a lot of places in Wisconsin you might hear the “Beer Barrel Polka” (including church).

Now, before you jump down my throat, I am aware that there is an official fight song, it’s exactly what I was talking about, and it even mentions bacon. However, there are a few problems with it. First and foremost, the original lyrics say, “On you blue and gold, to glory” which, you know, is a bit dated since they haven’t worn those colors since the 1930s. Second, and most importantly, have you ever heard anybody actually singing this thing?

If we ever hope to make another superbowl appearance, I’d say we have two options: embrace the “official” fight song, and start playing it non-stop until every Packer fan knows it by heart (possibly, also a blood-oath, I’m just saying), or two, we make up a new one.

I know, I know, it’s kind of cheating. You can’t “invent” a tradition. But honestly, you can. All traditions have to start somewhere. Create something that sounds timeless, something simple, a little cheesy (see what I did there?), “find” an old tape somewhere at Lambeau, hire a couple of bands to play in the parking lot before games…I’m biased, but maybe a little accordion perhaps? Next thing you know, you have people singing it at the stadium, listening to it on the radio, greeting each other with the secret handshake…

Boom, superbowl all the way baby.

Quote Monday never cries

/ Shane / Leave a comment

Ollie: “You’re wearing an Aaron Rodgers shirt.”
Me: “Yeah.”
Ollie: “Maybe Aaron Rodgers is wearing *your* shirt.”

That seems likely.

Evie: “It must be hard being a daddy.”
Me: “It is, but why do you say so?”
Evie: “Well, you have to think of all those jokes to teach your kids.”

That is truly the hardest part.

Evie: “1993?? That is SO OLD! That’s like…FOREVER!”

Ollie: “A knight should never cry.”
Me: “No?”
Ollie: “No, because they have metal armor. So if they cry, it might get rusty.”

 

Drone Delivery

/ Shane / 3 Comments

What a ridiculous, delicious, science fictional time we live in.

In case you’ve been living under a rock for the past few years, you may not have heard of “Unmanned Aerial Vehicles“, also known as “UAVs” or “drones”. Basically they are little flying planes or helicopters, piloted remotely (or not at all). Some of them, such as the Predator drone, are capable of carrying out Hellfire missile strikes for the Air Force, while others, such as the Global Hawk, fly completely autonomously.

Like anything these days, technology continues to get cheaper, smarter, and smaller. You can pick up a self-stabilizing R/C helicopter at your local Toys R Us for under $20. For a little more money, you can get your very own camera-equipped spy copter.

Naturally, if I can get a spy-drone delivered to my door for less than $90, you can bet that all manner of nosy neighbors, Orwellian secret government agencies, paparazzi-style news magazines, creepy old men, and your favorite social networks will all shortly be monitoring your every coming and going. In fact, it would be foolish to think they’re not doing it right now.

Sounds awesome! But what’s in it for me?

Delivery of your hearts desire, anywhere in the world, within 30 minutes, that’s what.

Let’s start with the “Burrito Bomber“, the “world’s first airborne Mexican food delivery system”.

It works like this:

  • You connect to the Burrito Bomber web-app and order a burrito. Your smartphone sends your current location to our server, which generates a waypoint file compatible with the drone’s autopilot.
  • We upload the waypoint file to the drone and load your burrito in to our custom made Burrito Delivery Tube.
  • The drone flies to your location and releases the Burrito Delivery Tube. The burrito parachutes down to you, the drone flies itself home, and you enjoy your carne asada.

You can see a video of the Burrito Bomber in action here.

Burritos not really your thing? How about the TacoCopter, already in operation in the San Francisco Bay area. ALREADY IN OPERATION people.

Amazon has already announced the “Prime Air” program, wherein a drone would air-drop you a package in 30 minutes or less.

 

Is there any doubt this is going to happen? Of course not, it’s too convenient. Too awesome. Too inevitable.

The FAA is currently scrambling to lay down regulations for commercial drone usage, with a congressionally mandated deadline of September, 2015. But regardless of the deadline, this is coming, sooner or later. As a species, we have shown time and time again, that we will give up freedom for the illusion of safety, privacy for convenience, and personal and intimate details for a really good search engine.

I will happily give up the last shreds of my privacy, the last hope of a peaceful, empty sky, the last quiet moment of oneness of nature, for a still-warm, queso covered burrito, air-dropped to my location in the middle of a remote forest.

Any product, in my hand, 30 minutes? Make it so, congress.