No, dog! NO.
No, dog! NO.
On Sunday, some friends and I had a Vanilla Ice-a-thon, which consisted of two movies: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II, and the amazing, can’t-believe-I-hadn’t-seen-it-before, Cool as Ice.
Dinner beforehand played out like Vanilla Ice: Behind the Music, as each of us brought our esoteric Ice knowledge to the table. “Did you know that he’s a motocross champion?” “Did you know he tried to make a comeback as a rap-metal artist in the late 90’s at the height of nu-metal’s popularity?” “Did you know he was involved in backyard wrestling?” “Did you know that ‘Ice Ice Baby’ is the only video to ever be permanently banned from playing on MTV? They actually had Vanilla Ice come in and destroy the video himself. He was a good sport about it but you could see that he wasn’t happy about doing it.” “Are you familiar with the concept of ‘icing’? Apparently there’s some sort of bounty if you ice Vanilla Ice.”
While we probably should have been downing Smirnoff Ice while watching this film, we made do with gin & tonics with lots of ice, ice baby…but not too much, lest our drinks get too cold, too cold.
Cool as Ice is a film that ostensibly has a plot and some underlying themes. The main theme is “Whatever a normal person would do, you should do the opposite.” So if you’re in the witness protection program, not only should you go on TV, but when your dumb ass is found and threatened by these figures from your past, you shouldn’t immediately call the police and instead wait until your child is kidnapped. If some dude on a motorcyle tries to kill you and your horse with his awesome stunt, you should probably date him. If that dude is Vanilla Ice, and you find him in your bedroom one morning and he wakes you up by jamming an ice cube in your mouth, you should probably take your top off instead of screaming, like a normal person would do.
It also arguably has some of the best, most believable dialogue of the last twenty years with Vanilla delivering lines like, “Drop that zero and get with the hero,” “What’s it like to have parents,” “I’m gone like yesterday,” and, approximately every other minute, “Yep yep!”.
It is horrible. I love it.
I’m also considering being Vanilla Ice for Halloween this year. Who could resist this tempting ensemble?
Apparently, Ice makes an appearance in the Juggalo Western, Big Money Rustlas, which is on the docket for a group viewing sometime this fall. Western wear or clown paint required.
On Thursday night, for dinner, I had a couple of ears of sweet corn. Not specifically due to poorness, but due to the overwhelming deliciousness of corn this time of year. The dog, with all of the instincts of his tiny spotted wolf ancestors, has figured out when I think something is particularly delicious and he will fixate on this item.
At some point on Thursday night, when my back was turned, he ate a corn cob.
He is officially Too Stupid To Live.
Why, you ask? Because corn cobs do not digest. This means that my wonderful dog has been vomiting cob for the last three days. Vomiting cob, and then trying to eat it again.
Dogs have a pact with one another. Several pacts, in fact. If they are ill, they will struggle valiantly to keep it concealed during daylight and evening hours, waiting for the moment when you have just entered the deepest sleep of the night, and that is when they will begin to make the horking sound that will snap any pet owner awake in a panic, trying to locate said retching animal in the dark. The second pact is that a dog is never allowed to sully the same area twice. Should he be violently ill, and throw up twice in a row, it is of the utmost importance that he start in one area and finish in another, sometimes as if propelled on a little treadmill, like he’s a vomit-powered rocket.
My dog is an asshole. When he dies (which may be soon), I’m going to have him stuffed in an extra humiliating position to serve as a warning to the next ten generations of dogs.
Ten years ago today, I left San Diego for Taipei, with layovers in Seattle and Tokyo. There are so many subjects that I never even touched upon. One of these years, maybe I’ll finish writing about it. Is there even any interest in hearing the rest of the stories?
It’s strange, the things you miss. Yes, I would love to go back and revisit the National Palace Museum and see festivals and check out temples, and of course I miss all of the wonderful exchange students (though they wouldn’t be there, should I return)…but the thing I’ve been actively craving for the last decade? Street food. Not even high-quality Taiwanese restaurant food, but street food. The spicy beef noodle soup I used to bring home in a clear plastic bag, the bubble tea, the long, rectangular crispy dumplings, candied haw, green onion pancakes, red bean-stuffed pancakes, EVERYTHING ON A STICK…the list goes on. Some things, like bubble tea, have taken off in the area and I can acquire them when the craving turns into a desperate need. Other things, I’ve been futilely trying to purchase or make myself ever since. Sadly, the closest thing I’ve found to the beef noodle soup is a frozen food version from the 99 Ranch Market–whenever I’ve spied something that might be right on a Chinese restaurant menu, the noodles have been wrong or the broth is wrong, and the tastebuds searching for that particular sensory memory are disappointed again.
I can hardly believe it’s been ten years. It doesn’t nearly feel that long ago! If it were more recent, I’d stand a chance of finding the instant noodle commercial that Beth and I were in on youtube…but sadly, ten years is a long time tech-wise. I don’t even know whom I might contact to try to get a copy for myself. As it stands, I don’t even know what the hell noodle company it WAS. But I still totally endorse their product. 100%!
GOD WHY DON’T I LEARN!?
Yesterday, I went to see Rasputina at Neumos. The last time I’d seen them perform was nearly a decade ago on Halloween, when my boyfriend absolutely refused to drive up from DC to join me at Dracula’s Ball, we had a huge fight about it, I decided to go anyway, took the train, got off at the wrong stop, got lost in a very bad area of Philadelphia where it’s probably a miracle I didn’t get stabbed, and I ended up getting a ride back to campus from some stranger in vampire teeth, but that’s a story for another time. Wait, that’s pretty well the whole story.
My intent was to see Rasputina; Rasputina was the band I’d paid for the ticket to see. I’m merely attempting to clarify why I was in the area, and therefore express my utter bewilderment that on a weeknight, with doors opening at 8, somehow the band I’d paid to see did not go onstage until after 11pm, forcing me to miss the majority of the show as I have to get up for work at an ungodly hour in the morning and cannot drag myself in dysfunctional or late, particularly when the boss’ boss is in town. Had I still been taking the bus to and from the city, I would have missed them entirely, stuck with only the miserable experience of the godawful opening bands. And I do mean GODAWFUL.
The first band was ‘The Curious Mystery’. This band should be renamed to “Jesus on Bass with Dude on Sitar while Token Female Yowls and Performs a Pee-Pee Dance”. The three male musicians were competent, which is the absolute nicest thing I can say. Singing off-key and incomprehensibly while you pose dramatically like a stork and play some manner of electric zither does not make you edgy. For the record, you suck. Also, can someone tell me WTF instrument this is? It is some manner of keyboard with a tube attached, and it was played vigorously in a pee-pee dance fashion, yet I could not discern what sound it was actually making.
The second band was Larkin Grimm, whose music I could have enjoyed had they not played their entire goddamned back catalog and had an obnoxious rambling explanation for what EVERY song was about before it was played. “This song is about when you clean your cat’s litterbox and the worms crawl into your brain.” “This song is about walking your dog and thinking about death, only your dog is smarter than you and you meet a butcher.” “This song is about an alien cat god from outer space.” “This song is about sex and decapitation except it’s actually about Iranian poets and let me go into a backstory on that.” “This song is about a bodily fluid, guess which one? I’m addressing all of the under 21 year olds in this 21-and-up audience, gosh I sure hope some kids snuck in with fake ids.” They went on in this fashion, I can’t even remember the rest. I believe I began to block them out, though I expect that had I listened, I would have heard “This song is about a clown murderer who turns out to be your stepfather only not really because he takes off that mask, too, and it’s actually your one true unicorn love who is full of the light of the song of the colors you can’t remember.” YOU ARE NOT ON VH1’S BEHIND THE FUCKING MUSIC, LADY. SHUT UP. GET OFF THE STAGE.
Finally, FINALLY, at quarter after elevenish, Rasputina finally, FINALLY got onstage. Except whatever dillhole was running the ‘stop the audience from getting restless’ overhead music just kept going. Eventually the band had to tap the mic and say “Yes, hello? We are ready to perform.”
It’s a shame that the stage was set up in such a way that I could not see Melora at ALL.
It was at this point, the annoying goth contingency began to press against me. I should not have to explain to someone standing behind me that my pockets are for my personal use. Also, look, Seattle Goths: It is not ‘goth’ to neglect personal hygiene. I understand, your mind is consumed with more important things, the futility of life, the fleeting nature of love, how much longer the sale is running on black hair dye, but seriously, brushing your teeth and putting on some deodorant won’t kill you. The tooth brushing, in fact, may help prevent heart disease, so you can continue annoying people, lo, with your very darkness, for years to come. You’re welcome. Come back sometime. We’ll talk about eyeliner and its proper application. And then we can talk about how you’re trying much too hard to be ‘spooky’ and your strict conformity to non-conformity. Whoa man, like, the establishment is freaked out by your dark nature. But mostly your lack of deodorant.
I got to hear only a few songs before I had to leave to go home. I don’t really feel that I got my money’s worth because I didn’t get to see the show I paid to see. I should have stayed at Po Dog and continued to eat fried pickles until I exploded; at least that would have been satisfying. In MY day, if we didn’t like the music the bard was playing, we would have stoned him outside in yon courtyard and ’twas a better place for it.
Saturday, I intended to hang around home and chill out since I was out late on Thursday and was so busy on Friday and I had plans for Sunday as well–plus, given that this week had been turned into a five day workweek due to a corporate inventory audit (AAAAAARGH) as opposed to my usual four, I knew I would need to relaxbe lazy as much as possible when I had the opportunity.
I spent the majority of the day falling asleep watching Babylon 5, and would likely have wasted the entire day in that manner had I not received a text message from a friend saying she was in the area and would I like to meet for dinner at the Indian place that is going to be the death of me? Yes. Yes, I would. I seriously don’t even care if I die with veins pumped full of tikka masala because it will have been worth it, damn it.
After stuffing my face with entirely too much food, we went to the nearby cheapy theater and saw “Get Him to the Greek”, which completely defied my expecations based on the trailer (“Oh, that looks painfully stupid.”) and was actually very funny and entertaining, which was extra surprising since I didn’t care for “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” at ALL. I also clued into the fact that my period is rapidly approaching, because I almost cried near the end, and really, the only time the imaginary problems of the attractive affect me that much is when my blood is chock full of hormones.
And chicken tikka.
P.S. How is it that Russell Brand is so utterly disgusting and yet so attractive at the same time? Like that thing about Tootsie Pops, the world may never know.
On Thursday, Kiki and I were supposed to go to Bearaoke at The Cuff, but stopped in at The Unicorn for a prefunk and ended up having so much fun that we stayed there. We eventually wandered over to The Cuff, but were so late that we missed everyone. Kiki introduced me to her friend who had changed his middle name to Megatron, whose mortal enemy, Optimus Prime, is friends with my friend shadowstitch, because we live in a very, very small world.
The Unicorn may well become my new favorite Seattle bar, home to many pieces of ironic taxidermy, circus food, and light shows made far more entrancing with the ‘Unicorn Dumb Eyes’ they hand out. Wearing them made me want to sing Erasure. Wearing them outside after drinking too much Unicorn Jizz made me want to prance out into pretty, pretty traffic with its pretty, pretty headlights.
We finished out the evening at the Wildrose, where it was sadly NOT Tuesday so there was a very sad lack of tacos, but there were some cheap drink specials which more than made up for it. We’re thinking about making Night at the Unicorn a regular thing, with glitter and feather boas and ironic taxidermy hats. Yes? YES.
Yesterday, as I was walking with Napoleon toward home, I noticed a guy walking a large dog near the mailbox area of the apartment complex. I decided to take a small detour as Napodog doesn’t always get along with other dogs and I wasn’t up to dealing with the scene that’s caused whenever a twenty pound dog decides he can kick the shit out of a fifty pound dog. This guy took his dog back toward the pool area, and then as I approached the mailbox area, he came out, holding the leash, without a dog, and got into the passenger side of a vehicle. At first I thought I must have been mistaken, the dog must have already been in the car, and then the dog came stumbling out from the mailbox area, no collar, and started investigating Napoleon, who was not really into having his butt sniffed. I looked up and made eye contact with this guy who had gotten in the car, like, “Why are you not controlling your dog, why aren’t you stopping this?” and as I’m thinking this, the SUV backs out to leave.
It finally clicked for me.
They were abandoning this dog.
I had the presence of mind to quickly memorize the license plate number, but I was a little flustered as to what my next step would be. I didn’t have my phone on me, and the dog was following Napoleon and me back to my apartment. I looked around for help but no one was around. I finally decided to get Napoleon inside, grab my phone, and call 911, sternly telling the strange dog to STAY when it looked like he was going to try to amble down the stairs and into my apartment. The dispatcher got the plate number, info about the dog, what scant descriptive info I could give about the abandoner and the vehicle itself. She said she was dispatching animal control, and I said I would wait outside the building with the dog until animal control arrived.
I told the dog to STAY again as I ran back inside, and got him a dish of water and some food since it was hot outside and it looked like he was starving. I’ve never seen such prominent ribs on a dog. He was also covered with tiny little bald patches, and he seemed to be walking funny, for lack of a better word. I gave him what comfort I could in the hour I had him until animal control arrived–patted him, told him he was a good boy, and he wagged his little tail and waited by my side. Napoleon, for his part, acted a damn fool inside, howling about the injustice that some of HIS food was being used to feed some OTHER dog, when doesn’t everyone know that he’s starving to death in there and HELLO he could also use some attention?
When the animal control officer arrived, he confirmed my worst suspicions–the marks all over this dog were bite marks, that he was walking on the backs of his paws instead of the front because his front feet were badly damaged, and additionally, he was missing half his tail. It makes me want to cry, thinking about what a terrible life this poor abused animal must have had.
I hope he finds a loving forever home. I hope they nail the bastards who did this.