Et Cetera, Et Cetera, Et Cetera

Chicken-fried Shamu

"...The ministry's effort, however, was in a different league to last week's attempt by the Japanese whaling industry -- whoops, sorry, Institute of Cetacean Research -- to explains its work to the Foreign Correspondent's Club of Japan.

The researchers into cetaceans got off to a shaky start by serving whale meat to the lunchtime gathering. Things got worse when they described this year's hunt of 273 'samples' as a mere feasibility study, which would lead to a real research programme next winter.

All this is necessary, said Fuzuko Nagasaki, director of the Institute of Cetacean Research, because it is very difficult to determine death rates of whales by age and sex. 'It is exactly the same as a human mortality survey,' Nagasaki said, leaving the assembled journalists with an image of health statisticians prowling the streets of Tokyo, explosive harpoons at the ready.

By the time another member of the team had started likening Japan's treatment at the International Whaling Commission to the bullying he had received as a disabled child, only a personal appearance by Captain Ahab himsef could have saved the occasion."

(New Scientist, 9/5/91)

Pussy nibbles

Saw a commercial last night for Friskies that filled me with a nameless terror. The tag line is "What's got into that cat?" and shows supposedly cute scenes of tabbies popping out of vases, Persians racing across piano keys, calicos rappeling down curtains (cute when it's someone else's Ming, Steinway or Valenciennes, I guess)... Friskies Marketing Research just doesn't understand that for a good percentage of the cat-food buying public, "makes your cat bouncy and mischevious" is not a selling point. "Makes your cat passive and listless" would be the line to make folk fight in the Safeway aisles for the last case.

"Purrbituates! Floppy the Wonder Cat says it's slotholicious!"

Testimonials from satisified customers:

"I've never seen Fluffy look so inert..."

"Stops Mr. Cuddles right in his tracks..."

"Buttons gives new meaning to the word 'lethargy'..."

"Sometimes I need to stare real hard to make sure she's still breathing..."

My animals are boisterous enough, thank you very much, without some damn kitty swill promising to "put the friskies" into them. "What's got into that cat," forsooth!

Carnivile

Annual company "family picnic" now being advertised by all-too-lifesized clown, depicted on plywood with fixed demoniacal stare and "evil -- evil -- EVIL!" smile, standing near cafeteria entrance. Holes are strategically bored into various places in the plywood, ostensibly so that the emotionally rugged carnival-goer may thrown nerf projectiles through them, but more probably in hopes that unwitting children may place their trusting little paws through them, and CHOMP!

The flyers promise "a holiday atmosphere." The holiday implied must be Walpurgisnacht.

Photo a must

(From Poets & Writers classifieds:)

WRITER WANTED. I am a man who was tried for a family crime. I am seeking a writer to collaberate with in writing a book regarding my story. People such as David Koresh or Betty Brodderick [sic] are dull and uninteresting. My story is complex and unique. There will be no renumeration as there is a chance to write a bestseller here. A chance is all anybody has to offer. Please send a resume and a sample of your work."

Toto, I don't think we're in Stockholm anymore

(Captions accompanying photos in an article about Nobel Week festivities:)

"Above: the grand finale to the meal, the Ice Cream Parade, begins its descent to the banquet room in step with the popular 1920's tune of 'I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Ice Cream.' At left: guests jubilantly greet the dessert's arrival."

Another dream drowns in a pool of sordid buffonery.

Sealed with a kiss

A lighter note not lacking to the long library afternoon... Somehow we got on the subject of Avon products... oh yes, I remember how -- I had very dramatically kissed an invoice that showed a long-standing problem had been resolved, and Marion remarked that it was a good thing that I didn't wear bright red lipstick. Shannon said, well, maybe not -- maybe a big red puckermark could be our new "ok to pay" stamp. That moved Marion to remember that every Avon lipstick she'd ever had/been given, red, pink, mauve, coral, terra cotta, anything, the instant she put it on her lips, turned to orange. We suggested that she have her pH tested. (Jeez, this is a long setup...) This led ME to remember out loud that I needed to get some Skin-So-Soft for bug repellant at Camp LeGuin... and it turned out Shannon had never heard of it. Marion had a pile of Avon catalogs in her office, and lo and behold, they not only had a Skin-So-Soft sample inside, but the whole Skin-So-Soft activities list.

"It's a bath oil -- it's an aftershower moisturizer -- it's a hot oil treatment to soften nails [CJ: uh, isn't it more usual to desire your nails harder?] -- it's a good wood cleaner -- it removes chewing gum from hair -- it removes soap scum from shower doors -- it removes lime and hard water deposits from bathroom tile -- it removes tar spots from car finishes without damaging paint -- it's an oil lubricant for fitting pipe joints -- rub it around the sills of your windows to repel crawling insects -- it cleans paint brushes easily and leaves them soft as new."

Shannon was moved to try some on her hands, and is now a pariah. "Oh God, I can't go home to my new house with this smell on me! I'm tainted!"

Fly the friendly... er, ocean

Oh yes,and United Airlines is advertising its Florida widebodies with new campaign featuring Shamu gliding through a water-filled DC-10... his ghostly smile beaming through the little windows as a fluke snaps a seat into full-upright-position... Chilling.

Hints from Heloise

Made my first trip to Builders Emporium as a gay divorcee. Managed to emerge relatively unscatched with some plain white Zipstik floor tiles on sale.

Well. Add "laying bathroom floor" to lengthy list of things in life easier to get into than out of (like driving in Chinatown). First, a jolly old time denuding floor of old carpet adhesive stuff after offending former floor covering bundled off to Siberia. Then the slowly dawning horror of realizing that nothing -- walls or fixtures -- are dead on plumb, and that a certain amount of angle improvisation with the old lineoleum knife is going to be required. And Zipstik does stick, yessirree. It does stick.

Increasing levels of whimsy and positively Buddhist fatalism toward the evening, means some creative spackle work still needs to be done around the edges, but project is substantially done. A tip for those of you playing along at home: in the enthusiasm of the moment, you may be tempted to use your fingers to spread spackle. Try to avoid this. It provides no benefits to the cuticles.

Take whatever steps are necessary to ensure that the already dim-witted and crusty-eyed cat does not settle down for a nap in the immediate neighborhood of where adhesive fumes are in the process of dissipating. Otherwise, it will be like having a small, unmedicated Katherine Hepburn with half a bot of Cuervo under her belt reeling around your ankles.