Curiosity may not have killed the cat, but it did give me a good story

I don't have (human) children, but I do have two very curious cats. So, I have to childproof the kitchen cabinets. That the cabinet doors have little magnets on them and they snap shut does nothing to deter them. I've been using rubber bands for the job (since I would rather not have to go through the trouble of installing actual child-proofing until I have ... children), but the problem with that system is that the elasticity of the rubber band does degrade eventually, and they break.

Case and Point: Monday, August 21, 2006, 6:30 a.m.

In my typical early-morning shuffle, I reached up to the cabinet over the refrigerator, removed the rubber band from the pair of doors, pulled down the cat food and filled their bowl. When I went to return the bag and reattach the rubber band, it snapped in my fingers. I promptly made a note and just as promptly forgot to replace it before I walked out the door.

Now, my cats know that I keep their food in the cabinet above the refrigerator. Normally, this would be enough to have them up there, sniffing around in no time. So today must have been an extra special experience, because in addition to the omnipresent cat food, I’m also stashing a huge paper bag (the kind with handles) filled with stale crackers for the birds. I believe the rest speaks for itself.

This is what I came home to:

Rainy-day Etiquette: A Battle of Wills

In this somewhat timeless passage from Kundera’s Unbearable Lightness of Being, I find myself particularly relating to the description of the blatant disregard of street etiquette (not unlike the behavior I spoke of in a previous piece):

It was drizzling. As people rushed along, they began opening umbrellas over their heads, and all at once the streets were crowded, too. Arched umbrella roofs collided with one another. The men were courteous, and when passing Tereza they held their umbrellas high over their heads and gave her room to go by. But the women would not yield; each looked straight ahead, waiting for the other woman to acknowledge her inferiority and step aside. The meeting of the umbrellas was a test of strength. At first Tereza gave way, but when she realized her courtesy was not being reciprocated, she started clutching her umbrella like the other women and ramming it forcefully against the oncoming umbrellas. No one ever said “Sorry”. For the most part no one said anything, though once or twice she did hear a “Fat cow!” or “Fuck you!”

Tereza is in Europe, circa 1970. I’m in Seattle 2006. The only real differences are that here and now, people are talking self-importantly into their cell phones, and the men are just as rude.

Vegan Cheese

Drew was visiting from Dallas over Memorial Day weekend. We were walking downtown from my Capitol Hill neighborhood, and we passed a local pizza joint that had just opened up (west of Machiavelli, the clandestine Italian place boasting many local accolades). There was a sandwich board on the sidewalk out front with a little fluorescent orange paper sign taped to it that read “vegan cheese”. Drew took one look at it and said, “Vegan cheese? That seems contradictory to me.”

I can completely understand this. He lives in Texas, where just about everything is meat with a side of meat. So, I appealed to him, “N-no, you have to remember that cheese comes from other animals besides the cow. Think outside the “dairy” box. You’re in the land of to-furkey and soy-sages."

I dedicate this piece to my lovely friend, Malia, who gets my dry sense of humor, and whose laughter is joyously infectious!

The Week of Summer Shows Part I: Thievery Corporation @ The Moore Theatre

OK, Thievery was the bohemian shit! I was seeing them for the first time. It was very, very hot, like insane sexy! There were a ton of instruments on stage with rotating artists to play them: bongos, tom toms, sax, sitar, trumpet, guitar, bass, two DJ tables, keyboards, electronic drums, and multiple lyricists singing multiple languages. There were anywhere from five to twenty people on stage at any given time. Above the stage were three large LCD screens streaming fluid visuals that went along with the music so well they were like an additional instrument: a James Bond-esque female silhouette, trailing cigarette smoke, spirals of color.

The music and stage presence of this group were definitely the high points of my evening, which is the way it should be, I suppose. But the negatives were big ones.

The low points began with the layout of the Moore Theatre, which I was also experiencing from the inside for the first time. The building is architecturally noteworthy, and of historical significance in Seattle. Having first opened its doors in 1907, it's the city's oldest entertainment venue. But the interior is an acoustical nightmare, especially from my vantage point in the second balcony. I was actually sitting higher than the highest point of the domed ceiling. I sat forward in my chair for the duration of the show, needing to take an active part in being able to understand the music. It's so flowy in nature, so by the time it reached my point of the building, it was like mud: very pretty, but thick and drippy mud!

The second problem with my physical location had to do with the other patrons sitting in my row. Actually, I use the term "sitting" loosely. I was parked in the aisle seat, quietly, unassumingly, and to myself. I didn't go to the show alone, but was separated from the others, who were also not necessarily together. The hoard of veritable children in my row was horrific, and went in and out of the row at least a thousand times! To say they were disruptive is a staggering understatement. It was a true testament to my character that I didn't go ballistic on them. Though to them I now say, "May you endure the likes of yourself at your next concert-going experience. You deserve nothing less!" I'm sure this is my karma for doing the same when I was a kid.

If I was to choose a favorite song, it would have to be Lebanese Blonde. Aside from the exotic sound of the song featuring the alluring sitar, it actually induces a feeling of being stoned, pulling the listener into a sleepy spell. "Lebanese blonde" is also a slang term for hash, so this is completely appropriate. It is one of the most sensual songs I can think of. And I just adore the sitar, and am thrilled whenever it makes a mysterious appearance in pop music.

It was a captivating, hypnotic show and I would see Thievery Corporation again in a heartbeat. Just remind me never to see them, or anyone else for that matter, at the Moore Theatre.