I’m riding the bus home from work today, and sitting in front is a middle-aged and portly woman, sporting a large, brightly-colored, unmissable, reusable PVC shopping bag.

On the front is a drawing of a cat walking away. You know that joke? What does a cat look like walking away? And then you pucker your lips and hold an arm above your head like you’re about to do the snorkeling dance move from the 60′s (70′s? I don’t know. Give me a break. I wasn’t alive yet.) but instead you wave it back and forth like a cat tail. Get it? Ya. THAT joke.

Anyway, this bag has a picture of a cat walking away. And book-ending the picture of the cat’s asshole are the words, in chubby, playful typeface, “Cat [insert asshole] Butt”.

It’s the height of sophistication really. The newest thing. Get one or be left behind with last month’s fashion.

So there’s this unnecessarily large picture of a cat walking away, the words Cat Butt, and then the side of the bag has a bunch of other, smaller drawings of other cats walking away. Quite diverse actually.

And all I can think, is that I am so relieved to know that I will not be around when some anthropologist or alien invader comes across these impossibly un-decomposable bags a bazillion years from now and writes a dissertation beginning, “Though finding Object Carriers from the era of the 21st century Human is nary newsworthy (these artifacts being plentiful and theories abounding on why these creatures found the collection of objects to be such a strong indicator of social standing), I would oblige you to please review the slides of this most recent find. As you can see, the multitude of artist’s careful renderings indicates that this culture had a clear affinity for, and perhaps worship of, feline anuses. Hopefully further research and subsequent finds will clarify of what benefit these anuses were to the species.”

Why is it (my totally unfounded and un-researched belief) that people who are born missing limbs do not generally receive/obtain prostheses, yet those who are mangled during the course of their life often do (resources permitting)?

And is this living proof of the adage, “ignorance is bliss”?

And, more importantly, do those who grow up with limbs develop neural pathways that then feel neglected when a limb is lost, whereas those born with imperfections develop different pathways altogether and never have need to feel disabled or inconvenienced by their situation?

Hmm.

I had occasion to go down to visit my family for the Fourth of July this year, which was most lovely.

I think it’s common in a lot of places to go to some city center or park and watch a fantastical public fireworks display, but I imagine this is especially true in California since fireworks are illegal (not that that stops anyone).

We did just that. It’s one of those rare exceptions to my general distaste for large crowds when I get starry-eyed and clasp my hands together with glee, skipping and batting my eyelids while I expound on the sheer splendor of the display of community.

The streets get blocked off, and people pour in from all directions.

They play cheesy music, which fortunately we could not hear from our vantage.

I tried to take some photos with the fancy shmancy “fireworks” setting, but I never could quite time them right, and consequently, the best I have to offer is:

Which I think is pretty cool. But ya, I know. Not fabulous.

I think the best part was this mom, dad, and young-ish kid behind us. They were chattering away in what sounded like it might be Russian. They would chat and then fall silent, then chat, and then silence. And after one bout of particularly contemplative and wowed silence, the kid suddenly pipes up very urgently with something that I can’t understand but is clearly a question. And mom says, heavily accented, “fye-er wairks.” Another moment of silence as the kid rolls this around in her mind. “Fye. Er. WAIRKS?” she asks. “Fye-er wairks.” And then she broke it down and asked something about “FYE-ER?” and, after some explanation from her mom, “WAIRKS!?” and some more explanation. It was priceless.

And the thing is, since we couldn’t hear the crappy music, you don’t really have a cue for the finale (what with the musical swelling and all). So the big fireworks go off in nicely timed succession, and then every so often a multitude of the itty bitty ones go off down below

And you’re like, is THAT the finale? Is it ending now? Ya…that must be the finale….it seems finale-ish.
…

Oh.

…

I guess not. Still going…

And that happens a small handful of times, and you’re wondering if there will even BE a finale or if they’ll just sort of go until they’re done because, at this point, the sky is pretty smoky and you’re figuring with all the budget cuts and all the cities that have canceled the fireworks displays, how many more can they HAVE? Right? And my mind is wandering…like I wonder if, in countries that are at war (on their land, not in some faraway place), fireworks are a no-no. Because even if it’s a well-known holiday, if you’re used to hearing bombs go off, do you really want to hear explosion after explosion? I wonder…

So I’m wondering.

And BAM BAM BAM KABLOOM BAM BOOM BIM BAME BOME BOOM BOOOOOOOOOOOM.

‘Splosions galore. Nothing artistic about it. Just lots of gunpowder.

Turns out, THAT was the finale.

In this predominantly rainy city, legend has it that once the Fourth of July has come and gone, we’re in the clear until the seasons morph to cold again.

I don’t have a problem with rain interspersed amongst warm, sunny days. In fact, I enjoy them. They are a welcome respite to the GO GO GO attitude of nice weather. Like a day off. An excuse to cozy up.

But nonetheless. Pfffft.

Go see that, too.

I consider myself relatively well educated on this sort of topic.

I already knew that at the grocery store, everything that is not in the produce aisle has 90% of its composition rooted in just three things: corn, wheat, soy. I already knew that the myth that a vegetarian lifestyle only makes sense for people who worry about animals’ feelings is just that – myth – since the farmers and factory workers are in equally dire straits. I already knew a lot of it.

I did not know that we are on a path that will land us with 1 in 3 people becoming afflicted with early onset diabetes. Nor that there are really creepy immigration conspiracies going on in the food industry. Nor that they seem to install these things in the cows that leave one of their stomachs permanently open to the air so they can check inside at will. Gross.

Additionally, my fantastically creative self discovered two completely genius business ideas:

1. Pitch fictitious but based-in-truth movie script about corrupt governmental employees in the food business. Because it is straight out of a crappy summer blockbuster.
2. In watching one scene where a bunch of pigs get loaded onto a platform, and then it comes to resemble a drop ride, I started thinking about amusement parks. And I realized that the point of them is to thrill, right? So if people really want to be scared, why don’t we create an amusement park where all the rides are based on factory farming!?!? You know, minus the actual killing part, because we want repeat customers. We’ll call it…Porky’s and Moomoo’s Theme Parks (TM). Hold your applause. Seriously, folks.

So anyway, go see it. You’ll probably learn something. And sure, there are aspects that are sensational (though not as much as you might think – it’s fairly level-headed), but I just recently decided that I’m shit tired of being cynical about everything. I have realized that, sure, you will always be able to find something inaccurate or propagandistic about things like this. You will always find critics. But anything that is suggesting we might question the status quo should be given a bit of a break since, compared to the number of chances the status quo has to drill itself deeper into our subconscious every day (at least hundreds), we question it very little. From where I am sitting and writing this right now, without moving I can count at least a handful of brands and ideals that are in my face every moment of every day without me giving a second thought. So…give the smaller voices a fair shot to compete.