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.”

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.

There are two kinds of blogs one might read: one read because of the content, or one read because of the author. Sometimes, in the latter scenario, you are interested in the author because you know them personally. It’s like those old irritating annual family update letters. But Way. More. Frequent.

I read several friends’ blogs. At first, this seems like the most brilliant idea. It seems a way to stay close when you are far – a means of connectedness and communication. You read what they write and you hear it as if spoken with their voice, and it automatically installs itself onto the canvas your mind invokes at their mention. But the problem, as these canvases are not perfect replications of every interaction but instead merely a “sense” of that person, is that your forget what you learned where. You forget whether you spoke to them last week about that interview two Mondays back, or whether you read about them speaking about their interview two Mondays back.

So some days you realize that you haven’t spoken with someone in ages, which you completely failed to realize all this time because you feel like you spoke last night online when you read their latest saga. Or you call someone and start to tell them the best story you’ve saved up and then they cut in, “ya…I read about that.” It’s insanely confusing. And more concerning still is that it allows one-sided relationships to develop, wherein one person blogs and another doesn’t, and effectively the writer’s life injects itself into reader’s life, but not the other way around. How lopsided, unfair, and sad. Moreover, the dual blogging friendship creates two feeds that shoot off in each other’s general direction but never (or rarely) mingle or converse. It’s such an odd product of the blogging age.

Um. Ya. And that’s it. My thoughts. Nutshell. End thesis. How’s that for a conclusion?

Field notes:

Today, a group of homo sapiens are observed near a watering hole. It seems to be guarded by a single male specimen who doles out some sort of intoxicating liquid in exchange for varying numbers of small rectangles of paper.

Special attention is paid to a set of specimens – one male and one female – who seem to be engaged in a sort of game. It is difficult to determine whether it is endeavored for pleasure or status. The game involves stone balls on a raised slab of wood with holes in the corners and long wooden sticks they use to hit the balls into the holes. There seem to be rules about which balls should be pushed into the holes.

The female is wrapped very tightly in pieces of cloth. The male is wrapped similarly, but much more loosely. Before they begin to play the game, they seem to be engaged in a ritual wherein the female arranges the balls incorrectly, and then allows the male to use forelimb gestures and vocalizations to show her how to arrange them correctly.

This appears to be a mating ritual.

I waited way too long to update my expense spreadsheet. And on top of that, this month happened to be when a lot of moneys went out…doctors, allergy testing, long overdue upgrade to pet habitat, vacation weekend, new printer (probably the only thing that should have waited, but it was my promised reward for following through on last months projects). The receipts piled up.

Let’s start over:

What a purdy, relaxing picture, don’t you think?