This is for all of you who have ever lived with a cat.

(Former) Portland Trailblazers forward Qyntel Woods recently pleaded guilty to misdemeanor animal abuse and was subsequently waived by the organization.

In his column today, John Canzano of The Oregonian picks up on a remark someone made that Thursday was "a sad day" for Qyntel Woods, and really puts the situation into a Real Life perspective. He compares Woods' "plight" with that of a Portland man who was laid off from his job as a software engineer in 2001 and has been trying to keep his life together while finding steady work. Quoting from Canzano's column:

Never mind that two NBA sources said Woods, 23, failed a drug test. Never mind that Woods pleaded guilty to misdemeanor animal abuse. Never mind that Woods once presented a basketball trading card to a state trooper as identification. And never mind that in December, while the Blazers were playing in Atlanta, a team representative reported that Woods showed up in the lobby of the team hotel smelling like marijuana.

Woods is still entitled to $12,525 per game. And Moxy is still wondering how he's going to pay his rent next month. And this is a sad day for Woods?

and...

...the only "Q" left around the Rose Garden is the one that stands for "question."

As in, "After all this, does anyone think Woods gets it?"

Because right now, Woods is holed up with his agent, Raymond Brothers, who is telling him everything he wants to hear. And Moxy, who doesn't have a criminal record, drug problem or a cruel streak when it comes to dogs, is just hoping to get some good news in 2005.

$12,525. To play ONE BASKETBALL GAME. And, while he and the NBA Players' Union are fighting his suspension, this kid is living off of his agent. Meanwhile, just to keep a roof over his head, Moxy Torres has taken odd jobs including a seasonal sales position and a $7/hr job as a security guard.

I'm not asking anyone to shed a tear for Moxy Torres (or any of the other millions of unemployed and underemployed Americans): But seriously, anyone who would claim that being waived by an NBA team--due to his own stupidity--is a "sad day" has their head up their ass (and/or up Woods' arse).

It's a sad commentary on our society that "we" tend to worship a loser just because he can shoot a basketball, but just sort of shrug our shoulders when we encounter someone who's willing to WORK just to keep a roof over his head and food on the table. "We" WISH we could be like the loser who makes more money for playing ONE BASKETBALL GAME than many people make in ONE ENTIRE YEAR: And "we" thank God (or whichever deity is applicable) we aren't like Moxy Torres.

That's seriously messed up, people.

The other evening, I took a quiz called "What Kind of Cat Would You Be?". My result was a Norwegian Forest Cat and thought, "hmmmmm, this kitty looks rather familiar!"

I'm actually more surprised that Simon has a breed association than I am over the fact that I tested out as him (after all, he shares my love for Nacho Cheese Doritos, chocolate and coffee and has remarkably stellar taste in music and computers).

Last term the only class I took was Beginning Drawing. I had taken art classes with this instructor for about 2-1/2 years now and it was time to try to hone the drawing skills.

The class was a disaster of Ishtar proportion: I got into difficulty with it 3-4 weeks in. I thought about dropping the class but decided to stick with it and try to work through it. Then it got REALLY bad, and I thought about just withdrawing and taking the "W" on the transcript. "No," I told myself, "You can't just drop out of the class just because it got hard...just gut it out and keep trying. You can work past your difficulties with the instructor and you can improve your technique. Just keep going to class; it'll work out."

So, I stuck it out and I showed up for class every week (except the one where Billie disappeared one morning). I'm not great at drawing, that much I admit. And the way I went about things more often than not met with great opposition from my instructor (even though I thought I was following the instruction he had given me...but no this doesn't apply to THIS drawing; or I might have tried a technique and was pleased with my results and progress, but HE hated it). Still, I showed up every week and gave it my best shot, even though my gut was screaming at me not to.

For ignoring my instincts, I was awarded a C in my drawing class.

Of course it's not the end of the world. Even though I've lost the 4.0 GPA, it's still a 3.89 (and I have a lot of friends who'd whap me upside the head for complaining about that). I guess I'm just gutted because we were told we were being graded against ourselves (as opposed to being graded against the other students). Grading against myself, I certainly wasn't expecting another A (I had consistently gotten A's from this instructor in my other painting classes, despite my poor drawing skills), but I thought I gave a B performance at worst.

I guess the biggest lesson I will take away from the Fall '04 term is to LISTEN TO MY INSTINCTS.

A co-worker noticed an amazing double rainbow outside our office window Monday morning. The second rainbow was gone by the time I got the camera out and got to the window, but at least I managed to get some shots of this one. Yes, I know there's glare from the windows, and the ground scenery leaves much to be desired, but when such a rare shot like this appears, you take what you get!

I happened upon a post from someone who, last January, was compelled to write about blogs/bloggers that he thinks suck (and why). This person, evidently, didn't care for me, or the fact that I "think out loud."

In fact, he used such descriptive terms as "douchebag" and said something about me being the only one who wishes I weren't dead. It was kinda difficult to read because it was in all caps. It seems that my humble blog was the only one to elicit such a visceral ALL CAPS reaction from the child. (Is this what they're teaching him in his AP English class?)

Hey kid, thanks for the laugh! And, please, if you haven't already, quit reading my blog! Life's too short to subject yourself to things that cause you THAT MUCH distress.

BTW, thanks for the Mark Twain quote (it's one of my favourites)! Here's one for you from Anais Nin: "We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are."

PeaceOut!

Crab Cove #7
Originally uploaded by Planet Vicster.

A friend in my artist's community passed away yesterday after a lengthy and painful illness.

Katie's wonderful spirit was such a ray of sunshine in our group. She left our group several weeks ago to spend her last weeks with her daughter. Katie is sorely missed by our crazy band of photographers.

May your soul soar now, Katie, free from the bonds of your poor, worn out body.

This date may prove significant in my life, for it may mark the very last NHL game I will ever see (San Jose Sharks v. Toronto Maple Leafs, if you don't have an old 2003-2004 schedule handy).

After Wayne Gretzky's hand-wringing over possibly losing two NHL seasons, and the latest round of finger-pointing bullshit by the NHL owners and NHLPA, I have completely lost my patience with the National Hockey League.

OK, it took a long time, but the NHLPA is finally starting to publicly acknowledge what they've surely known for a long time: That the cash cow has tipped over and the days of multi-million-dollar contracts for relatively marginal players are about to end (as they should).

And still the NHL owners refuse to acknowledge their part in the this whole mess: That they were the ones OFFERING THESE RIDICULOUS CONTRACTS IN THE FIRST PLACE! That the few "wealthy" owners drove the market up on contracts because they could afford to (try to) buy a Stanley Cup (the New York Rangers being the exception...they had the highest payroll in the NHL and still managed to suck game in and game out). The attitude of NHL owners is, "Sure, we gave the players these expensive contracts, but THEY ACCEPTED THE CONTRACTS so it's all the players' fault! Therefore, they insist on making the NHLPA make all the major concessions to ensure cost certainty for the league. They won't even put on their reading glasses now, unless the NHLPA has the words "salary cap" in their proposal.

COST CERTAINTY! This is the same group (led by Gary Bettman, who made Business Week's list of the Worst Managers of 2004) who act all coy when asked if they'll be lowering ticket prices once they get their lower salaries and "cost certainty": Bettman was quoted as saying that things such as ticket prices are something that the markets should determine. Of course, they want the market to determine how much money they get to stuff INTO their pockets, yet want controls and cost certainty on the money coming OUT of their pockets. What a bunch of snot nozzles!

Earlier I said that the NHL absolutely needs to contract by about 5-10 teams. Now, I really think the NHL should just die. Both the owners and the players have now convinced me that absolutely none of them DESERVE the NHL.

At least I finally got to see the Maple Leafs play in person...

Sunflower-4
Originally uploaded by Planet Vicster.

Outside my window it's grey, cold (well, California cold), and rainy. But on my blog the sunflowers are shining bright! (that is, if the uploader/display thingie is working all right this time!)

The trip to and from had its share of dramatics (oh MY how that kitty-boy can HOWL!). In the exam room he was a major snuggle-bunny...mostly because he was trying very very hard to disappear into my body. Unfortunately for him, both the tech and the vet could still see him and he was subjected to being felt up and having things poked in his ear (I told him it really is the more preferable way to have his temperature taken) and lights shined in his eyes and his mouth pried open.

And to top off this 15 minutes of humiliation, the tech AND the vet commented on his rather husky physique. He's a bit over 12 pounds...up a pound and change from last year, but no where near his heaviest weight which was just under 16 pounds back in 2002.

But, after all that, he's got a clean bill of health (other than the weight thing)! He got a treat from the vet, and a nice big pinch of catnip when we got home and now having groomed himself, he's happily bagging some zzzzzzzz's as if he'd been home all day long (thank goodness for the resiliency of my furkids).

Here's hoping we don't have to go back there until next year!

I was cruising through Off Wing Opinion last evening and clicked on a link to Ashlee Simpson's rather unfortunate Orange Bowl halftime show performance (she was booed off the stage...OUCH!). So while the stream is buffering, Simon settles on my lap. Suddenly the video cranks up and the sound of Ashlee Simpson's voice makes Simon leap a good 12-15 inches STRAIGHT UP off of my lap! Then the stream needed to re-buffer so while it did that I settled Simon back onto my lap. Then, Ms. Simpson screeched yet again, sending Simon back into the air. His back legs landed on the edge of my desk and he used the desk to launch himself half-way across the living room and ran half-screeching, half-wailing into the kitchen!

I had cascades of tears streaming down my face for three reasons:
     1. It was SO DAMN FUNNY!
     2. I was laughing so hard it kicked my migraine up again. And...
     3. I was just so proud of the boy for inheriting his "mom's" discriminating taste in music!

I guess I should have realized that, rather than working toward solving the
problem, you really were spoiling for a fight or to make me slit my wrists over
making the mistake in the first place. Or something equally non-productive.

And when you didn't get your EXACT OWN WAY, you called everyone you could think of and complained about what a fucking boob I am. And, when that wasn't enough, you fired off a nastygram, just to drive the point home. (Be sure you mention this in your nightly prayers...and make sure God puts a BIG POX ON MY HOUSE; clearly I deserve no less!)

Hope this morning's events have left you feeling REALLY BIG AND IMPORTANT. Because you are...oh yes you are. God loves you. Surely that, along with your self-righteousness, ought to keep you nice and toasty-warm tonight.

I had a dream last night/this morning. I was out wandering around some downtown area and ended up in a bridal shop. Some twinge of insanity compelled me to rifle through the dresses until the saleslady came up and showed me the perfect wedding dress: A crepy-flowy sleeveless number in blush pink (no White Wedding for me...too blase' thanks...though IRL, I'd likely get married in red, not pink). I tried it on and, if I must say it myself, I looked damn hot! I had hair and make-up done and went in for photos. Then, I just wandered around the shop the rest of the day, still wearing the dress!

I could not decide whether I was going to buy the dress now, or put it on layaway. I'd keep heading up to the cash register to buy the dress, but then stop myself, saying, "Maybe I'm jumping the gun, here." and then I'd wander around the shop some more. I was headed to the cash register one last time (I had decided to hell with jumping the gun, I was just going to buy the damn thing!), when Simon woke me up.

I think my mid-life crisis is starting...

Steal a parking place away from a guy driving a car with a license plate indicating he's a war veteran...with a purple heart. Wonder if that's how he got the patch over his eye? I wanted to back up toward the woman in the Honda so that Purple Heart Veteran Guy could have the space I was vacating (since he was there first and had his turn signal on), but she was bearing down on my bumper!

What could Trader Joe's possibly have that is worth stealing a parking space away from anyone, least of all a Purple Heart Veteran Guy (with an eye patch)?!?

12:12 p.m. 12/31/04 and 52 degrees
Originally uploaded by Planet Vicster.

I was chillin' with Luna Bella (my Wicked Cool! Subaru) on New Year's Eve day.

...because it hits a little close to home.

Today's Dilbert comic strip.