Ratchet the Iraqi Rescue Pup - Coming To America?

Ratchet the Iraqi rescue puppy has been cleared by the military for transport to Minnesota, where his human caretaker, Sgt. Gwen Beberg is returning after her tour of duty in Iraq.

I've been tracking this story since a friend of mine sent me a link, and it's almost irrational how happy it makes me to hear this good news.

Beberg pulled Ratchet from a burning pile of trash when he was four weeks old, and he's been her saving grace during a stressful wartime tour of duty in Baghdad.

For awhile it looked like he was going to have to be separated from Beberg, and possibly shot. But word spread and petitions were signed and Minnesota senators made phone calls, so let's all keep our fingers crossed.

Orange You Glad You're a Dreamer?

The psychic dream run continues. Last night I dreamt I was finishing up a visit in Indiana with my parents, and trying to pack my cats into their carrier for the ride home to Chicago. I kept looking into various carriers that were all over the back yard and saying, "These aren't my cats! Whose are these? Mom, where are my cats?"

There were purple cats, and tie-dyed cats, and glittery cats, and one that was speaking French and smoking a cigarette. Carrier after carrier had some unlikely combination of real cats and fantasy cats. The last one I looked into had two baby orange and white kittens in it. They had milk on their mouths and some burrs stuck to their scruffs.

"Well, at least these look real," I said.

Mom walked over to me. "Oh, yeah, you should pay attention to those. I think they want to be yours."

So -- back to reality now -- about an hour ago I was walking from my brother's house to my house, talking on the phone to my mom, and a big orange and white cat came strolling up the middle of the sidewalk toward me. I immediately started giggling. Here's another one, I thought. (And yes, I also thought "I can't wait to blog about this," because I am a nerd.)

He was one of those awesome city cats who's very self-assured, striding down the sidewalk like a person. He walked right up to me and meowed a greeting, like someone saying "Hey, I was hoping I'd bump into you." I petted his head, and he jumped up for a little more affection, twirled around my legs long enough to leave three little black burrs on my pant leg, and trotted off.

This interrupted the conversation with my mom, who said "What's going on? What are you giggling about?"

"There's this cat...oh, I can't explain." I picked the burrs off my pants and looked back at the cat, who gave me a funny little glance over his shoulder and disappeared into some bushes.

Okay, universe, I'm listening. You've warmed me up. I'm paying attention. I know I'm a vessel, or a conduit, or whatever flaky metaphor you prefer. Now what?

The Girl Who Runs With Squirrels

This post on Cute Overload has prompted me to write about an urban nature experience I had last Friday. (That's a baby squirrel licking someone's fingers, by the way. A baby flipping squirrel.)

I met Tony and Dan for our weekly lunchtime Chicago Underground Comedy pow-wow near Tony's work. We had a lovely outdoor chit-chat, stuffed our faces with burgers and ice cream, and then parted.

I headed back north, impulsively stopping at Lincoln Park (the actual park area, not the neighborhood) for a few moments of reflection. It was a gorgeous sunny day. I felt like sitting in the cool share under a tree, feeling the breeze across my face, and letting all of life's recent changes wash over me. So I did. I sat down and leaned up against a huge tree that canopied over my head and overlapped with other trees. I closed my eyes. I breathed deeply. I tried not to think.

Through all my years of caring for cats, dogs, birds, mice, horses, and every other kind of domestic animal you can think of (for those of you who didn't know me in my former life, I was a quiet small-town Indiana pet-sitter for many years), I've guess I've developed a way of being very quiet and small and nonthreatening when needed, to inspire comfort and trust in even the most skittish of creatures.

That's part of why, a few moments into my bucolic interlude, my peace was interrupted by the skitching of little mammal feet on dry bark. Many, many little mammal feet. From the tree I was leaning against and several others, a small army of squirrels slowly ran down the tree trunk and skipped across the grass. Some simply ran up other trees. Several traipsed around on the ground, looking and listening. But three of them inched, tiny step by tiny step, toward me.

Early on after moving to the city I realized that the urban squirrels and raccoons are a different breed from the suburban ones I knew back home. Suburban squirrels are like little furry ninjas. They sense your presence, and they disappear. Not urban squirrels. These little guys are boldly inquisitive.

I made little friendly clicking noises at the squirrels, and sat very still, trying hard not to giggle with surprise as three of them came closer and closer and closer to me, like my cats do when they're hoping for treats, and then they touched my legs. They touched their dinky little paws on my bare skin, and then, at the sound of a sneeze from an old woman on a bench nearby, ricocheted off me and back up the tree.

Thank you, nature. Thank you for demonstrating to me again the amazing power of adaptation. And thank you for my dose of cute.

Three Guinea Pigs Eating a Cucumber

The last 13 seconds of this video are BLISS.

I'll bet if you did a brain scan on someone as they watched this video, it would show that watching a red, white, and black guinea pig jockeying for position around a giant vegetable has the same positive effect on the brain as meditating. Or eating cupcakes. Or eating cupcakes while meditating.



Watching this reminds me of the dinnertable dynamics at play in my family growing up. Seven people fighting over ten dinner rolls can make something of a blood sport of the evening meal. As the youngest kid in this scenario, is it any wonder that I identify with the little white guinea pig? They don't even let him have a bite until halfway through, when he has to grab the whole cucumber and run off with it. Poor little Elizabeth -- I mean, white hamster!

Micropost

Soooo busy. Can't post. Enjoy baby otter cuteness:

I Need to Cut Out Carbs

Am I looking a little chubby around the blowhole these days? Tell me the truth.

Working From Home Is Problematic

Calpurnia's cuteness is a danger to my productivity. One of many reasons that working from home can be a real challenge. Tap, tap. Nudge, nudge.

Heroes Come in Small Packages

Chihuahua saves baby from rattlesnake.

First of all, what an adorable red-headed little baby.

And look at the proud, chillin' expression on the dog's face. Do you think he knows he did something amazing?

For all the animal hatas out there, and people who categorically hate entire group of animals (like little dogs), this little pup saw a rattler poising to strike his owners' grandbaby, and jumped between them to take the bite. Would you have done that? What a badass little hero.

Calpurnia's Edamame Breakfast

I'm still learning iMovie. Yesterday I spent a huge amount of time editing a video of Sloan's and my trip to the Garfield Park Conservatory. (We each did our own, and I'll post both of them here soon.) Then somehow my whole project was garbled and unfixably screwed up. Argh! So this morning I did this clip as a brief test.

Long ago I bored my readers with tales of Calpurnia's edamame-munching ways, and I guess a photo essay just wasn't enough to tell the tale. So here is video proof that she loves, loves, loves vegetables.

Seeing Stars, Fuzzy Ducklings, Unfunny Bananas

I'm writing my first piece for the Indianapolis Star. It's going to knock your socks off. Well, not really. You're not going to read it, and it will likely be pretty dull. But I've convinced another reputable publication to pay me to write, so I'm thrilled.

Paramedics save ducklings from storm drain. My darling nephew the EMT and firefighter, who recently breezed through Chicago on an intense family bonding mission, told me that right before he left home to visit me, he and his colleagues had done the exact same thing. In a world full of pointless strife and senseless suffering, grown men will coordinate efforts to pull some tiny, helpless, and by some measures, insignificant little fuzzlings from a storm drain and reunite them with their squawking and panicky Mommy. Pardon me while I snuffle just a little bit. Damn it.

A quote from a friend, who was disappointed in my less-than-enthusiastic response to her interpretation of a Family Guy joke: "It's funny, right? It's funny?" (Puzzled pause.) "Oh, I forgot, this part is important - you have to picture me doing all of this in a banana suit." And, because we can all use a laugh, the joke in question:

Splashosaurus, Seeing Red, Bad Celebrity Parents, Fug Mermaids, More

Evidence that many dinosaurs swam. Evidence that many humans are stupid, which is to say, a $27 million creationist museum has opened in Kentucky, asserting that dinosaurs were on Noah's Ark.

The evolutionary roots of red hair are revealed. “'It looks like red skin and hair became a sexual preference,'” said evolutionary biologist Molly Morris... it’s still socially—and sexually—relevant for an ape to see red.'" That must be why we're all so fascinated by the red butts on those mandrills when we go to the zoo.

Lindsay Lohan, recently released from detox at Wonderland into that honeymoon retox period, has been busted for DUI. (Oh, yeah, and she had cocaine in the car.) Her dumb dad has therefore been clamoring for cameras to blab at, since that's the only channel of communication he has with his daughter. Does this remind anyone else of Eminem's mom's "let's mend fences" rap a few years ago?

In 1493, somewhere near Haiti, Christopher Columbus saw three mermaids, and was disappointed by their lack of hotness. No, wait, those were manatees. Silly explorer.

Okay, cicadas are annoying and plentiful - to us humans. To zoo animals? They are yummy, yummy snacks.

A cool guy on YouTube is posting "how to" videos for people with prosthetic arms. Wanna know how to tie your shoe with one fleshly hand and one hook? He'll show you. With a smile.

The Internet Is a Useful Thing (For Once)

*My blog bud Collin over at Fizzle and Pop has started doing graphic design tutorials and putting them on his blog, explaining and demystifying the creative process as he goes. So cool! Of course, as you already know, I'm all about artists making the creative process transparent online, but I think this is especially cool. Once again, I have to ask: why aren't more people doing stuff like this? Imagine the practical and specialized knowledge that could be dispersed to all corners of the globe.



*My brother Andrew got a little industry attention for his Chicago Olympic direction efforts. Supposedly there's going to be something about him coming up in the Trib, as well.

*The Gongs, AKA my darling friend Brandi, are (is?) getting even more internet famous, thanks to the enchanting and infectious "The Dinosaur." First, there was the mention on Said The Gramophone. "So who are these people? Who are The Gongs? Let's make it up: they're three linguistics majors and a physics major. They're all taking a class on dinosaurs, because they like them. And they all have to do a presentation before the class on the subject of dinosaurs. And as they're meeting at the library one day the physics dude - who is a music-head, a dandelion, a wannabe indiepop star, - he convinces the linguistics girls to do a song..."

Now, The Stypod hearts "The Dinosaur" as well. "The dinosaur of the Gongs’s 'The Dinosaur' is a similarly peaceful creature: he 'won’t eat your friends' because 'he loves you'; he’ll even 'cook the food for the barbecue in your backyard.' Like those who explore the damp, tangled forests of the Congo, the Gongs—a girl named Brandi who doesn’t play a gong—are believers, and their work is a movement of faith. Both believe in the persistence of the past: certain things, they insist, certain things last, whether it is a creature whom extinction forgot or a childhood fantasy that never faded away..."

And approaching 3000 people have seen this cute video that a teenage girl made of her cat, set to a soundtrack of...yes, "The Dinosaur." AND, another popular music blog, catbirdseat, put "The Dinosaur" on the april 2007 mix and there's some more love here. And my friend Dan, who tells a dinosaur joke from time to time, is using the song on his MySpace.

*Also, this simply must be posted. Have you ever seen anything so awesome? That little tortoise is a bad ass hard-shelled little dude.

Dewey The Library Cat, and Reflections on Media

Via the AP, a cute story about an abandoned kitten that became a library cat, and passed away in the librarian's arms 19 years later. Very touching, especially to a library nerd like me. Then there's this:

"...TV crews came from as far away as Japan to do stories about him. Myron said she has found 222 'hits' for Dewey on the Internet search engine 'Google.'"

Why the quotes around internet terms like they're strange new language? Like we're talking about some alien being that breathes sulfur on Mars? Everybody Googles. It's a verb now. People know what a "hit" on a website is.

Even the stodgy old Pulitzer Prize rules allow use of more online material.

Who are we, Larry King? When he asked Roseanne if the internet is a viable political medium, he followed up by admitting that the internet is a totally foreign frontier to him. "The wife loves it. I wouldn’t love it. What do you punch little buttons and things?" Wait, he's a journalist? A news gatherer and explorer of ideas? Oh, my bad, no, he's Larry King. HUGE difference.

Come on, Earthlings. The internet is your friend. Shake its hand. Take it out for a cup of coffee. Give it a hug. It loves you, too.

Crazy Bunnies and Creativity Online

My essay "All About My Mother" is in the new issue of Estella's Revenge. Lovely editor Heather even included all my silly JPGs of Ferengis, Wentworth Miller, and, yes, my mom (as a toddler).

It would be so great if more people used the internet to prompt participatory creative exchanges across the digital divide. More stuff that's sometimes fun and silly, sometimes profound and poignant.

Stuff like Learning To Love You More. "New assignments! #58 Record the sound that is keeping you awake, #59 Interview someone who has experienced war., #60 Write a press release about an everyday event, #61 Describe your ideal government., and #62 Make an educational public plaque."

Stuff like PostSecret - "A Story of Courage and Understanding and as Told Through Secrets," now a book.

On a side note, the PostSecret postcard about Binkers reminds me of a hilarious story I keep getting more details on every time I hang out with my English friend J., who grew up under the dark shadow of a fifteen pound bunny named Snuffles, who ran free-range through the back garden of his family's home.

Snuffles was an aggressive little herbivore, who would not only terrorize any neighborhood cats unwise enough to wander into his yard, but would also charge and attempt to bite the ankles of any human who dared trespass on his territory.

This psycho-bunny also spent a lot of time, as bunnies do, burrowing through the garden, until it got to the point where every step in the grass led to sinking through to a bunny tunnel, or nearly snapping an ankle in a hole. Also, he managed to live for almost fifteen years. No wonder J. took so much pleasure in the bunny-wrangling scenes in Curse of the Were-Rabbit when we saw it last year.

The Puppy That Saved Thanksgiving

How was your Thanksgiving? Mine was pretty great. It was a lot like last year, except with a few minor cast changes and the introduction of an amazingly powerful puppy, who, with his one mighty pound of flesh, renders even the tallest and strongest men helpless. They devolve into giant piles of quivering jelly, capable only of uttering only the most primitive vocalizations. You can't tell from the picture, but the Jack Russell Terrier/Chihuahua mix my niece brought home for a visit is teacup tiny. Itty-bitty. Pocket-sized. Teeny-weeny.

Sloan and I and another friend are working on a crazy and wonderful project together. All I can say about it is that involves an extreme sport, some awesome travel, and a very ambitious creative endeavor. It's very exciting and could mean big things for all of us. Sloan has affected me in many positive ways since I hopped the Indiana/Illinois border. I am leaning more toward the veggie and yoga side of things, for example. I pay more attention to nature. Also, I get geeked out watching stuff like this. And inspired watching stuff like this. (Did you know that Learning To Love You More is a Miranda July project? I just realized that this morning.)

I'm starting to attend meetings of associations for people in communications, and I'm going to need to give some thought to my style. I don't think it would be cool for me to roll up at a networking thing on one of my bikes, in my usual comedy attire of jeans, pink Chuck Taylors, a black top, and a backpack with buttons on it. I'm not saying I'm going to wear heels or anything, but I need to at least carry something resembling an adult woman's purse.

Speaking of communications, Nate has pointed out to me and K-Rock that several online publications, including Radar, seem to now be using the layout we've been using for Bastion articles (like my interview with Eugene Mirman) since the beginning. Which is to say, including more multimedia. Seems like a no-brainer to me. I don't want to call us pioneers, because I hate Conestoga wagons even more than I hate station wagons, but hey.