Elsewhere ...
SmartLassy has been transformed from a mere shopping blog to a shopping blog STORE, which means that you can go buy cool stuff from us. We'll have lots of really cool knee socks this week. Don't you want some socks? Go, go, go.
posted by Kate at 2:56 AM link/comments
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Local news teaser I just heard as I was pouring a cup of tea
"Mail-order poisonous snakes, direct to your doorstep! Tomorrow at 10."
posted by Kate at 7:58 PM link/comments
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Wildly insensitive, yes, but I couldn't stop laughing.
I'm watching Barack Obama's concession speech at the New Hampshire caucuses. Our roommate, Zack, strolls through the living room as the Obama supporters on TV chant, "We want change! We want change!"
Zack: Man, I haven't heard this many people asking for change since the last time I walked past the food mart.
posted by Kate at 11:04 PM link/comments
Thursday, December 20, 2007
At least we understand each other.
I am having a nightmare. In my sleep, I whimper, and the sound wakes Marc.
K (waking up): I'm sorry. I had a bad dream.
M: Hmm? About what?
K: Snakes
M: Snakes?
K: Yeah. Algebra snakes.
M: ...
K: Me and you and our friends were in a cabin, and there were all these snakes slithering around everywhere, climbing up people's arms and legs, and when I freaked out, everyone said, "Calm down, Kate. They're harmless. They're just algebra snakes."
M: Hm. Yes. Algebra snakes ARE harmless.
K: Really?
M: Yup. They're preoccupied.
K: Yeah, I guess so. Too busy solving for x-ssssssss.
posted by Kate at 12:27 AM link/comments
Beaglebell Rock
go see.
Beaglebell Rock from Kate Foster on Vimeo.
posted by Kate at 12:16 AM link/comments
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Christiane Amanpour would be ashamed of me.
As a general rule, I don't write much about politics. Lord knows I have my own political views. Marc, I'm sure, would be happy to tell you how much fun it is to listen to my bilious gibberish during any given presidential address. However, in everyday life, I prefer to avoid it. It's pointless. If I'm with a group of people who share my political affiliation, then the conversation just seems like verbal wankery. And there is nothing I deplore more than, say, listening to a couple of half-drunk douches engaged in a scintillating debate about the socio-political implications of Roe v. Wade. How bloody original. Hey, who wants to do shots?
However ...
My mother is in the habit of sending me email manifestos that appear to have been written by some Cletus sitting around in his underwear and tube socks while on break from 24-hour online border surveillance. The one she sent me today, however, got me all riled up because it essentially implied that the vast majority who voted Democrat in the 2000 presidential election are/were tenement-dwelling, welfare-abusing murderers.
So, after replying-all to the e-mail (thereby involving a large portion of my extended family) and feeling very self-satisfied with my thoughtful, intelligent response, I started digging around online, and eventually realized that the e-mail she'd sent was the apparently-notorious "Fall of the Athenian Republic," which has its own debunker page on snopes.com.
Ahem.
Lesson learned. Just more evidence that I have no business whatsoever talking about politics. Would you like to hear another story about my cats?
posted by Kate at 9:22 AM link/comments
Friday, August 10, 2007
Best. Text Message. Ever.
Last night, from my friend Jennifer:
"My son is in his room listening to Foghat and doing Origami."
posted by Kate at 3:24 PM link/comments
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
For my dragon, with love (6/1/99 - 7/5/07)
Dear Tiamet -
You died the other day. You were eight years old, in people terms. I think you had a seizure or a stroke, and you passed quietly as I held you in my arms, scrambling for my shoes and keys in an attempt to get you to the vet. If you were sick before it happened, you didn't show it.
For a little while after you were gone, I held you and thought I might ask the cat doctor to find out what had made you die, but then I decided against it, because it wouldn't bring you back to me.
i was going to write this letter and recount all the best moments I had with you these past years, like the time you belly-flopped into Melinda's fern or the day you were born on a porch in Akron, Ohio, on Zack's chest, because your mom, Azrael, was too scared to give birth in the box we'd made for her. Or the day in the apartment, after we moved out of the house with seven other people, when it was just you and me and Azrael and Lazarus living in a tiny converted attic, when I tripped and fell and started to cry because I hurt my leg, when you came over and lay next to me on the floor, nuzzling my cheek and purring, and I realized that you just might care about me after all.
I could tell a hundred stories like these that would exemplify all that you were: gorgeous, smart, cunning, loving, and a little evil, but I'm having trouble right now putting that all into words without crying too much. Some people probably think it's silly to get all upset like this over a cat, but you were my friend. More than that, you weren't just my cat. For the two years we lived with my friends, when there were eight of us in one house trying to figure out how to live lives in our early twenties together, you were there, and you were everyone's cat. You were there before Nat and Amanda were married and before Amanda was pregnant (she's due in just about a month, by the way); you were there before Aamir and Holly moved to California; you were there before Jen went to Oregon; you were there before I met Marc and got married and we started complicating your life by moving you around and adopting dogs who liked to chase you. When you were born, I was a kid just out of college. When you died, I was an adult with responsibilities and a mortgage payment and a husband and a million experiences behind me, all of which made me older and more cautious and a little slower and possibly a bit wiser, too. Thank you for being there with me for all of it.
Marc buried you in our back yard under the pine tree. I thought you'd like it there because you always wanted to play with the Christmas ornaments on our tree every year. We put you in a box with a bottle cap, your favorite toy, and I want you to know that the day we found out that you liked to chase and fetch bottle caps was one of my favorite days and one of my fondest memories.
My Tia, my chaos dragon, my little tuxedo cat. I hope that if there's such thing as an afterlife that it is filled with bottle caps and empty cardboard boxes and rivers that run with Friskies. If some part of you is still out there somewhere, please keep an eye on Marc and me and Lazarus and Azrael and and the other critters, and in return, we will never, ever forget you. If we are lucky enough to have life after this life is done, I want nothing more than to see you waiting for me when I get there some day.
I miss you like hell, kitten, and I love you.
With all my heart,
Kate
posted by Kate at 1:19 AM link/comments
Monday, June 18, 2007
Here now is a copy of the e-mail I just sent to Vagisil:
Hello -
I just had the extreme displeasure of seeing your latest commercial on television.
I'm not quite sure what you were going for, but seeing as how your product is marketed to women, you might want to pay a little visit to your advertising gurus and remind them of the following:
1. Your symbolism should make some sort of sense. A porcupine? Are you kidding me? Your commercial makes reference to an "itch" that occurs "down there," then displays a porcupine. What, precisely, are you trying to suggest? That women should be using porcupines to alleviate itch? Should we all be sitting on porcupines? I'm confused.
2. If you're selling a product to women, don't offend them. Perhaps your television marketing team consists solely of drunken 19-year-old fraternity brothers, and that is why, along with the image of the porcupine, you chose to incorporate imagery of both a skunk and a fish. Skunk and fish imagery while talking about vaginal odor ... Wow. Here's a clue: Women don't like it when you compare the smell of their private areas to smelly animals. Unless you're trying to hit some bizarre niche demographic of "extremely immature men who care deeply about their partner's gynecological health," you've missed the mark.
Congratulations, Vagisil! You've managed in the space of 30 seconds to offend legions of television-watching women. I don't know what you were thinking, but the next time I have personal concerns about "down there," I'll be sure to avoid your product at all costs. To be honest with you, I'd rather use the porcupine.
Sincerely,
Kate Foster
posted by Kate at 12:56 AM link/comments
Friday, June 01, 2007
I'm really glad the Cavs are in the playoffs, but
I cannot handle ESPN SportsCenter. ESPN SportsCenter is on at least 18 hours a day, and of those 18 hours, Marc insists upon watching at least 17. SportsCenter makes my brain hemorrhage. It does not matter what I'm doing, how intent I am on doing it, or how much I try to ignore it. Every time some anchor says something ridiculous and every time a coach says something completely, mind-twistingly stupid, I cannot stop screaming. The other day I heard a coach say the following: "Well, you know, if we wanna win games, we gotta score more points than the other team." At which point my head sucked itself inside my torso and the flames of hell shot out my neck.
And then? Then? Tonight? After the Cavs won? This from the anchor:
"We're trying here to find the right adjective to describe LeBron James' transcendent performance during tonight's game."
Yeah, dude. I can see how that'd be a toughie. Adjectives are hard. But I know! Why don't you describe it as TRANSCENDENT.
posted by Kate at 2:37 AM link/comments
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Offending His Delicate Sensibilities
Marc: So you know Megatron?
Kate: Yeah?
Marc: In the movie? They turned him into a JET.
Kate: (blink, blink)
Marc: He's a GUN. He's supposed to be a gun.
Kate: Ah.
Marc: He's not a jet. Jets SUCK. All the jets in Transformers are totally weak.
Kate: Whoa. Wow. I ...
Marc: Megatron is NOT a jet. He's a GUN. He turns into a gun and SHOOTS SHIT. That's what Megatron DOES.
Kate: I'm sorry, but I am so blogging this.
posted by Kate at 11:04 PM link/comments
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Launch: SmartLassy.com
Because I can't get enough of blogging, Tina and I have started a brand spankin' new shopping blog called Smart Lassy. It's a blog with links to clothes and goods and gadgets for smart, geeky, sassy, wonderful, unique women. Go have a look.
posted by Kate at 1:27 PM link/comments
Monday, April 23, 2007
Best spam subject line I have ever received:
Four out of five subprime mortgages will get huge erections!
posted by Kate at 10:30 AM link/comments
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Because we are insane
Apparently, Marc and I were uncomfortable with the ease of a simple 3:1 ratio of animals to people in this house, so a couple of weeks ago, we went to the county kennel and picked out another dog.
This is Hachiko:
You can call her Hachi. She's part Akita and is named after a very famous Japanese dog.
We picked her out on a Friday after playing with her for a while and introducing her to Tigger, who was waiting in the car. We decided to bring her home after she passed the Cat Room test.
I can't decide if the cats of the Cat Room at the Cuyahoga County Kennel are the luckiest cats on earth or the most unfortunate. The kennel does not take in cats. Instead, they keep two kitties in residence in a room in the kennel. They seem to have it pretty good in there. They have lots of food and toys and beds and a clean litter box. Thing is, their sole purpose in life seems to be Test Cats for cat owners interested in adopting a dog. So, it's like this: You're a cat. You have a pretty good life, being left alone most of the time in a room with another cat. The only problem is that about 12 times a day, someone opens the door, and A GIANT DOG lunges into the room. Sometimes the dog could care less about you. Sometimes the dog is curious but harmless. Sometimes the dog wants to chew you to bits. You don't know. It's all up in the air, and it never ends. Oddly, the cats of the Cat Room don't seem to be all that vexed. They sort of open one eye when the dog gallops into the room, more annoyed by having their sleep interrupted than by being threatened with a canine.
We were told that we'd have to come back on Monday to fetch Hachi, because she needed to be spayed. On Monday afternoon, I arrived at the kennel, new collar and leash in hand. The incredibly indifferent animal control officer handed her over to me along with a small envelope full of antibiotic pills and a slip of paper stating that she had, in fact, been spayed. Under the spay declaration, in blue pen, was written, "vomited feces after surgery."
Excuse me, Animal Control Officer, I said. Vomit? Feces? Vomit feces?
He shrugged and stared pointedly at me until I fastened the collar around the dog's neck and led her out of the shelter. Eventually, while driving home, I came to the conclusion that Hachi, freaked out by not being allowed to have AM chow, had feasted upon her own waste, an explanation that calmed me considerably. Just as I had assured myself that all was right with the dog, I heard a horking sound coming from the back seat, and I turned around to see the dog puking fecal matter all over my backseat. Given that I was operating a motor vehicle at the time, I was not able to stop her from inspecting the vomit, then proceeding to eat it.
Why did we want another dog?
Tigger and Hachi are still getting used to this new dynamic, and by that I mean, "they are no longer plotting to kill." The first incident happend on Tuesday, when the two of them got into a snarling match, and I heroically stepped between them to intervene. Here now is photographic proof of what happens to you if you step between two dogs to intervene:
Then, last Sunday, while we were snowed in under two feet of snow, Hachi and Tigger got into a disagreement that required three grown adults and a dining room chair to quell, and at the end of it all, Marc noticed that Tigger was missing a substantial chunk of flesh. So substantial was this missing flesh that I could see right down through her layers of skin to the muscle beneath. Being snowed in, we were not able to go to the emergency veterinary clinic, so I looked at Marc and said, "Listen. I need you to bring me a bowl of warm water mixed with antibacterial soap, a guaze pad, some neosporin, an ace bandage, and my razor."
Hey, Kate! How'd you spend your Easter Sunday?
Me? Oh, I stayed home and shaved my dog.
On Monday, after getting someone to plow the damned drive, I took Tig to the vet, where she was shaved (more), sedated, and given multiple stitches. For the record, the vet said I did an incredible job with my half-assed triage. After the stitching, I was handed a drowsy dog who spent the next 48 hours curled up on her bed looking at me with a face that could only be subtitled, "Why?"
(Oh, and by the way, during the Big Dog Fight, one of the dogs broke my toe. The same damned toe I broke last year.)
Should I at this point even bother to mention the part where Hachi yanked the leash and caused me to fall down the back deck steps? Or the part where, two seconds after I started to feel as though we were getting things back in order, Lazarus The Cat had a recurrence of his chronic urinary tract problem, which he blames on his litter box, and is thusly roaming the house looking for places to leave three drops of cat piss? Like on the sofa cushion. And the box of trash bags. And my lap.
I should go to bed.
posted by Kate at 2:19 AM link/comments
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Dear Kurt Vonnegut,
To be honest with you, I've never been much of a fan of science fiction. That's what a lot of people like to call your books. "Science Fiction." I don't know about that, but I know that I have read things that you have written, and the sheer weight of those words have knocked me into a million pieces.
These are the quotes I remember most. I don't remember which books they are from or their particular context. I only remember that they meant (and mean) something to me.
"My brand is Pall Mall. The authentic suicides ask for Pall Malls. The dillettantes ask for Pell Mells." - Dude, I met those dillettantes. They live in Garrettsville, Ohio, and if it weren't for you, I never would have known which carcionogenic box to reach for when I heard that particular affection of pronunciation.
"In the water, I am beautiful." - Me too.
"I tell you, we are here on earth to fart around, and don't let anyone tell you different." - I think of this sentence at least once a day. It helps make everything OK.
Several years ago, Mr. Vonnegut, I had the privilege of watching you speak live at an auditorium at Case Western Reserve University. The office in which I worked hosted your visit, and because of my position in the office, I got to sit in the fourth row from the front, just a few feet from you. I don't remember much of what you said, but I do rememeber being awed by you, even in your short stature and self-effacing manner. I remember thinking that you looked old, and that there might come a day soon when I would hear you had died. But it seemed to me, then, that there was no way that could happen, that you should go on living forever, because you were Kurt Vonnegut, and that was your job. To be Kurt Vonnegut, forever.
I laughed a lot that day. A LOT. Thank you for that. You wowed me in high school when I read 'Harrison Bergeron,' and the introduction to 'Welcome to the Monkey House' still makes me smile, ten years after I first read it.
God Bless You, Mr. Vonnegut.
I will miss you.
posted by Kate at 1:05 AM link/comments