Having a household pet is akin to having a baby without the DNA connection: they’re messy and needy and hungry, crash around the house, and wake up when you sleep. For three weeks, though, I was catsitting for my vacationing uncle, so I guess it can be practice for the real thing (baby, not a litter of cats).
The cat is Tabby: a chubby, unusually timid (even for a cat) animal who specializes in hiding in dark corners. I had looked after him once prior, and back then he found in the laundry room and a niche behind the microwave to be his shrines of solitude. New place, new comfort zones; after locking him for a day inside my current laundry room (), we fished him out of the corner and into the bottom of the couch. Once we grabbed him from that hiding spot, he went crawling under the bed.
This past weekend was a blur of video games. Well, game, really; I had a pretty long marathon going through Uncharted 2, the new Playstation 3 game modeled after the likes of summer blockbusters, particularly those of Indiana Jone-sean vibe. The last time a game warranted a marathon gaming session from me was upon the release Metal Gear Solid 4, another story-driven masterpiece.
I should do one or two more before I get too old and mature to spend my free hours appreciating virtual worlds and plotlines.
It was, Cal Day, Berkeley, the semester before I would officially start my college tenure. Upon a stroll down infamous Telegraph Avenue was when I saw him: my first interesting – well, “interesting” is probably too strong of a word, more like “atypical” – bum.
As with many things Berkeley, bumming has really been risen to a supposed art form. The dude was tranquil, uncaring of his potential clientele save for his simple, honest sign: “Need money for weed”.
A week ago, en route to our respective workplaces, Sui and I noticed a poster ad for Gunnar Optiks on the BART. Being an optometry student and optican (and thus being familiar to pretty much all the noteworthy lens and frame manufacturers; they like to indoctrinate early), I was surprised that she had not heard of these guys.
One workday Google search later, we found what they were offering: fashionable, Oakley-style glasses, catered to heavy computer and television users, designed to reduce eye strain over work/play marathons ().
It was a cold evening. Ominous clouds lounged overhead, threatening to envelop the sleepy town beneath…not that it was much different from most other nights in foggy Daly City. But this night, ah, this night held the honor of being the first, of many nights, when strange tales were told. The clouds seemed an appropriate touch.
“IV Sedation is for pussies. Pussy pussy pussy…”
This was the first of many stories, all speaking of the same journey of a trial, a trial reaching into the extremities of the human body. They say some were not destined to face this challenge; they were not born with the proper instruments that force this battle. Yet others seemingly welcome the fight, relishing a chance to forever banish the anguish of gnashing teeth and crushing gums. Those who accept face violence and blood.
Yet another ring on my trunk of life. I took my birthday beats in video game form, owe a few beers to the guys at the office, and stuffed myself with sushi.
At least I don’t get hazed renting cars anymore.
Having a household pet is akin to having a baby without the DNA connection: they’re messy and needy and hungry, crash around the house, and wake up when you sleep. For three weeks, though, I was catsitting for my vacationing uncle, so I guess it can be practice for the real thing (baby, not a litter of cats).