Bumper Sticker Shock

I’ve always enjoyed customizing my stuff. When I was a kid, I would trick out some of my Hot Wheels cars with paint or stickers. I wasn’t all that creative at that age, so mostly it looked pretty crummy, but still … this was not just some toy out of the box, this was my own – mine alone, no one else had one just like it.

As a grown-up I enjoy bumper stickers. I don’t want to be one of those kooky people with fifteen stickers on his car, a few well-placed and presumably clever ads, slogans, esoteric symbols, or obscure quotations will do!

Three and a half years ago, Carl (my younger brother in all but actual genetics) gave me a wonderful bumper sticker as a stocking stuffer: “What Would Cthulhu Do?” Cthulhu, the mad and nearly omnipotent monster god from the wicked and weird worlds of H.P. Lovecraft --- I’ve always had a soft spot for the guy. I put it on my car with pride. That bumper sticker helped me out of a jam one time. I ran out of fuel and a young pagan rescued me, “If that had said WWJD, I’m not sure I’d have stopped.” He said.

I can’t blame him. I’ve been “witnessed” to a few too many times myself.

But Cthulhu’s bumper sticker was looking a bit ratty. I finally removed it, or, more accurately, it just sort of … fell off. Anyway, it left my little white car looking a bit naked, I’m afraid. I have an E2 oval (like those country things GB for Great Britain, SWE for Sweden, that sort of thing…), my Homestar runner window decal, a triple A thing … A couple of bumper stickers would look nice!

Now, I have certain rules about what I will put on my car. Not just any old sticker will do for my little car Jidosha (Japanese for “automobile” I call him “Ji” for short). First, no politics…For one thing, my political beliefs are a death sentence in my hometown. My sister had her car vandalized for putting a Mondale/Ferraro sticker on it. If a relatively mild-mannered dweeb like Fritz Mondale can provoke that kind of response, I shudder to think what they might do to a car with a sticker that supports John Kerry or John Edwards or some other person whom Dallasites fear might usurp the White House.

Also, I would like my bumper sticker to be legible. I love bumper stickers. I love to read them, and I always feel sad if I can’t make out what they say because it is too small, too low-contrast, confusingly rendered, or too complicated. This always fills me with a sense of sadness.

Dear Driver:
I would have loved to read your witty quip, infuriating political statement, silly aphorism, or fun trademarked phrase, but I couldn’t make it out.

Signed,
Kellum

Also, as a former graphics professional, I really want something with at least a bare modicum of taste and design sense.

That brings us to CafePress. Once upon a time, in the bad old days, finding an appropriate bumper sticker, button, or t-shirt required hours of wading through badly-photocopied catalogues full of incredibly geeky fare (I heart James Doohan! I heart Airwolf! My Other Car is a Tardis!). Now, with the Intarwebs, you can type in a word or two and voila! You are transported to a world of wonders!

But what to search on? I really don’t have many hobbies that aren’t so esoteric that no one would have heard of them. What good is an Urban Dead bumper sticker? The Kingdom of Loathing ones are funny, but I just gave one to Suzi (“I stole your accordion!”), so that might be doubling up.

Perhaps I will try mythology. Ahhh … a wonderland! Apart from the “Follow Your Bliss” and the inexplicable “Global Warming is a myth” (people still think that, even after 99% of the scientists on the world have confirmed it? Oh right, there are still people who think the earth was created in seven 24-hour days …), there were many wonderful ones. I selected one that says “Eat. Sleep. Mythology.” … and then I found the MythBusters bumperstickers.

Have you seen this thing? The Discovery channel’s Mythbusters is hosted by two special effects experts tho take urban myths and subject them to some scrutiny: If you talk on the cell phone while pumping gas, will you set yourself on fire? If you are underwater, are you safe from bullets? If you throw a penny off the Empire State Building, will it have the power of a rifle bullet when it hits the pavement below? Are people with piercings human lightning rods? It’s been compared to if JPE and I had a show, although it is sometimes hard to tell which of us would match up with which host.

The Mythbusters team doesn’t “ just tell them myths, they put them to the test” – and very amusingly! They crash things, burn things, drop things out of airplanes … thir stalwart crash test dummy gets electrocuted, burned, dropped, and mutilated a lot of times – but no Mythbusters actually get harmed. Okay, that’s a total lie – host Adam Savage winds up, often through his own fault, getting hurt regularly. They blow up stuff – a LOT of stuff: a cement mixer, a Chinese throne, a pair of pants, a jet of flame, and even a Civil War vintage rocket powered by meat (you think I am kidding???)!!!

So anyway, Suzi and I have gotten into this show. They had bumper stickers, T-shirts, and buttons with every conceivable quatation from the program. They also had the obligatory “I (heart)…” and every member of the cast.

And I wound up ordering this one, a comment from host Adam Savage, who had just been confronted with video evidence that he’d said something he claimed he had not.

"I Reject Your Reality and Substitute my Own!"

Now I can customize my toys to my heart’s content.

(Suzi pointed out that a blog about bumper stickers is kind of a one-two punch of underratedforms of communication! I love them both!)

A new kid in town

The ferret rescue shelter was a whirlwind of little fuzzy creatures when Suzi and I went to visit. How were we to pick one? All the little dancing weasels were so cute it seemed like an insurmountable task.

From a hiding place, a ferret popped up like a snake charmer’s cobra, wanting to get a look at these new humans. His coat was the deep brown of roasted coffee beans and little white stripes on his face gave him a distinctly badger-y appearance.

The lady told us that his name was Cosmo.

Sometimes you pick the pet, sometimes the pet picks you. Cosmo kept his eye on us, played with us, never strayed far from us. We had been adopted.

It’s pretty common to rename pets after you adopt them from a shelter. We try to keep their shelter name as a middle name or nickname. That is why Cassie-cat’s middle name is Annie and Jack is “Jack Casanova” --- a fitting name for our Cajun lover-boy.

Ferrets are extremely skillful thieves – Davey loved bagels and twizzlers (as well as lighters, treats, silverware, and almost anything else that wasn’t tied down), Indiana would make off with any empty Starbucks cups that were in the house. The name Rob was a bit of a subtle pun --- it’s a name, but also a verb. The word “nick” means to filch something … so:

Thus, Nicholas J. Cosmo --- latest entrant into the Eberhard-Johnson household.

Ayumi wasn’t so sure about this new chap. We’d had a bit of bad luck with one from the shelter who was way too rough with her (he had to go back, but I’m sure they’ll find him a nice home!).

She seems to have changed her mind. Looks like little Nick is here to stay!

Pity Party (and a really good movie)

So, apparently I have bronchitis.

I’ve been coughing for years, the result of allergies to pollen and house dust. It comes and goes, as allergies will, with the season. But my cough for the last few weeks has been different.

The cough has been painful, persistent and unrelenting. After I heard from DL that bronchitis was ‘going around,’ I suspected. Thursday night, I did not sleep much, coughing my head off until the muscles of my chest ached.

So, Friday, I went and got looked at by the doctor. After he did some chest x-rays and listened to my lungs extensively (“Inhale deeply…” *breeeeaaathhheee coff! Coff! Exxxhaalll—coff! Coff!), he realised that I was right.

So, I’m having to stay home from work today, which is good, I don’t think I could do a lot of massages today.

But I'm gonna miss the money!

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My mother died two and a half years ago. Her passing was not entirely unexpected, but still painful.

Mom was many things, some of them good, some of them not so good. After her death, I have spent some time re-evaluating her life and forcing myself to admit that Mom was a real pain in the ass quite a lot.

A reformed alcoholic, she had many of the flaws stereotypically associated with that group--- she could be selfish, short-sighted, and given to fits of unreasonable anger. She hated most of my friends, particularly the ones who were the best to me in a pinch, and she never believed in their good qualities. She would often think anything that happened was about her and, of course. someone was always out to get her, out of jealousy, of course.

But she was my mom, and I loved her. And I miss her. Like many good moms do, she gave really good sympathy.

When I feel this crappy, I want nothing more than to call my mommy and hear her say “You poor thing. Now make sure to take your medicine and get lots of sleep and go to the store and get some orange juice…”

=======--------------=======

Last night, we saw Taxi Driver for the first time. I’d always heard it was a classic, but I’d skipped it repeatedly, as I suspected that it isn’t my kind of thing. Big movies, important movies often leave me flat as a flounder. This is particularly true of Movies With Something To Say. They leave me scratching my head going “huh?”, so I skip them.

But, being a fan of DeNiro and Scorsese and that crowd, we got Taxi Driver from Netflix and watched it. I have to say, it was remarkable. Despite knowing the whole plot, or so I thought, the ending still surprised me, and DeNiro’s performance as the socially awkward and freaky loner Travis Bickle was every bit as good as people seem to say.

Despite it being A Big Important Movie that Grown-ups Like (I tend to favour kids movies, or things where CGI mosters terrorize people ... that type of thing) I still enjoyed it. And, it was weird to see some of the actors so young! Baby DeNiro! Baby Harvey Keitel! Baby Albert Brooks!

A very interesting and thought-provoking flick.

Everything2, too!

I never seem to get tired of telling the story of how I first found the website that would turn into an obsession and ultimately change my life for the better.

It was late 1999 or maybe early 2000 – the Internet was new…well, it was fairly new to me anyway. I used to love to randomly wander the backroads of the electronic frontier, never knowing where my virtual perambulations would land me. To that end, I would type words, phrases, names, whatever … into a search engine (I think I used Alta Vista at the time) and see where the magic would whisk me off to.

I remember typing ‘cat’ into the search engine. Among the countless hits was cat@everything2.com “What’s this?” says I.

At first glance, it appeared to be a rather comprehensive survey of the cat command from UNIX, which is a command to connect files (concatinate them) together. I’m not much of a fan of UNIX, it reminds me of a job I once held for a year, despite being gossly underqualified for the position. I almost moved on … but “What ho?” There was also a description of the domesticated animal. And a mini-review of B. Klibin’s immortal cartoon book Cat. “Just what exactly is this site anyway ….?”

At the bottom of the page were links. Lots and lots of them, linking the page about cats to other things on the weird site --- fiction, essays, factual pieces, humour … all sorts of strange stuff.

I was hooked.

As the years rolled on, I kept looking things up on Everything2. Anytime I would read a factual book or if I wanted to know about something, I’d go to E2 first --- the writing was consistently better and more entertaining than Wikipedia or the other online resources. It was frequently more interesting than looking in an encyclopedia.

I particularly enjoyed watching VH1 Classic with JCP and Suzi --- a cheesy Heavy Metal video would come on and I would look the band up on E2. The articles were usually written by people who employed phrases such as “I know they’re mostly horrible, but…” and “…guilty pleasure…”

About two and a half years ago, I started writing articles for E2. I did some good work --- I did some not-so-good work. I met some nice people who helped me improve my writing and my self confidence. I learned the arcane lore of Everything 2.

About two weeks ago, the supreme honcho of E2’s day-to-day operations, Lord Brawl (coolest. Screen name. ever.) wrote to me.

“You’ve been well-recommended for the Content Editors team. Are you interested?”

Wow.

I told him to wait, then I wrote to some friends.

In 2 ½ years I’ve made a few friends on E2. Some of them I’ve even met in real life. As they answered my questions and addressed my concerns, a picture started to emerge.

As one friend pointed out: it is not so very different from what I already do on there --- I read, evaluate, write notes to encourage or correct the writer. It’s just that now, I have the tools to really do it: I can hide or remove writeups, I can give rewards to writers as often as I wish (formerly, I could only do this one time per day). But most importantly, I have access to the Editors’ Forum. This allows me to participate in the discussions that will shape E2 in the upcoming times.

Thanks Lord Brawl, I won’t let you down!

Robert Roy McFerret 2001-2007

Sunday morning, sometime around 7:15, our ferret Robbie died. I thought I’d get that out of the way first thing.

In 2001, our first ferret, Davey, died and by summer, we were ready to bring another little friend into our happy household. It was to that end that we stood in a pet shop in Richardson. Six pairs of eyes examined us---twelve tiny perfect jewels behind six little bandit masks. They were the biggest ferret kits I’d ever seen at the time, bigger in fact than Davey had been when he was full grown. The big baby ferrets were the colour of lightly burnt toast, with little pink noses that twitched adorably as they sniffed our hands to try to locate treats.

One of the kits, a gregarious male, had an odd white blaze on his head, shaped very much like a sword! As we had recently enjoyed Liam Neeson’s turn as the eponymous Scots hero in Rob Roy (for about the fifth time), the name seemed ideal for a huge, charismatic rogue*. That little sword really cinched it.

The word ferret derives from roots meaning ‘thief.’ You can see vestages of the Indo-European root (meaning ‘to carry’) in such words as pilfer and filch---it’s appropriate, because ferrets will make off with just about any damned thing in the house.

Robbie started his career in a big way---he started with our hearts.

*In the event that my estimable reader saw, and did not (for some incomprehensible reason) enjoy, this magnificent movie, he or she is cheerfully invited to pretend that I am talking about the 1953 classic, Rob Roy, the Highland Rogue (starring a young Michael Gough, no less!).

There is an axiom among the aficionados of small, domesticated mustalids that the “perfect number of ferrets is always one more.” The old timers call it ‘ferret math’ – that tendency to keep adding one more ferret to the household. We have never succumbed to the lure of four or five ferrets running all over the house---two is a pretty good number for us. Robbie had a chocolate-brown playmate named Indiana (named for Indiana Jones, of course) and later, a little scamp of a ferret girl named Ayumi.

He grew big---really big. Until I saw some ferrets who had been crossbred with polecats (their wild cousins), I had never seen a ferret as big or fit as Robbie. Turns out Rob Roy was indeed a good name for him, even though his little sword faded into a tiny pinstripe over time.

The word that comes to mind when I think of my little mustalid friend Rob is affectionate--- he was a gentle giant in the truest sense of the word. I never saw him bite anyone, unlike Davey, the juvenile delinquent who developed ridiculous nicknames like “Bitey McNibbles” and “Sir Bitesalot” … or tiny Ayumi, for whom play bites are her favourite way of saying “hello.” Robbie’s preferred greeting was licking, nuzzling, and cuddling. He was hard not to love.

In the span of a ferret’s life, six years is a long time---there are some health problems that plague older ferrets.

Monday night, a week ago, Robbie became weak. Past midnight, my stalwart best friend and platonic life partner, Suzi and I had to race down unfamiar freeways to an emergency ferret vet many miles away.

The diagnosis was not particularly cheery: insulinoma. Insulinoma, not rare in older ferrets, is a type of pancreatic cancer. The insulin-producing cells of the pancreas (beta cells I think they’re called. I’m too worn out to go look it up.) grow out of control, flooding the body with too much of the sugar-regulating hormone and leading to a blood sugar crash. It is treatable, but not curable.

Robbie seemed better for a few days, but this was a lot of strain for his little body to go through. Saturday night, he was very weak. We’ve had enough pets to know that this could be the end, we hoped not, but we tried to be realistic.

I’d love to leave this on an optimistic note, or say something clever and creative, but I really don’t feel like it. I’m a little numb. At least it was a quick end, something I guess most of us hope for. At least he had a good long life (six years is not a world record or anything, but it is pretty good for a ferret and the longest any of our four have made it so far). At least … at least … at least.

As with so many pets (and humans too), who have ‘gone before,’ he is gone from this life, but Robbie lives on forever in our hearts.

I close with a quote from a distant acquaintance years ago:

“You don’t own pets. You just pay rent on them until it is time to give them back to God.”

No Love Lost

A Tuesday---my day off. Cold, grey, windy … the perfect weather to make a pot of tea and spend the day playing Kingdom of Loathing, catching up on my friends’ blogs, and reading webcomics.

Oh yes, and there are hours of happy time that I can spend on Everything2, which has just done some improvements and is blazing along at relative lightning-speed right now. I have about four pieces that I’m about ready to ‘put to bed,’ including a history of Tarot cards, a bio on American beat poet John Giorno, and a … rather off-colour short story.

Oh, sure, there is laundry to do, bills to pay, catboxes and a kitchen to clean, but those are easy chores. A simple matter to fit them between fun tasks.

With my damnable enthusiastic optimism, I forgot to factor in Time Warner Cable Internet and their frightening unreliability. Silly me.

My housemate, best friend and platonic life partner is Suzi. She is the veritable Calvin to my Hobbes, Jim to my Artie, Ernie to my Bert … So Suzi has to work an extra-long day (she’s a floral designer, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, ‘nuff said), she appeared in my doorway to awaken me with bad news:

“Time Warner has been called. With any luck you’ll be online in a few hours.

I slept another hour.

As I write this, I have been awake for about nine hours. The net was up for about three of those hours. Just long enough for me to get a few things done, then it went right back down, like some evil undead monster which only rises from the crypt for a brief time, then returns to its sarcophagus.

But, yeah, enough of such silly imagery!

Some months ago, after suffering through a horrible spell of having almost no Internet connection at all for over three weeks, Suzi wrote a letter to the local head of Time Warner Cable. It is as funny as it is acid, and I would like to share it with you. So here it is:

Mr. C----

(This is a long letter. I hope you read all of it, I'd like to hear a response. Or I could just post it on a series of public internet consumer sites. Your call.)

I want to share a bit of customer history with you.

Back in the summer of '06, we had Comcast cable and internet service. Our friends would gather at our home on weekends and we would watch Something Weird On Demand, TV Time On Demand, or just leave video music station The Tube on in the background while we talked. We were complimented on our digital cable television. The internet was steady and reliable, with only an occasional hiccup in service. During the week, my partner and I would peruse Discovery On Demand or any number of the wide variety of channels offering such service. It was a simpler, easier day. People laughed more then.

It was before the dark times. Before Time-Warner.

The changeover would be swift, painless, they said. Why, we would not only have the same quality, but it would be better! What marvels of customer service we were promised! Then, as I watched, my beloved digital cable turned into a stranger. I asked Something Weird on their website if they were to be included in this new regime. They thought they were. Alas, no. Also gone were TV Time, Discovery, The Tube and at least half of the On Demand channels.

What was left was a shambles.

Aside from incorrect listing information and uninformative program descriptions, what paltry remains of the On Demand service there were stopped updating. From, what was it? September? until now, there has been one update to the On Demand content I still use---Cartoon Network and Adult Swim. One. In nearly four months. Last I was able to check (did I mention that On Demand has gone down with my net service.. again?) Adult Swim Comedy was down to four single programs that have been listed since the summer. On Demand is now relatively useless to me and that makes me sad.

But I knew nothing of true horror until what has become known as "The Upgrade."

Junkill notes: Cue scary music, wolf howl, evil cackling, and thunder crashing!

It was a Wednesday back in October. The notice on the door announced that the service in our area was being "upgraded." This seemed wise, at first, because despite it supposedly all being the same equipment, since the Time-Warner takeover every time it rained our net service would go down. The flyer said that the work should be completed by that evening. Fine.

Of course, it wasn't.

The digital cable TV came limping back after three days and 5-6 calls to customer support. It was almost amusing how one person would tell me to switch the cables around in the back and then another would tell me I needed a technician. Yet another just had me turn it on and off a lot. I think he was new. A tech did eventually come to the house and fix the converter box. Then it only took 2-3 more calls to customer service to get it loaded properly. Finally, I could go back to taping a show I had already missed two episodes of due to the disruption.

The internet service, on the other hand, had just begun its nightmarish plunge into a hoary netherworld of equipment failure, miscommunications, tech appointments and incredible frustration.

After the start of The Upgrade, it was a full week before net service was restored at all. I believe there were two techs in a couple of days that time. One dutifully checked the modem, replaced the cable indoors and checked everything before saying it was "a line problem." I already knew that. Everything had worked before The Upgrade. The second tech did something about the line problem.. I think... I'm not sure I even saw him. The only people giving me reliable information at that time were the subcontractors doing the actual Upgrade. I attempted to speak to Time-Warner supervisors twice, but they never called me back when they said they would and, hard as it may be to believe, I do have to leave the house from time to time.

The internet worked for us for a few days before conking out again, and again, and again, and again. If you look at my service history, you will see that we went to the office and got a new modem, which worked briefly until the switch over to the RoadRunner service. Then *pause to chuckle bitterly* the modem we had just gotten the week before was no longer compatible! So a tech came out on November 2nd, and replaced it. Yay. For fun, I started trying to keep track of the number of different people I had spoken to at your company. About then, it was up to fifteen.

Keep in mind that during this time, both my partner and I were attempting to conduct business over the net. As the weeks progressed, my partner was growing increasingly furious as he missed client emails and therefore meetings. I was having a hard time sending graphics to a new client. We spent forty dollars on T-Mobile service at Starbucks, just trying to keep up. I forbid my partner from speaking to Time-Warner representatives numbered 16-23, as he was beginning to froth at the mouth.

Junkill notes: Those of you who’ve met me will have a hard time imagine me that angry. It doesn’t happen very often. You shoulda seen it. Or, y’know, not!

I, myself, was close to snapping. It was the constant having to phone, wait on hold for ten to forty five minutes and restate my situation to a new, clueless rep (my name, address and last four digits of my social just started coming out as a stream). It was the inconvenience of having to try and scrounge net service at other places—not to mention paying $45 a month for the privilege.

Junkill notes: We have since found a wonderful little Mediterranean café in our neighbourhood which has free wi-fi, but the point is we should not have to do this at all!

Eventually, even though I was trying not to take it out on the poor saps who answer the phones (they didn't make the decisions), after being told that the soonest a tech could come out would be five days from then, my tone must have spooked someone around representative #27. She "escalated" the issue and, despite it being a Sunday, said someone from the administrative offices would call me back by 3 pm that day. When 3 pm came and went and we packed up the laptop for Starbucks, I called Customer Support. Rep #28 told me that those offices just aren't open until Monday and I had been misinformed. At Starbucks, we looked over satellite dish brochures. While we were away, Representative #29 from admin DID call and left a message at 5 pm. My partner wanted to ask him if Time-Warner would pay for us to install a competitor's DSL line, but I grabbed the phone.

Monday, November 20th, I eventually spoke to Admin Rep #29 and he said he would take care of it that day and customer service would give me a month's credit for net service. At long last, a "super tech" came out in the evening. He checked up and down the lines and finally located a problem in the ground block. He replaced it and both the tech and I, weary from each of our long battles with The Upgrade, wished each other well.

The two weeks that followed seemed blissful. Oh, sure, the digital cable service was still awful, but at least the internet service was working. Maybe it would stay that way... maybe it's not so bad.. or maybe I was just fatigued and hallucinating.

The Upgrade would not give up so easily. The Upgrade will not die so quickly. The Upgrade merely waited, lulling us into a false sense of security until a weekend neared, rubbing its allegorical hands together and cackling. I like to imagine that it also twirled its moustache.

This past Thursday, December 7th, the internet became intermittent. Okay, alright, no need to panic. It came back in the evening. Its not like that. It won't happen again. It can't!

Friday: The net works sporadically. The Upgrade waits until I am talking with someone about a banking issue and checking my account online to flatline. It comes back in the evening. A migraine begins to roost behind my right eyeball.

Saturday: I call Tech Support and speak to #36, who passes me to Tier 2 #37, Andrew, who obviously knows what he's doing, but finds the diagnostics "puzzling." He says I need a tech there and transfers me to #38 who tells me that it will be next Thursday before a tech can come out. Perhaps I could go to a local office and replace the modem? Oh. They aren't open on Saturdays.

That evening I determine that it isn't the modem. On Demand, for what little it is worth, is also out at the same time, giving only an error message. I call Customer Service back and attempt to get the name of Admin Rep #29 and his phone number. They can't find it in my customer history and tell me someone from the records research department will call me before 10 am Monday morning. Sure. Sure they will.

Sunday, December 10th, 2006: I sit here, writing to you. The modem blinks the ready light at me impudently. Later, my partner and I will go out to a local Arabic cafe that offers free wireless.

My partner has decided that Time-Warner internet service is a contender for the most shoddy product he has ever paid money for. (Keep in mind that the closest competitors are a 1975 Toyota Corolla he got for $200 that had the ceiling stitched back on with leather cord and a $10 naughty video tape he bought in college that was so bad it now travels the world as an absurdist party favor.) Myself, I'm trying to think of any product or service I've ever dealt with that has been this stressful, slipshod and unreliable.

So, at this point in my saga of the War Against The Upgrade, out of a month and a half to two months, I have had uninterrupted internet service from Time-Warner for two weeks. Tell me, would you pay for a car that only started one third of the time? Would you be happy with electrical service one quarter of the month?

Would you pay over a hundred dollars a month for all of this? Would there be any reason to stay with such a company? Any redeeming feature to the service at all?

Tell me.

I'll be here. Waiting.

Only, don't try and email me---my net service is kind of unreliable.

For the record, he never got back to us. Maybe we were a little slow, but SWB, came out today and installed a DSL. It is marvellous!!!!

Their other competitor, DirectTV is coming out next Wednesday to install a satellite dish.

I think I’ll send Mr. C. another copy of Suzi’s letter. I’m going to attach a Post-it Note that says “DirectTV and SWB DSL thank you for not responding to this letter 2 months ago.”

The date was 3 December, 1981, the movie was entitled An American Werewolf in London, the setting, a grubby little theatre at Northtown Mall, a place which had certainly seen better days. My date was a bright and eccentric young woman whom I’d met at school.

Twenty-five years later, she and I rented An American Werewolf in London on DVD and JP, DL, Ben and JCP came over to watch it with us. The next day, Suzi and I paid a visit to Texas de Brazil, a Brazilian-style steakhouse. Men in crisp, white uniforms brought around skewers heavily laden with steak, chops, bacon-wrapped chicken breasts and picana – garlic-marinated beef roast. It was magnificent and extremely filling!

All this is really just a rather sneaky attempt to introduce you to my group’s (utterly absurd):

THREE LEVELS of FULLNESS

You see, when you eat, you will eventually reach a level of satiety – when you feel just full enough to happy and contented. This level of fullness is called the “Rundly-Trundly Kitten” phase (also known as the “Roly Poly Kitten” stage). You’ve eaten enough, your parasympathetic nervous system kicks in and you feel like it might be time for a nap.

Now, perhaps the food is better than all that. Perhaps you can’t quite stop yourself in time and you find yourself just a tiny bit over full … Afrah Mediterranean Restaurant anyone? You may not be in pain, but you are a little bit past that cute little kitten. This level of fullness is called Plump Mary (a/k/a Plump Merry). This name comes from a T-Shirt that Dave Barry saw when he was visiting Japan.

Okay, got that? Now – it gets a little bit weird from here out.

Now you had a bit too much food. You’re in trouble. You’re huge, bloated, uncomfortable …

The many creators of Dungeons and Dragons came up with a LOT of monsters. They went from the sublime to the ridiculous, and sometimes the ridiculous was pretty sublime. One of the silliest things they came up with was a ghastly and powerful giant frog called (aptly enough) the froghemoth. It seemed funny, until your D&D characters encounter a two-story amphibian with a really nasty attitude.

How humiliating is it to have your characters eaten by something like that?

So, when you get to that stage beyond the adorable, fuzzy kitten, beyond the oddly named and merry Ms. Mary. You’ve reached a challenging pinnacle of gourmanditry (just made that word up! Like it? Feel free to use it as often as possible!)! Congratulations my friend, you have reached the FROGHEMOTH LEVEL.

Nasty customers, those froghemoths (but what a great name “frog+behemoth=froghemoth … say it with me “frog-HEEEEE-moth”). As a parenthetical note, after I hit forty, I resolved that I’d swear off being a froghemoth ever again. It’s just too obnoxious of a feeling.

After Texas de Brazil, I was plump, quite merry, not unlike our friend Mary. Suzi said she felt the first traces of amphibian characteristics sneaking in. Perhaps her arms were waving around (just a tiny bit) like the tentacles of some huge frog-monster. I think she called it Tentacle Mary.