Can we talk about how in England, they apparently call the big trash can on the street a “wheelie bin“? Brits are so precious.

Here is a picture of Trash Cat Woman being escorted into a police car. I think we all know, however, that the real story here is the ridiculous getup those cops are wearing. WTF???

*This photo and all my info on the topic is from www.dailymail.co.uk

Did you all hear about this woman in England who was caught on video putting a stranger’s cat in a trash can for seemingly no reason? The article says she has no idea why she did it — that she doesn’t know what came over her. It made me wonder, why do we sometimes do things that even we can’t explain to ourselves?

I’ve heard that vertigo isn’t the fear of falling as much as the fear of jumping. Although I’m not afraid of heights, I understand that. Having spent the vast majority of my life living in cities in the mountains, I’ve often been in high places and had the thought, “I hope I don’t jump off the edge.” Sometimes I’ll even picture myself jumping off, or worse, pushing someone. Mind you, I don’t want to or intend to, even for a moment. It’s just a fleeting thought that I have: “I hope I don’t.” So… did this woman think, “I hope I don’t put this cat in the trash,” but the difference is, she actually did?

One time I did do something kind of similar. Different in that it didn’t hurt any animals, but similar in that I made a really weird choice for no apparent reason. I have no idea why I did it, but I did. This was probably about a year ago or less. I was somewhere kind of nice, like a movie theatre or a restaurant — I don’t remember exactly — and I went to the bathroom. As I turned to leave the stall after having flushed, I glanced in the toilet to make sure all was well, and in fact there remained a single, small, round turd. I had already partially opened the stall door, and I could see the woman who was waiting for the stall, and she saw me; and as I slightly jerked toward the toilet to flush it, in a split instant, I thought, “Nah,” and I didn’t. I just left, and didn’t flush it. The woman entered after me and gave me a disgusted look as she flushed it herself. Why did I do that? I have no idea! I just didn’t feel like it. I just made that decision based on nothing at all, and it really went against the very fiber of my being. I am a very clean person and delight in having a pristine bathroom at home; I believe we each have the responsibility to be considerate of those around us; and I ALWAYS FLUSH THE TOILET, for crying out loud! It’s the most basic of civilized human behaviors! So why didn’t I give it a second flush? I can offer you no answer to that, except it was one of those times where vertigo took hold, and I just did something that I’m not programmed to do. It’s like that one time a robot expresses emotion and everyone stands there shocked, like, “Did this just happen? This is an aberration; this should not be. Take this robot back to the factory and program out the emotion, immediately.” And as the scientist slaps a sticker on the robot’s forehead and carries it off to be re-programmed, you see, if you look very closely, a glint of victorious rebellion in the robot’s eyes.. It did it. It wasn’t supposed to, but it did.

Everyone is saying this woman is an evil animal hater, but she and her family insist that she loves cats. I don’t know what’s more disturbing — the thought of an angry cat-hater torturing friendly felines or the realization that in the case of Trash Cat Woman vs. Vertigo, Vertigo won. At least she didn’t push anyone off a mountain.

Y’all, I am fa-REAKING out about nuclear energy. I know this sounds weird, but I am. I don’t want it. And lots of powerful people are calling for government funding to go toward developing nuclear energy in the US. WTF?? This scares the ever-loving s@%t out of me, and would you think I was crazy if I told you that all the way to work this morning, I was in a state of near panic thinking about it?

So from what I understand, this oil spill in the gulf of Mexico has lots of people finally realizing that we need to get off oil as an energy source. And that’s great news, because we really, really do need to get off that shit for so many reasons, including, oh, I don’t know, war, and the destruction of our whole planet, and at first I was like, “Well, this oil spill really sucks the big one, but at LEAST it will get people’s attention and we can finally, seriously start developing alternative energy sources.” But then I realized, Hey, I bet now people are going to want to go nuclear even more, and that SCARES THE SHIT OUT OF ME! Last night I was feeling scared about it, so I brought it up to my boyfriend (I have one, Blog! I haven’t told you yet, but I do!). My boyfriend is not only cute, funny, smart and sweet, but he also works in environmental policy, as though he had read the handbook on how to woo me. So he knows all about this stuff, and I was really hoping he’d tell me that nuclear energy will never happen here, but he didn’t, and instead, he told me some stuff that made me even scareder (although I assure you this was not his intention, because he is sweet, as I mentioned earlier).

Things that I find spooky about nuclear energy include:
1. Things can go wrong, and we might blow up the world.
2. The more nuclear plants and nuclear waste-storage facilities we have, the more targets we have for terrorists (eeeek, terrrror!)
3. Speaking of nuclear waste, do you want it near your house? I don’t. It never breaks down. Ever. And it will kill you.

Why do we think creating this stuff is a better solution than what we’ve got? Maybe it works temporarily because it doesn’t release greenhouse gases, but I’m telling you people, down the road, we’re going to regret the shit out of this decision. If I had my druthers, we’d power everything with wind and solar power, and we’d all travel by train. With the billions it would take to build one single nuclear plant, we could build a giant, slightly creepy-yet-adorable army of windmills! And I’ll be the first to tell you that solar power is awesome, because my last apartment building had hot water that was solar powered, and I’ve never seen water that heated up that fast or stayed hot that long. Every time I showered, I felt like I was at a swanky hotel (except for the peeling paint on the window frame and the cat scratching on the door to get in). The fact that Southern California isn’t completely powered by the perpetual sunshine that we have blows my mind to smithereens.

So what do we do? Write letters? Start a Facebook campaign? Does anyone get the shivers like I do when you think about this?

If I haven’t convinced you yet, think about this: If we get more nuclear power, we’ll have to endure years and years of people who should know better pronouncing it “nucular.” If that’s not ghoulish enough to make your teeth chatter, you must be a robot.

You may be familiar with my stance on the horrible injustice that is this: It is seven years past “the future” (the year 2000), and we still do not have personal robots to do our bidding and talk in adorable robot voices. If you’re not familiar with said stance, here’s a refresher.

Today on my morning commute, the radio was talking about something that made my heart skip seventeen beats and made me squeal with joy.

Yes. It is finally almost here, for all of us.

The personal robot.

On the radio, the one phrase that especially excited me was when the DJ said, “Yeah, they say in the next few years they’ll be rolling out robots that will do your housework — answer your phone, get you a beer out of the fridge.”

Specifically, a robot scientist in Korea has designed a robot named EveR-1 who can “hold a conversation, make eye contact, and express joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness.” (Story here).

I cannot believe it. I’ve been waiting for this for so long! I have to admit, I kind of had my heart set on a robot that looked a little more robotty, like how I pictured it in the 80s — much like this little guy, but perhaps with eyes that are slightly less creepy:

And something rather unsettling is that according to the radio, the folks in Korea say EveR-1 is too ugly! Something about her hands being too big, among other things. I personally think she’s gorgeous, and if she has man-hands, all the better to fix things around the house! And the more I think about it, the more I get a little terrified, if a small amount of terror is possible. Are the personal robots going to set the bar that much higher for women’s appearances? Is my future husband going to leave me for a perpetually young robot with giant cartoon eyes, fish lips, a microscopic waist and ginormous gazongas, like an anime character or one of those hideous Bratz dolls? Will he be like, “OMG, Marcy, Why can’t you look more like Lindabot 8,000?” Will he fantasize about her while we do it? Will she be able to do it with him???

OK, now I’m in a panic. Seeing as how the future is here, I’d better go brush up on my science so I can design my own robot, one who looks like a combination of Val Kilmer and Tom Cruise in the Top Gun volleyball scene, and also like Johnny Depp, and also with the approachable, dorky-chic appeal of John Krasinski from The Office.

All I know is: The future is finally here, people, and I don’t know whether to be excited or scared. “Be careful what you wish for” has never seemed like such good advice.

I just read Cathryn Michon, Grrl Genius’s blog entry for today about her friend’s organization, Friends & Helpers. Here’s a blurb from Cathryn’s blentry:

So anyway, here’s the deal. In September my boyfriend and I (and apparently a bunch of rock stars) and some other people like us who are NOT rock stars are all going to New Orleans, Louisiana (all costs privately underwritten) to help re-open 12 schools devastated by the hurricane.

Every child in those schools will receive a backpack filled with school supplies, the libraries will get books, the teachers will get supplies, the bands will get instruments…

The fun part is (other than kids getting an education — always fun for society in general), you can send money, supplies, or buy anything off their Target wish list and have it sent directly to Friends & Helpers. I’ve been scrolling through the wish list. It’s so fun to think of buying these things for kids! For example, how cool are the large round stinky stickers and all the bulletin board sets? I can’t decide if I should buy these off Target.com or go get them at Office Depot tomorrow and send them myself. I haven’t shopped at Target in about a year and a half, because they made me angry with their shoddy return policy and churlish store managers. I tend to hold a grudge when huge corporations nickel & dime their customers. BUT, I am totally willing to put aside my grudge for this incredible cause. If you are like me and think shopping for kids is fun, I encourage you to order something off the wish list or go to Cathryn’s blog and see how to donate to this excellent cause. Yay!

The other day I blogged about fertility drugs, something I do not and did not pretend to be an expert on, and today I saw that I have received my first catty comment from a stranger!  Someone named "Mon."  I think this shows that I have arrived, so to speak, in the blogosphere.  Score!

It is strange and unsettling, although a little exciting, to offend people.  When you're expected to go with the flow, not push buttons, and not ruffle feathers, as I think most American women are, it's a rather new experience to make people mad, specifically strangers.  It certainly wasn't my intention, but I guess you can't really write about stuff people are sensitive about without causing some negative reaction. 

Here is what Mon said:

Well lets hope that you are lucky enough that you will not have to resort to IVF or fertility drug treatment. I love the fact that your main preoccupation is on the the state of the woman’s belly rather than on the welfare of the kids.  

So: Aside from general crankiness and being a know-it-all, Mon is upset because I focused on the cosmetic issues (read: front butt) of having tons of babies at once rather than the issue of the babies' health.  Mon does an interesting thing here: Mon contradicts Monself in a way.  First, Mon is upset that I've said I don't think fertility treatments are always the answer.  (And note: I didn't say no one should ever consider fertility treatments, just that this couple maybe should have been more careful and/or been happy with the twins they already had).  I found a great article about problems with fertility drugs / in vitro fertilization here.  So anyway, first Mon gets mad at the point I'm making.  Then, Mon actually helps further my position by pointing out that having busloads of children in one sitting raises a lot of health issues not only for the mother but also for the children.  Thanks, Mon, for supporting my point of view.  And yes, it would suck to give birth to a litter of retarded children with missing fingers, but I thought discussing that would be a bit of a buzz kill. 

I was going to write a post wondering how long Zacarias Moussaoui would last in prison without getting killed — five minutes? one minute?  But then I found out he'll be in solitary.  Good.  He'll have the rest of his life to think about what he's done.  It's like getting sent to your room rather than getting spanked — but on a much larger scale.  The death penalty would have been too easy for him.  Let him spend forty years by himself, staring at the walls, gradually realizing what a big, huge, huge, huge mistake he has made.

Oh, and while I'm on this topic:  The defense in his case was talking about the violence in his home as a child.  Why could they even use that?  It annoys me so much when criminals try to blame their behavior on their childhood.  A bad childhood does not justify killing people.  At some point adults have to take responsibility for their actions and stop blaming their parents. 

Yesss!  Someone at my last job pointed me toward this jewel of a swimwear website: www.wholesomewear.com.  I checked back a while ago and it was under construction, and I feared that something had happened to my dear Wholesome Wear!  But it's back, and I can breathe a sigh of relief.  Otherwise, what would I have worn on the beach this summer!?

P.S. The straw hat is a nice touch, isn't it? 

That's a badass title, isn't it?  Well… I wish I could take credit, but I can't.  It's a song title from the Flaming Lips' new album, "At War With The Mystics." I heard a segment about it, including some clips, on KCRW this morning, and I am absolutely peeing myself to get my hands on it.  It's been a long time since I've been this excited about a new album from any musician.  I've been reading about it on the Flaming Lips website all morning, and what Wayne (the lead singer) has written about each song is passionate and inspiring and makes me want to laugh and cry and live and love and eat big meals at big tables with my big Italian family (oh… no, wait, that's my imagination running away again).  But I'm telling you it's pure passion in music, like life in a bottle, and music this good just makes you want to LIVE, DAMN IT, LIVE!  And I haven't even heard the songs all the way through yet.  All I know is I'm in love with music again, and it feels so damn good.

My co-worker Scott finds the best news!  Here are three links he sent me today.  Run, don't walk, to click on these. 

This first one is the best piece of news I've seen in quite a while. A housecat named Lewis gets a restraining order. The housecat is under house arrest.

These are the best two paragraphs:

"He looks like Felix the Cat and has six toes on each foot, each with a long claw," Janet Kettman, a neighbor said Monday. "They are formidable weapons."

The neighbors said those weapons, along with catlike stealth, have allowed Lewis to attack at least a half dozen people and ambush the Avon lady as she was getting out of her car.

This story is also one of the funniest things I have ever seen: A little boy climbs into the claw-stuffed animal game at a pizza restaurant.   Here's another story about the same thing.

My favorite part of this story:

"He was pretty comfortable where he was," said fire Chief Dan Wilson, who said the sight was the funniest thing he had ever seen in his life. "I saw people with digital cameras, and I asked someone to e-mail me a picture."

Man, you cannot make this stuff up!

It’s National Procrastination Week!  It’s also the week before my birthday, but since I’ve been busy celebrating Procrastination Week, I haven’t planned any sort of celebration.  Speaking of birthdays, today is Amanda’s (Happy Birthday, Manditas!!) and coming soon is Nathan’s.  Nathan’s is right around the time of mine, but I forget the exact day.  I would go ahead and check on Friendster, which I am already logged into, but I feel it would really go against everything National Procrastination Week stands for.  I’m trying to be patriotic here, by observing this national holiday, so I’ll check another time.

March 20, my birthday, is also my friend Galen’s birthday.  We will both be 27.  Galen was my first new friend in college.  I actually met him just before college, when our mutual friend Catherine introduced us.  As it happens, we ended up in dorms right next to each other, so we began our freshman year walking to class together and going to eat bad food together at the dining hall.  The first time I got drunk I was with Galen, drinking Aristokrat vodka out of plastic "Don’t Get Wasted" cups that had been given out at the beginning-of-the-year campus street festival (and by festival I mean lots of booths advertizing various extra-curricular activies and giving out soap and deodorant samples, plus free pizza, and of course keychains and small plastic cups with the "Don’t Get Wasted" logo, the perfect size for large shots of cheap vodka).  We discussed our birthdays for the first time over the phone and didn’t believe each other.  We made each other show each other our respective driver’s licenses to prove that we were actually both born on March 20, 1979.  We even got our licenses renewed together on or around our 20th birthday.  The night we both turned 21 we weren’t together, but we still saw each other.  I had been fed so many drinks so fast at the bar where I was celebrating (Linda’s, for any Tar Heels out there) that by 12:45, as my guests were still arriving, my boyfriend was taking me home.  I made it all the way until we pulled into his driveway (a big five-minute drive, tops), then made him stop so I could get out and puke.  At that moment, a red truck drove by, stopped, backed up, and paused… to watch! me puke! 

The next day Galen and I got together to celebrate, and I was joking about my night, and he said, "Wait, were you on Hillsboro Street at around 1AM?  Puking on the lawn?"  Yes, folks, it was him and his friend in that red truck, and they just backed up to make sure I was OK.  And that is why Galen has just become the subject of my first blout-out.

Hmmm, I realize now that it would have been more prudent to give Amanda a blout-out, since today is her actual birthday, but I didn’t know what I was going to write when I started this entry, and I must let my creative forces rule.  Plus, giving Amanda her blout-out after her birthday will both allow her to stretch out her birthday fun, and embody the true spirit of National Procrastination Week.

P.S. Check it out! www.procrastination.com.  It kind of sucks, actually, as websites go, but it’s all in the spirit of the holiday.