Having cats is different from having dogs in so many ways. Some people say dogs are loving and cats are aloof, but I never totally got that. My cats are super needy in the love department. Dogs are usually louder than cats, unless you have a cat in heat. (In which case, get thee to a vet!) And dogs need a lot of stuff: bones, Beggin Strips, their own beds, and an assload of squeaky stuffed toys. There is so much crap to buy if you have a dog. On the other hand, I’ve never known a cat to have any use for anything made with cats in mind. My two cats, Cosmo and Luke, prefer pens, yogurt, and beer — which is all stuff I buy anyway. How very handy!

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Another difference is that dogs poop outside and cats poop inside. I thought for many years that, for this reason, dogs were higher maintenance pets. Which, to a certain degree, is true. Waking up in the middle of the night to take your dog out is a pain in the ass. But you know what’s also a pain in the ass? Cleaning litter boxes. Cleaning litter boxes and making sure your house doesn’t smell like one. It’s a gross job.

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Opening my eyes to an entire universe of ways to spend a bundle on my beloved kitties, Apartment Therapy is holding a contest for the best pet decor ideas. I’ve seen some interesting scratch-post creations (like this one) but nothing has really ilicited much more than a head tilt and a “hm, interesting,” until today, until I saw the Litter Robot. It isn’t part of the contest, just a link to some cool cat crap. But cool it is. And at $299, a total bargin!

Check out the amazing Flash video on how this space machine works its magic!

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*The asterisk is because my post-editor tends to delete the spaces between paragraphs, making this tiny font even harder to read. I’m working on that font issue…

Posted by jackson on 25 Jul 2006
Filed Under: Shopping | No Comments »

Dear Thank-you notes,

What’s up? Not much here, just sitting at my desk trying to write a million of you. I have to say that while your purpose in life — spreading gratitude and therefore joy — is a sweet one, I’m starting to doubt my actual love for you.

When I got married, I wrote you as if it were my job to write you, and I felt good about it. I had little stamps with a flower design to put on your cover; it was cute. (Of course, my husband has never met you in person, but we are still working on that.)

But then, it turns out, it actually is my job to write you. That’s how it goes in the non-profit world. So I have to ask — not to be too demanding, but thank you notes? When are you going to learn to write yourselves? Because — and I mean this with all due respect — if I see another one of you on my desk I’m pulling out the shredder.

No hard feelings, kay?

Jackson

Posted by jackson on 19 Jul 2006
Filed Under: Work | No Comments »

Perez says that B-rad is in New Orleans, y’all!

Posted by jackson on 13 Jul 2006
Filed Under: New Orleans, Starf-cker | No Comments »

…the Dance Dance Revolution, that is.

Two days before her wedding, my sister-in-law was done with worry, so she organized a trip to “Fun City” for the entire wedding party. We piled into a couple of minivans and made our way to this fabled magical land. After purchasing our “Fun Liscenses” (Liscenced for FUN!) we spent the evening shooting each other in laser tag, bumping around in bumper cars, racing go-carts as if they were bumper cars, scoring 1,000 tickets in Ski-Ball and of course, getting our groove on with Dance Dance Revolution. It may well have been the best night of my entire existance.

So inspiring was Fun City that I resolved to lay my future cardiac health in the hands of a Playstation2. Yes, I would start my very own Dance Dance Revolution. It would be sweaty, if not bloody, but it would be good! After a bit of haggling with Adam — who doubted my dedication to the dance — I finally made my way over to Best Buy yesterday afternoon.

What I didn’t foresee was how awkward I would feel lurking around the video game section — me and all the little old boys, one of whom had just caught his first look at the new XBox, and was literally drooling, repeating in a spaced-out monotone, “XBox 360, XBox 360, XBox 360″. I felt, well, I’ll just go ahead and say it: I felt like a mom.

I battled on, found my Playstation, dance pad and game, spent the $200 and zoomed home to try it out. And? Again, I felt kind of old. Not because I couldn’t do the steps. Oh, no! I can do the steps. I just can’t do them and look cool at the same time. It may have something to do with the fact that I’m almost thirty years old, in my living room stomping on what feels like an oversized square diaper to remixes of Sean Paul B-sides. But whatever the reason, it makes me feel like a gigantic dork. I am convinced, however, that practice will heal this malady and that soon I will be ready to take the revolution public.

(I have already been begged by my husband as well as my neighbors never to do this, but what can I say? I’m a fighter!)

Posted by jackson on 12 Jul 2006
Filed Under: Dance Dance Revolution | No Comments »

In a perfect world, the only reality TV anyone would watch would be Project Runway…or Queer Eye, I guess…or even a lot of those home makeover shows aren’t so bad…and I really loved the first few seasons of The Real World…ahem. Anyway, my point.

There’s a line that reality TV shouldn’t cross, or let’s say, train tracks it shouldn’t cross. Because watching people do their thing on TV is interesting in one of two ways: either you sort of admire them (think they’re funny, talented, good looking, etc), or you find them replusive in a way that’s entertaining to you. The wrong side of the train tracks is the place where the people are just sad, sad, sad and watching their antics brings you one step closer to signing up with the NRA.

It’s the reason, I’d venture, that Being Bobby Brown never found great success. It was funny for about one episode before it just sort of broke your heart. Whitney’s on god only knows what narcotic cocktail, and Bobby Brown comes off as a nice enough guy, but a total drunk. And swimming in the mix are these lost children of theirs, searching desperately for an adult to rely on, somewhere, anywhere. Worse than being a world we don’t want to live in, it’s a world we wish didn’t exist.

Jerry Springer wasn’t a reality show, per se, but it certainly showcased humanity at its most base. I always found it to be terribly depressing, but it seemed to work for a lot of people. At least it always seemed fake, overblown. The guests were caricatures of ridiculousless. Whitney and Bobby, that seemed pretty real.

As does Paula from the current season of the Real World. Filmed in Key West during the Fall of 2005, the season includes a number of Hurricane evacuations, during which the cast members whine and moan about the parties they’re missing, so I basically want to shoot all of them in the face. But, Paula, oh Paula.

She’s like the sick little puppy you see at the Humane Society who you’d adopt only if you were a much better person — you see it needs help, but it’s just too much. No one wants a depressing puppy. Paula’s roommates call her “Paula Walnuts” when she gets drunk, and I’m repeatedly impressed and/or disgusted that they are able to have a sense of humor about their sick roommate. Anorexic and covered in scabs she can’t stop picking at? That’s small potatoes compared to her phone calls with her (formerly, she says) abusive boyfriend, when she adopts the voice of a three year old girl begging her daddy for a My Little Pony.

It just isn’t fun. It’s on the wrong side of the train tracks. And worse? The news today that Paula Walnuts BIT her boyfriend in a domestic squabble. This is presumably the same boyfriend who beat her up last year, so I guess, you know. Good for her?

Posted by jackson on 11 Jul 2006
Filed Under: Real World, Reality Television, Whitney Houston | No Comments »