I'll admit it. Being unemployed is starting to be a big drag. Huge drag. After the excitement of driving out here, finding an apartment, and finding the kittens we will (one day, when they're big enough) adopt, a little bit of a break was nice. Sleeping in a little, finding our way around town, these are fun activities, and when you add to that the joy of (finally) living in the same apartment together, the girlfriend and I were doing pretty well. But the days and weeks just keep on stretching out, each emptier than the last, and we are starting to get a little sick of each other. Not all the time, not dangerously sick of each other, but starting to wish that either one of us had someplace to go for extended periods of time during the day. We mostly don't. Not because we don't want to, but because we don't have very many friends and we definitely have very little money. Really, really, a very small amount of money.
My mom asked me the other day what I was doing with my time. She thought maybe we'd be doing sightseeing and stuff like that, but these things cost money that we don't have. So I thought about it, and here are the top 5 things I have been spending my time doing, in no particular order:
1. Playing on the internet. Probably my biggest time eater, but, hey, those blogs don't read themselves! And I have applied for a bunch of jobs via the internet, as well, so it's not all wasted time.
2. Wandering around town finding stuff. This includes discovering that I am, in fact, too poor and too middle-class to really enjoy living in Walnut Creek. Any town that has a Tiffany's, a Nordstrom, and a Nieman Marcus in a 1-block area is a little too rich for my blood.
3. Obsessing about money, kittens, and/or furniture. We don't have any money. We want the kittens to come home. We wish we had all of the furniture and other things we left in Indiana.
4. Watching TV on the internet or DVD. We don't have cable. The first Sunday we had the internet, the girlfriend (being the best girlfriend in the world) found me the Colts game streaming on the internet. This is awesome. We also have been working our way through Season 2 of Dexter on Netflix and Season 1 of Xena, which I have on DVD. Don't judge!
5. Reading. I don't think I have read this many books in this short a time since I was in high school and we got actual vacations. I read Reading Like a Writer: A Guide for People Who Love Books and for Those Who Want to Write Them by Francine Prose, which is a book I highly recommend and enjoyed. It was an excellent read and has definitely inspired me to read more books and short stories, including one by Flannery O'Connor that I really should not have read before I went to bed. It also has reawakened my childhood ambition to write a novel. I had a series of stories that I wrote in elementary and early middle school that I thought were really awesome, but I never pursued writing as a career. Now that I'm unemployed, I can continue to think I might be good at that but probably still not do it.
I also highly recommend Eats, Shoots & Leaves, by Lynn Truss, which is a pretty funny look at how punctuation is supposed to function in writing. I will admit to being a bit of a stickler for good punctuation and good grammar (ask the girlfriend!), so I am enjoying it. Plus, Truss is a good writer and makes her exasperation funny. If you're not a grammar and punctuation stickler, you should probably not bother...
So I'm hoping to be employed at some point in the near future, if only to vary the routine a little bit. Oh, and so I can get out of the house now and then.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Ode to the DMV
Oh, DMV, why must going to you be such a thing to be dreaded? Why must I arrive at 7:45 am and not leave until 11 am? Why do I have to stand in three different lines, each staffed by its own overworked and underpaid surly civil servant? Is it not enough that you take my time and my money? Must you take my sanity as well?
Have you ever noticed that there are no clocks in the DMV? I assume that this is so that when you're sitting there hour after hour after hour you have no clear idea of how long it has been, until you emerge, squinting into the light, and realize that you've been in there for four hours. There is no time in the DMV, or rather, there is only DMV time. You sit in that hard plastic chair that is very nearly comfortable but not quite and watch a parade of your fellow-citizens trying to do their best to be law-abiding. Teenagers sweating over their very first written test so they can get their learner's permit, slightly older ones taking the driving test, senior citizens taking the eye test and the driving test to prove they're still safe to drive. People renewing licenses, changing titles, getting their pictures taken. And you sit. And wait. They call numbers in no discernible order. You feel rage rising in your chest under those fluorescent lights as you stand in one line after another. Here is where you check in and get a number. Here is where, when that number is finally called some 2 hours later, you hand over your paperwork and your money. Here is where you get your picture taken and get the exam you have to take. Then you get back into that last line to have your exam graded and stand while the DMV employee tries to remember how to enter information into the computer. Then, finally, the moment of truth, which is over all too quickly, and you have in your hand your paper temporary license from the state of California. And you're wondering to yourself this whole time (or I was, anyway), why we can't just have a NATIONAL LICENSING AND REGISTRATION SYSTEM?
I kid you not, this took 3 hours, and I got off lucky. The girlfriend is still at the DMV because she has to change the registration on the car, which meant that she couldn't even get a number to get in the first line until after she'd gone and had the car inspected. So she was some 20 people behind me in our particular class of "customers". She's still there, four and a half hours later. Something about a smog test, I don't know. Bureaucracy. You gotta love it.
Have you ever noticed that there are no clocks in the DMV? I assume that this is so that when you're sitting there hour after hour after hour you have no clear idea of how long it has been, until you emerge, squinting into the light, and realize that you've been in there for four hours. There is no time in the DMV, or rather, there is only DMV time. You sit in that hard plastic chair that is very nearly comfortable but not quite and watch a parade of your fellow-citizens trying to do their best to be law-abiding. Teenagers sweating over their very first written test so they can get their learner's permit, slightly older ones taking the driving test, senior citizens taking the eye test and the driving test to prove they're still safe to drive. People renewing licenses, changing titles, getting their pictures taken. And you sit. And wait. They call numbers in no discernible order. You feel rage rising in your chest under those fluorescent lights as you stand in one line after another. Here is where you check in and get a number. Here is where, when that number is finally called some 2 hours later, you hand over your paperwork and your money. Here is where you get your picture taken and get the exam you have to take. Then you get back into that last line to have your exam graded and stand while the DMV employee tries to remember how to enter information into the computer. Then, finally, the moment of truth, which is over all too quickly, and you have in your hand your paper temporary license from the state of California. And you're wondering to yourself this whole time (or I was, anyway), why we can't just have a NATIONAL LICENSING AND REGISTRATION SYSTEM?
I kid you not, this took 3 hours, and I got off lucky. The girlfriend is still at the DMV because she has to change the registration on the car, which meant that she couldn't even get a number to get in the first line until after she'd gone and had the car inspected. So she was some 20 people behind me in our particular class of "customers". She's still there, four and a half hours later. Something about a smog test, I don't know. Bureaucracy. You gotta love it.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
The Job Question
Having tackled first the 5 day cross-country road trip, then the epic "staying on the couch in someone else's one-bedroom apartment" experiment and the dogsitting fun, the girlfriend and I have finally ensconced ourselves in an apartment, albeit one with very little furniture, and are awaiting our furry bundles of joy. How, you may be asking yourself, is all of this going to be paid for. Or, perhaps more bluntly, "are they ever going to be employed?" Believe me, we've been asking ourselves this since we arrived in Walnut Creek, now nearly a month ago. I, in particular, have been feeling pretty down about the situation, because the economy is bad and I look on paper like someone who has very few skills that anyone outside of a college teaching situation would want or need. This is not a good time of year to be looking for those sorts of jobs. I have been trying to find other kinds of employment, with very little success.
I did, however, get an interview with one of those SAT prep course companies last week and was at least good enough to make it to the second interview, in which I will have to teach the same HR guy I talked to last week about misplaced and dangling modifiers. On the phone.
For those of you who are unaware (read: not as grammatically nerdy as I am), you make a misplaced modifier when you make it modify something you didn't want it to. So:
Rolling down the hill, Bob was frightened that the rocks would land on the campsite.
The way it's written, Bob is rolling down the hill and is afraid rocks will land on the campsite. This is probably not the writer's intent. It is more likely that the writer meant:
Rolling down the hill, the rocks threatened the campsite and frightened Bob. Or
Bob was frightened that the rocks, which were rolling down the hill, would land on the campsite.
So there you go. With any luck, I should be able to convince the interviewer that I am "energetic, engaging and enthusiastic" and "able to teach complicated concepts clearly and easily". And then I get my first part-time job, which would be between 5 and 10 or so hours a week, depending on the season (I didn't realize there were seasons for SAT prep, but there you go) and how many private tutoring sessions I get to teach.
It is a little demoralizing that I've been looking for a job for a month and this is the first nibble I have gotten, but I guess that's how it goes. The girlfriend had a final(ish) interview for the nonprofit job, so now we're just waiting for them to get their stuff together to make a decision. She also has an interview for another job on Wednesday, so hopefully she, at least, will soon be employed full-time. Keep your fingers crossed!
I did, however, get an interview with one of those SAT prep course companies last week and was at least good enough to make it to the second interview, in which I will have to teach the same HR guy I talked to last week about misplaced and dangling modifiers. On the phone.
For those of you who are unaware (read: not as grammatically nerdy as I am), you make a misplaced modifier when you make it modify something you didn't want it to. So:
Rolling down the hill, Bob was frightened that the rocks would land on the campsite.
The way it's written, Bob is rolling down the hill and is afraid rocks will land on the campsite. This is probably not the writer's intent. It is more likely that the writer meant:
Rolling down the hill, the rocks threatened the campsite and frightened Bob. Or
Bob was frightened that the rocks, which were rolling down the hill, would land on the campsite.
So there you go. With any luck, I should be able to convince the interviewer that I am "energetic, engaging and enthusiastic" and "able to teach complicated concepts clearly and easily". And then I get my first part-time job, which would be between 5 and 10 or so hours a week, depending on the season (I didn't realize there were seasons for SAT prep, but there you go) and how many private tutoring sessions I get to teach.
It is a little demoralizing that I've been looking for a job for a month and this is the first nibble I have gotten, but I guess that's how it goes. The girlfriend had a final(ish) interview for the nonprofit job, so now we're just waiting for them to get their stuff together to make a decision. She also has an interview for another job on Wednesday, so hopefully she, at least, will soon be employed full-time. Keep your fingers crossed!
Friday, September 17, 2010
Kitties on the Way!
Right before poor little Guliko got sick last spring, the girlfriend and I had begun to talk about eventually adopting a second cat, both because it would be nice for Guliko to have a friend and because I wanted to have a cat of my own. Guliko was clearly the girlfriend's cat. We discussed it for a long time, because Guliko was a very cautious kitty and we were not sure how she would handle having another cat in her space. The girlfriend, in particular, was worried that the new cat would bully or terrorize Guliko, which would be unacceptable.
Well, then Guliko got sick and then she passed away and we knew that we wouldn't be getting a new cat for a while, and shortly after that we knew we were moving somewhere, which was another good reason for not getting a cat, at least until we got somewhere and got settled. Even Guliko, who loved riding in the car, would have hated a 5-day trip.
We did, however, know that we would eventually get another cat. We both wanted to, we just wanted it to be the right time.
The first week we were at the girlfriend's friends' house, they told us that they had a friend who was fostering some new kittens for the Northern California Feline Rescue. They already had one cat, but they were thinking about getting her a friend. They asked us if we wanted to go along and meet the kittens. We said yes, of course!
Which is how we ended up falling in love with two baby kitties, even before we had a place to live or money to pay for them. They are:
Well, then Guliko got sick and then she passed away and we knew that we wouldn't be getting a new cat for a while, and shortly after that we knew we were moving somewhere, which was another good reason for not getting a cat, at least until we got somewhere and got settled. Even Guliko, who loved riding in the car, would have hated a 5-day trip.
We did, however, know that we would eventually get another cat. We both wanted to, we just wanted it to be the right time.
The first week we were at the girlfriend's friends' house, they told us that they had a friend who was fostering some new kittens for the Northern California Feline Rescue. They already had one cat, but they were thinking about getting her a friend. They asked us if we wanted to go along and meet the kittens. We said yes, of course!
Which is how we ended up falling in love with two baby kitties, even before we had a place to live or money to pay for them. They are:
Little Florian
Maeby
Aren't they the cutest? They were 6 weeks old on Wednesday. They have to be 8 weeks old and over 2 lbs so that they can be spayed/neutered before they come home with us, so we have a little time left before they will be here. Hopefully, one of us will have a job before then, also, because we do have to pay for them and they're going to need food and kitty litter. They will have had all of their shots and all that before they come.
We're really, really excited! Maeby (named after the Arrested Development character) is the runt of the litter and also a little explorer--she was climbing all over the last time we saw her. Florian (because it had to be Florian!) is a little more of a cuddly lap-sitter. They should be awesome. We get to go see them again tomorrow. The Feline Rescue people encourage adoptive parents to come visit a few times before it's time to take them home so they're not going home with complete strangers.
The girlfriend is a little nervous because with kittens you never really know what their personalities are going to be like when they're grown up, but I think that's what's cool about it. We get to raise these cuddly balls of fluff up into grown-up cats, so we get to see them develop into adults and socialize them and (hopefully!) not spoil them too much. I recognize that they're probably going to be INSANE for a while, especially once they're big enough to climb all over everything, but I think it's going to be fun.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
An Apartment and the Furniture Question
Home, the spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.
~Robert Montgomery
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.
~Robert Montgomery
When we first conceived of the plan to move to San Francisco with no jobs and only the stuff we could pack in our small Toyota, I knew it would be difficult. I had lived in Indiana for 10 years (TEN YEARS!)--way longer than I had expected--and I had been in school all that time. I had a bunch of friends that I had known for a lot of years, I knew where everything was, and I was part of a community based on mutual interests and the shared trauma that is a PhD program. I knew that leaving all that behind and embarking on a new life--even a new life with someone I loved--would be hard and, at times, even excruciating.
What I didn't realize was that I would be leaving behind something else that was perhaps even more difficult to live without. I was leaving a home: an apartment that I loved and a town that I at least had grown to like even if it was a small town in Indiana. I was also going to be leaving behind a lot of my stuff. I know that for many people, the act of divesting yourself of stuff makes you feel freer, lighter, maybe even more secure because you can prove to yourself that you don't need things. I think the girlfriend feels a little like that.
I, on the other hand, tend to equate "having stuff" with security, with comfort, in short, with home. With very little else about this leap feeling secure, not having "my stuff" suddenly seemed like a way, way bigger issue than it should have been. Add to that the (literal) homelessness and joblessness, and the whole world felt, and continues to feel, like a very insecure place. We have very little control over the job situation, outside of applying to as many jobs as possible and signing up for temp agencies, which we have been doing. The stuff we left behind in Indiana will continue to be in Indiana until at least one of us is employed so we can afford to go back and do something with it. But finding a place to live, that we could do something about.
All of which is a prelude to saying, we found an apartment. We did a lot of research on the internet and finally came up with a small, family-owned apartment complex that is a 2-story ring of apartments around a central courtyard with a swimming pool. It had an unoccupied, second-floor, 2-bedroom apartment and allows cats with no extra deposit or cat rent. It is pretty much perfect for us. We moved in the day we left the dogsitting gig.
You'll recall that the stuff we have with us either 1) came out with us in the Toyota or 2) was shipped in boxes to us. We brought no furniture. We brought no pots and pans. We brought 2 coffee cups, 2 forks, 2 butter knives, 6 spoons (for some reason known only to the dark reaches of the girlfriend's brain), 2 sharp knives, a coffee pot, a wine bottle opener, and a beer bottle opener as far as kitchen wares go. We also brought 2 pillows, a set of queen sheets, and 3 blankets. I could give you a list of all the other things in the car, but suffice it to say that we're pretty low on housewares of all kinds. We bought an air mattress to sleep on, a fry pan, a regular pan, some plates and bowls, and a desk chair. We got a lamp and 2 plastic lawn chairs from the girlfriend's friends and a desk and a thick foam mattress pad from a list called freecycle.
I have gone through the inventory of our household stuff because it is the area that we're still having the most trouble with. Without jobs, we can't justify going out and buying furniture, but that's what we really want to do--to turn our barren apartment into a home that feels like a home. To make it feel like it's a place we intend to stay for a while, rather than somewhere we're still just passing through. Don't get me wrong, it's a really nice apartment, it's just hard to appreciate it when there's no place comfortable to sit down, there's no place to put the few items that we did bring from Indiana so all our stuff is kind of everywhere, and we spend most of our time staring at it and wishing we could do something about it.
So here's hoping that the girlfriend will find out that the job she interviewed for last week is going to hire her and that I do a good job in the interview with a tutoring company that I have on Friday so we can get a few pieces of furniture and start making plans for how to get the rest of our stuff here! And that the freecycle thing continues to work for us. This really is a very nice desk.
Next time: Pets! Jobs?
What I didn't realize was that I would be leaving behind something else that was perhaps even more difficult to live without. I was leaving a home: an apartment that I loved and a town that I at least had grown to like even if it was a small town in Indiana. I was also going to be leaving behind a lot of my stuff. I know that for many people, the act of divesting yourself of stuff makes you feel freer, lighter, maybe even more secure because you can prove to yourself that you don't need things. I think the girlfriend feels a little like that.
I, on the other hand, tend to equate "having stuff" with security, with comfort, in short, with home. With very little else about this leap feeling secure, not having "my stuff" suddenly seemed like a way, way bigger issue than it should have been. Add to that the (literal) homelessness and joblessness, and the whole world felt, and continues to feel, like a very insecure place. We have very little control over the job situation, outside of applying to as many jobs as possible and signing up for temp agencies, which we have been doing. The stuff we left behind in Indiana will continue to be in Indiana until at least one of us is employed so we can afford to go back and do something with it. But finding a place to live, that we could do something about.
All of which is a prelude to saying, we found an apartment. We did a lot of research on the internet and finally came up with a small, family-owned apartment complex that is a 2-story ring of apartments around a central courtyard with a swimming pool. It had an unoccupied, second-floor, 2-bedroom apartment and allows cats with no extra deposit or cat rent. It is pretty much perfect for us. We moved in the day we left the dogsitting gig.
You'll recall that the stuff we have with us either 1) came out with us in the Toyota or 2) was shipped in boxes to us. We brought no furniture. We brought no pots and pans. We brought 2 coffee cups, 2 forks, 2 butter knives, 6 spoons (for some reason known only to the dark reaches of the girlfriend's brain), 2 sharp knives, a coffee pot, a wine bottle opener, and a beer bottle opener as far as kitchen wares go. We also brought 2 pillows, a set of queen sheets, and 3 blankets. I could give you a list of all the other things in the car, but suffice it to say that we're pretty low on housewares of all kinds. We bought an air mattress to sleep on, a fry pan, a regular pan, some plates and bowls, and a desk chair. We got a lamp and 2 plastic lawn chairs from the girlfriend's friends and a desk and a thick foam mattress pad from a list called freecycle.
I have gone through the inventory of our household stuff because it is the area that we're still having the most trouble with. Without jobs, we can't justify going out and buying furniture, but that's what we really want to do--to turn our barren apartment into a home that feels like a home. To make it feel like it's a place we intend to stay for a while, rather than somewhere we're still just passing through. Don't get me wrong, it's a really nice apartment, it's just hard to appreciate it when there's no place comfortable to sit down, there's no place to put the few items that we did bring from Indiana so all our stuff is kind of everywhere, and we spend most of our time staring at it and wishing we could do something about it.
So here's hoping that the girlfriend will find out that the job she interviewed for last week is going to hire her and that I do a good job in the interview with a tutoring company that I have on Friday so we can get a few pieces of furniture and start making plans for how to get the rest of our stuff here! And that the freecycle thing continues to work for us. This really is a very nice desk.
Next time: Pets! Jobs?
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Movin' On Up
When I last had the chance for an update, we were still living on the girlfriend's friend's couch and were getting ready to dogsit in the commune. That was nearly two weeks ago. A lot has changed. First of all, we had the dogsitting. Now, I like dogs. I like how much they like being around people, I like that they listen (unlike cats), and I like walking them, because it makes me walk on days when I would be much more likely to sit around on my butt and be lazy. So I went into this experience expecting to enjoy myself. However, when we went to actually *meet* the dog, I became a little, teeny, tiny bit worried. For one thing, the dog (Arty, short for Artemis) is 60 pounds and 18 months old. That is a pretty big dog with a lot of puppy wiggle left. For another, Arty is a Rhodesian ridgeback mix. This is a dog that was bred to HUNT LIONS! And also, a breed that, as a whole, is known for having a HUGE amount of energy.
So, to recap: big dog with lots of energy + still a PUPPY = super hyper dog. I mean, this dog needed to be walked 5 or so miles a day, just so she wouldn't be nutty and keep us up all night. And then there's the fact that she thought she should be fed all the time, including at 6 am. This is not a time of day that I have ever appreciated.
Then there's the fact that the girlfriend does not like dogs. Does not see them as nice or cool or fun or anything like that. She also is a little tiny thing, which is not a good attribute when you're walking a big dog. I did most of the dog walking.
The dog also apparently usually slept with the people we were housesitting for. That did not happen with us. What did happen, however, is that she would come in to the room, any time between 4:30 (I kid you not!) and 6:45 am and pace around the bed, whining and barking at us. We could attempt to ignore her for as long as we wanted to, but eventually one of us (the girlfriend) got up and went downstairs to feed her and let her out onto the back patio. She would be calm for a short period of time, but then become more and more obnoxious, until I was up and dressed and took her out for a walk. One morning, the girlfriend tried to walk Arty alone. It did not go well. We actually wised up after the first couple of days and took her to the nearest dog park, which let her run her energy out while having her ears, head, and neck chewed on by other dogs. This is apparently her favorite thing in the whole world.
It did, however, require us to put her in the back seat of the girlfriend's car. For some reason, this big, strong dog felt that she could not jump up into the car, no matter how much we tempted her with her favorite treats. One of us had to lift first her front end and then her rear end onto the back seat. It didn't matter that we did this three times, so she should have been able to figure out where we were going. I'm not sure whether she was being nervous or ornery, but there you go.
The only really bad thing about walking her was that every time you passed another dog, she wanted to play with it. She tried to run over to the other dog, pulling you along like flotsam in her wake, and, as if that wasn't embarrassing enough, barking her head off in joy at seeing another dog. Once, when we were walking her, we came up on a man with a baby in one of those baby bjorn things on his chest, walking a very small dog. She barked so loud she woke the baby and it started screaming and screaming...
The other really interesting thing about this dogsitting was the place we were staying. I reported last time that it was a commune, but I had it slightly wrong. We were staying in a Cohousing community. What is Cohousing? you may be asking yourself, as I did.
Cohousing is a form of collaborative housing that offers residents an old-fashioned sense of neighborhood. In cohousing, residents know their neighbors very well and there is a strong sense of community that is absent in contemporary cities and suburbs. Cohousing communities consist of private, fully-equipped dwellings and extensive common amenities including a common house and recreation areas. They are designed and managed by the residents who have chosen to live in a close-knit neighborhood that seeks a healthy blend of privacy and community.
So, yeah. That's what cohousing is. The condo we stayed in had two floors and the whole place is designed to be very energy-efficient, staying cool inside even on the hottest days without A/C. We were very impressed. It's the community part of the thing that we had a problem with. We must have met half of the people who lived there when we came to meet the dog and the owners. We had buddies, J and C, who were responsible for making sure we knew what was going on. C was actually out of time most of the time we were there, but J and their daughter were very welcoming (well, the daughter is a little over a year old) and invited us to a bunch of stuff. This included common meals and things like that. Everyone knew who we were and why we were there and said hi to us all the time. So kind of the opposite of living in most apartment complexes. It was interesting.
Next time: Apartments! Pets! Furniture! Jobs?
So, to recap: big dog with lots of energy + still a PUPPY = super hyper dog. I mean, this dog needed to be walked 5 or so miles a day, just so she wouldn't be nutty and keep us up all night. And then there's the fact that she thought she should be fed all the time, including at 6 am. This is not a time of day that I have ever appreciated.
Then there's the fact that the girlfriend does not like dogs. Does not see them as nice or cool or fun or anything like that. She also is a little tiny thing, which is not a good attribute when you're walking a big dog. I did most of the dog walking.
The dog also apparently usually slept with the people we were housesitting for. That did not happen with us. What did happen, however, is that she would come in to the room, any time between 4:30 (I kid you not!) and 6:45 am and pace around the bed, whining and barking at us. We could attempt to ignore her for as long as we wanted to, but eventually one of us (the girlfriend) got up and went downstairs to feed her and let her out onto the back patio. She would be calm for a short period of time, but then become more and more obnoxious, until I was up and dressed and took her out for a walk. One morning, the girlfriend tried to walk Arty alone. It did not go well. We actually wised up after the first couple of days and took her to the nearest dog park, which let her run her energy out while having her ears, head, and neck chewed on by other dogs. This is apparently her favorite thing in the whole world.
It did, however, require us to put her in the back seat of the girlfriend's car. For some reason, this big, strong dog felt that she could not jump up into the car, no matter how much we tempted her with her favorite treats. One of us had to lift first her front end and then her rear end onto the back seat. It didn't matter that we did this three times, so she should have been able to figure out where we were going. I'm not sure whether she was being nervous or ornery, but there you go.
The only really bad thing about walking her was that every time you passed another dog, she wanted to play with it. She tried to run over to the other dog, pulling you along like flotsam in her wake, and, as if that wasn't embarrassing enough, barking her head off in joy at seeing another dog. Once, when we were walking her, we came up on a man with a baby in one of those baby bjorn things on his chest, walking a very small dog. She barked so loud she woke the baby and it started screaming and screaming...
The other really interesting thing about this dogsitting was the place we were staying. I reported last time that it was a commune, but I had it slightly wrong. We were staying in a Cohousing community. What is Cohousing? you may be asking yourself, as I did.
Cohousing is a form of collaborative housing that offers residents an old-fashioned sense of neighborhood. In cohousing, residents know their neighbors very well and there is a strong sense of community that is absent in contemporary cities and suburbs. Cohousing communities consist of private, fully-equipped dwellings and extensive common amenities including a common house and recreation areas. They are designed and managed by the residents who have chosen to live in a close-knit neighborhood that seeks a healthy blend of privacy and community.
So, yeah. That's what cohousing is. The condo we stayed in had two floors and the whole place is designed to be very energy-efficient, staying cool inside even on the hottest days without A/C. We were very impressed. It's the community part of the thing that we had a problem with. We must have met half of the people who lived there when we came to meet the dog and the owners. We had buddies, J and C, who were responsible for making sure we knew what was going on. C was actually out of time most of the time we were there, but J and their daughter were very welcoming (well, the daughter is a little over a year old) and invited us to a bunch of stuff. This included common meals and things like that. Everyone knew who we were and why we were there and said hi to us all the time. So kind of the opposite of living in most apartment complexes. It was interesting.
Next time: Apartments! Pets! Furniture! Jobs?
Monday, August 30, 2010
Life...Now With More California!
I know it's been a month, or more than a month, since I wrote a post, so probably no one is listening, but it's been a really, really busy month. To sum up:
1. I didn't get the job in Rochester. Maybe you figured that out from the title of the post. They held off on telling me until two weeks after the deadline they told me, then sent me the following form email (on my birthday, no less):
We would like to encourage you to consider future openings for which you are qualified and interested. Because each position is unique, it is requested that you apply separately for each position.
We wish you well in your search for employment.
Human Resources
**Please do not respond to this email address**
So that was awesome.
2. The girlfriend and I (and 10 of our closest friends) moved all of our stuff into a storage unit in Martinsville, IN. I moved out of my apartment.
3. The girlfriend and I drove to Asheville, NC to stay with my mom in her brand new house, then drove with her to Holden Beach, NC for a family vacation. The girlfriend met my brother and sisters, my brother-in-law, and my brother's girlfriend for the first time. They loved her, of course ;)
4. We drove back to Indiana and stayed in a friend's place for three days, watched her cat, said a huge number of goodbyes, and packed all of our stuff up into the girlfriend's car.
5. Drove to California. This took 4 full days.
6. Now staying in Walnut Creek, CA, with the girlfriend's best friend from Peace Corps and her fiancee. On the couch. In a small, one-bedroom apartment.
7. Still looking for jobs. Looking for a place. Having San Francisco moments.
So that's a brief outline. Since I'm still unemployed, I'm going to try updating a little more often, but no promises. On Wednesday, we're going to start dog- and housesitting for an Australian ridgeback in a commune. So that should be interesting. For now, keep your fingers crossed that Google decides to hire me...
1. I didn't get the job in Rochester. Maybe you figured that out from the title of the post. They held off on telling me until two weeks after the deadline they told me, then sent me the following form email (on my birthday, no less):
Dear Applicant:
On behalf of the Search Committee, we want to thank you for your interest in the Anthropology, Faculty Member Full Time Tenure-Track, Fall '10 position. After careful consideration, a candidate has been selected for the position and this position is now considered closed. Be assured we enjoyed and appreciated the time you spent visiting and interviewing with us at Monroe Community College.We would like to encourage you to consider future openings for which you are qualified and interested. Because each position is unique, it is requested that you apply separately for each position.
We wish you well in your search for employment.
Human Resources
**Please do not respond to this email address**
So that was awesome.
2. The girlfriend and I (and 10 of our closest friends) moved all of our stuff into a storage unit in Martinsville, IN. I moved out of my apartment.
3. The girlfriend and I drove to Asheville, NC to stay with my mom in her brand new house, then drove with her to Holden Beach, NC for a family vacation. The girlfriend met my brother and sisters, my brother-in-law, and my brother's girlfriend for the first time. They loved her, of course ;)
4. We drove back to Indiana and stayed in a friend's place for three days, watched her cat, said a huge number of goodbyes, and packed all of our stuff up into the girlfriend's car.
5. Drove to California. This took 4 full days.
6. Now staying in Walnut Creek, CA, with the girlfriend's best friend from Peace Corps and her fiancee. On the couch. In a small, one-bedroom apartment.
7. Still looking for jobs. Looking for a place. Having San Francisco moments.
So that's a brief outline. Since I'm still unemployed, I'm going to try updating a little more often, but no promises. On Wednesday, we're going to start dog- and housesitting for an Australian ridgeback in a commune. So that should be interesting. For now, keep your fingers crossed that Google decides to hire me...
Friday, July 9, 2010
Flying the Unfriendly Skies, Or Why I Will Never Fly Delta Again
So I flew to Rochester two weekends ago for my job interview at MCC (I haven't found out about that yet, by the way). The trip up there (on Continental) was totally fine. I got there on time and everything. I did have to fly on a propeller plane from Indianapolis to Cleveland, but that was just loud, not bad.
On the way back, however, things were completely different. We were delayed coming out of Rochester. Irritating but not surprising, and I had a 3 hour layover in Detroit, so I wasn't particularly worried about it. We got into Detroit maybe half an hour or so late.
My flight to Indianapolis was supposed to leave at 5:45. Shortly after I arrived at the airport, the flight was delayed to 6:15. Fine. No big deal. I tried to call the girlfriend (who was driving back from Minnesota and was supposed to pick me up at the airport at 7) to tell her we were going to be delayed. She didn't answer because her prepaid cell phone was out of money. I sent her a text message. Eventually, she pulled over at a McDonald's and used their free wireless to call me on Skype. Not the first time technology would let me down on this trip, but not the last. They kept delaying the flight because the plane was late coming in from Cancun. The plane got in, but then they didn't have a pilot and copilot. They finally put us on the plane around 7:30 because we had been reassigned a crew. We sat on the hot plane (they can't turn the engines on unless the pilot or copilot is on the plane) and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the lead flight attendant decided to take us off the plane because they'd had no contact with the pilots since they got to the airport. This was at about 8:45. We stood around and stood around at the gate while the Gate Agent tried not to have to talk to any of us. Eventually, the departure time for the flight switched to 6:30 am the next day. We all went down to stand in the rebooking line. This was at 9 pm. This was also the point at which my cell phone decided that it was going to start the process of dying.
We stood in that line for almost 2 hours before we found out that we could have just gone up and scanned our boarding passes at this kiosk and it would 1) give us the hotel and food vouchers the airline had decided we could have and 2) tell us if they had rebooked us automatically. So I did that and got a voucher for a Doubletree Hotel. I called the number on the voucher and got a Crown Plaza Hotel, which was at a distance from the airport. The guy I talked to suggested that I call the Doubletree nearest him and see if they had the right phone number. So then I called them, got the phone number (on my blinking phone) and eventually got the number for the nearest Doubletree. It was a $35 cab ride away, with no airport shuttle. It was now 11 pm and I had a flight at 6:45 am. I stayed on the floor at the airport. It sucked. A lot.
The next morning (if you can call it "morning" if you have spent the night freezing your ass off on the hard floor under the bright lights of a major airport) at 5 am, I got up to go looking for a bathroom to clean up and noted that they'd taken our flight down off the board at our original gate. I went and looked at the departure board and found that they'd put it up at the other end of the airport. So I got breakfast and went down to that gate. I had only been there a few minutes when an announcement came over the intercom and told us to go back to our original gate. So we all carried our stuff back to the gate and waited. And waited.
The gate agent started trying to get things together to put us on our plane. She couldn't get the computer to pull up our roster and check us in. This apparently had to do with the fact that our original flight was dated the day before, which was pissing the computer off. You may be asking yourself (as we were asking ourselves) why they had not thought of this the night before and fixed it. The world may never know. The ONE gate agent they had sent for our flight was on the phone for a very long time with Delta's headquarters in Atlanta trying to get the computer fixed. For over an hour.
Meanwhile, we (the passengers) were old friends and were sharing stories about why we hadn't gotten out of there the night before. Apparently, the pilots we'd had assigned to us had originally been assigned to fly a plane to Salt Lake City and, on discovering that the flight had been canceled, went to their hotel instead of coming to fly our plane. DELTA HAD NOT TOLD THEM THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO FLY OUR PLANE!!!! Sorry about the all caps. I feel very strongly that Delta may be the most inept airline ever.
So we're still sitting there and the captain comes out and is talking loudly and angrily on his cell phone for like 15 minutes. We all understood his pain. He finally told the gate agent to just take our paper tickets, check them off by hand (or like they did 2 years ago before everyone had the fancy scanners) and get us on the plane. Which they finally did. It was now 7:45 am (that's right, we're now ANOTHER hour late). I texted the girlfriend that it was now (maybe) time to leave to come pick me up at the airport. Then we sat there and sat there for at least another half hour. While we were waiting, I was talking to the guy next to me. He asked me if I had gotten a hotel room the night before. I said no and told him about my attempt the previous night to get the free hotel room I was promised. He kind of laughed and said "I don't want to ruin your day, but..." and launched into his story of (successfully) finding the hotel that Delta REALLY meant to send us to. Which was called the Metropolitan. And was very close to the airport. And had a free shuttle. It had been a Doubletree at sometime in the fairly recent past, but SERIOUSLY? They got the phone number AND the NAME of the hotel wrong?!?
Eventually, of course, we got in the air for the 45 minute flight to Indy and arrived there around 9 am (only 14 hours late). The girlfriend, of course, had been circling for the last half hour. She had gotten home finally around 11 the night before and gotten up in enough time that she could pick me up at our original 7:45 am arrival time, taking into account the hour drive from Bloomington to Indianapolis. So she was just about as tired as I was, but she was a champ. I can't truly explain how happy I was to see her.
Anyway, don't fly Delta. They couldn't find their asses with both hands and a flashlight.
On the way back, however, things were completely different. We were delayed coming out of Rochester. Irritating but not surprising, and I had a 3 hour layover in Detroit, so I wasn't particularly worried about it. We got into Detroit maybe half an hour or so late.
My flight to Indianapolis was supposed to leave at 5:45. Shortly after I arrived at the airport, the flight was delayed to 6:15. Fine. No big deal. I tried to call the girlfriend (who was driving back from Minnesota and was supposed to pick me up at the airport at 7) to tell her we were going to be delayed. She didn't answer because her prepaid cell phone was out of money. I sent her a text message. Eventually, she pulled over at a McDonald's and used their free wireless to call me on Skype. Not the first time technology would let me down on this trip, but not the last. They kept delaying the flight because the plane was late coming in from Cancun. The plane got in, but then they didn't have a pilot and copilot. They finally put us on the plane around 7:30 because we had been reassigned a crew. We sat on the hot plane (they can't turn the engines on unless the pilot or copilot is on the plane) and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the lead flight attendant decided to take us off the plane because they'd had no contact with the pilots since they got to the airport. This was at about 8:45. We stood around and stood around at the gate while the Gate Agent tried not to have to talk to any of us. Eventually, the departure time for the flight switched to 6:30 am the next day. We all went down to stand in the rebooking line. This was at 9 pm. This was also the point at which my cell phone decided that it was going to start the process of dying.
We stood in that line for almost 2 hours before we found out that we could have just gone up and scanned our boarding passes at this kiosk and it would 1) give us the hotel and food vouchers the airline had decided we could have and 2) tell us if they had rebooked us automatically. So I did that and got a voucher for a Doubletree Hotel. I called the number on the voucher and got a Crown Plaza Hotel, which was at a distance from the airport. The guy I talked to suggested that I call the Doubletree nearest him and see if they had the right phone number. So then I called them, got the phone number (on my blinking phone) and eventually got the number for the nearest Doubletree. It was a $35 cab ride away, with no airport shuttle. It was now 11 pm and I had a flight at 6:45 am. I stayed on the floor at the airport. It sucked. A lot.
The next morning (if you can call it "morning" if you have spent the night freezing your ass off on the hard floor under the bright lights of a major airport) at 5 am, I got up to go looking for a bathroom to clean up and noted that they'd taken our flight down off the board at our original gate. I went and looked at the departure board and found that they'd put it up at the other end of the airport. So I got breakfast and went down to that gate. I had only been there a few minutes when an announcement came over the intercom and told us to go back to our original gate. So we all carried our stuff back to the gate and waited. And waited.
The gate agent started trying to get things together to put us on our plane. She couldn't get the computer to pull up our roster and check us in. This apparently had to do with the fact that our original flight was dated the day before, which was pissing the computer off. You may be asking yourself (as we were asking ourselves) why they had not thought of this the night before and fixed it. The world may never know. The ONE gate agent they had sent for our flight was on the phone for a very long time with Delta's headquarters in Atlanta trying to get the computer fixed. For over an hour.
Meanwhile, we (the passengers) were old friends and were sharing stories about why we hadn't gotten out of there the night before. Apparently, the pilots we'd had assigned to us had originally been assigned to fly a plane to Salt Lake City and, on discovering that the flight had been canceled, went to their hotel instead of coming to fly our plane. DELTA HAD NOT TOLD THEM THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO FLY OUR PLANE!!!! Sorry about the all caps. I feel very strongly that Delta may be the most inept airline ever.
So we're still sitting there and the captain comes out and is talking loudly and angrily on his cell phone for like 15 minutes. We all understood his pain. He finally told the gate agent to just take our paper tickets, check them off by hand (or like they did 2 years ago before everyone had the fancy scanners) and get us on the plane. Which they finally did. It was now 7:45 am (that's right, we're now ANOTHER hour late). I texted the girlfriend that it was now (maybe) time to leave to come pick me up at the airport. Then we sat there and sat there for at least another half hour. While we were waiting, I was talking to the guy next to me. He asked me if I had gotten a hotel room the night before. I said no and told him about my attempt the previous night to get the free hotel room I was promised. He kind of laughed and said "I don't want to ruin your day, but..." and launched into his story of (successfully) finding the hotel that Delta REALLY meant to send us to. Which was called the Metropolitan. And was very close to the airport. And had a free shuttle. It had been a Doubletree at sometime in the fairly recent past, but SERIOUSLY? They got the phone number AND the NAME of the hotel wrong?!?
Anyway, don't fly Delta. They couldn't find their asses with both hands and a flashlight.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
On the Road Again
I an interview for a job this weekend. The position is a full-time, tenure-track position at Monroe Community College in Rochester, NY. Maybe not the most prestigious job in the world, but it's a good job. The campus is beautiful and the people in the department are really committed to teaching, which should be a welcome change from IU, where research is the big thing and teaching is an afterthought.
The front of Building 1 of MCC
I think it went pretty well. It's tough to tell with these things, because of course they're not supposed to tip their hands until the decision has been made and they're ready to make an offer, which sounds like it won't happen for about 3 weeks. So now we just have to wait and hope. It sucks because it's not like we can go out and find a house or start doing any of the million things you have to do before you can move. We can look around a little, but not do anything certain or permanent. It's pretty scary. My lease is up on August 13, so we're going to have to move pretty quick after we hear about this job, one way or the other. On top of that, we're supposed to go to the beach with my family Aug. 7-14, so we would have to move before that. We're not exactly having a stress-free summer, I'll tell you that.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
"Touchdown Jesus"
I only recently became aware of this...monument outside of the Solid Rock Church north of Cincinnati, OH, on I-75. Called the "King of Kings Monument," it was made out of Styrofoam over a steel frame. It looked an awful lot like Jesus making the "touchdown" sign.
The monument spawned a song by Heywood Banks called "Big Butter Jesus," which is worth a listen:
The statue has caused its share of accidents, I'd imagine, over the years it's been beside the road. Yesterday at around 11:30 at night, Jesus's right hand was struck by lightening and the whole statue burned to the ground.
Which is a little funny, given the prohibition against worshipping idols and all that. The article in the Dayton Daily News interviewed a bunch of people:
“It sent goosebumps through my whole body because I am a believer,” said Levi Walsh, 29. “Of all the things that could have been struck, I just think that that would be protected. ... It’s something that’s not supposed to happen, Jesus burning,” he said. “I had to see it with my own eyes.”
“I can’t believe Jesus was struck,” said his brother, who noted the giant Hustler Hollywood sign for the adult store across the street was untouched. “It’s the last thing I expected to happen.”
Um, yeah. Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it? You can read the rest of the article here: http://www.daytondailynews.com/news/dayton-news/jesus-statue-fire-damages-estimated-at-700-000jesus-statue-fire-damages-estimated-at-700-000-762245.html
The punchline is that they're planning to rebuild the statue, which should cost about $250,000. Are there no other godly works that the money could be put towards? Starving children in Africa? Oil clean-up? Something other than a huge styrofoam Jesus? I'm just sayin'...
The monument spawned a song by Heywood Banks called "Big Butter Jesus," which is worth a listen:
The statue has caused its share of accidents, I'd imagine, over the years it's been beside the road. Yesterday at around 11:30 at night, Jesus's right hand was struck by lightening and the whole statue burned to the ground.
Which is a little funny, given the prohibition against worshipping idols and all that. The article in the Dayton Daily News interviewed a bunch of people:
“It sent goosebumps through my whole body because I am a believer,” said Levi Walsh, 29. “Of all the things that could have been struck, I just think that that would be protected. ... It’s something that’s not supposed to happen, Jesus burning,” he said. “I had to see it with my own eyes.”
“I can’t believe Jesus was struck,” said his brother, who noted the giant Hustler Hollywood sign for the adult store across the street was untouched. “It’s the last thing I expected to happen.”
Um, yeah. Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it? You can read the rest of the article here: http://www.daytondailynews.com/news/dayton-news/jesus-statue-fire-damages-estimated-at-700-000jesus-statue-fire-damages-estimated-at-700-000-762245.html
The punchline is that they're planning to rebuild the statue, which should cost about $250,000. Are there no other godly works that the money could be put towards? Starving children in Africa? Oil clean-up? Something other than a huge styrofoam Jesus? I'm just sayin'...
Friday, June 4, 2010
Guliko's Last Ride
I have been putting off writing this post. I was going to write about my crazy family and how weird it is hanging out in my grandparents' giant house, or how my sister has decided she doesn't like my brother's girlfriend. But I think I have to write about this first.
I was in the Newark airport getting ready to come home when I called the girlfriend. I asked her about how Guliko was doing. She told me that the vet had called her on Friday and then called her back on Saturday. The diagnosis was the worst possible: an aggressive, invasive cancer that had probably spread to her lymph node from somewhere else. A tumor with no clear margins. A death sentence.
When I left for New Jersey, the cat was still able to walk around and occasionally jump up on things. She could eat some food, though not very much. The day after I left, the cat even got up and jumped over the baby gate we have in the doorway to the girlfriend's room to keep her roommate's dog out. She went to hang out in the spare bedroom. She wanted to be petted for hours and she just purred and purred and purred. I think that might have been her last hurrah.
On Saturday, Guliko was much different. She was wobbly and could barely lick the gravy off her food. She clearly couldn't see out of her right eye, so it took her much longer to walk to the litterbox because she had to walk along the edges of the room to navigate. But she still purred and purred when you rubbed her tummy or petted her. She was spending a lot of time hiding in the closet. But she seemed to be having a harder and harder time. The girlfriend and I went to a wedding on Sunday. We gave Guliko a painkiller before we left so she wouldn't have to be alone and in pain. We got home late at night. Guliko didn't really want to come out, but she did lick some food.
The next day she licked more food. We gave her the painkiller in the morning and again at night. She was having more trouble keeping her balance and getting into the litter box. And just...tired. She didn't want to get up from the box she was sitting on in the closet.
And so the next morning as we watched her walk across the room to the litter box--a ten-minute process--we knew it was time. I called the vet and told her we needed to bring Guliko in. We made an appointment to go in at 3 pm.
I think that day was the longest of my life. We started getting ready, but not talking about it. We cleared a spot in the front yard where Guliko first came to the girlfriend. I dug a hole to put the kitty in when it was all over. Then we brought Guliko out and let her sit outside. She sat under a bush and then on top of the dirt pile from her freshly dug grave. It seemed strange, but she seemed so peaceful. For most of the time, she just sat and smelled and listened. The sun was shining, though this spot was in the shade, and insects buzzed around us in the humid air.
After an hour or so, we brought her back inside. She sat with the girlfriend for a few moments on the bed, but then she was ready to leave. We had to stop her from jumping off the bed and hiding under it! So back she went to the closet.
Then it was time to leave for the vet's. The girlfriend held the kitty on her lap. We both cried. Then we put her in her carrier and went out to the car. We cried all the way there. I held the cat on my lap and petted her.
The receptionist showed us into a room, a somber look on her face. We waited, petting her in her kitty carrier, until the vet came in. She asked us how Guliko was. I'm not sure whether she wanted to make sure we were making the right decision or if she just didn't know what to say. She told us that if we were going to bury the cat in the yard, we should bury her very, very deep. Then she explained the sequence of events and asked us if we wanted to stay. The girlfriend wanted to, so we did.
We put the cat out on the exam table. The vet felt the tumor in the side of her head and closed her eyes. "I can't believe how much that has grown." We put the cat down on her side and they went to put the line in her inner thigh. The procedure is that they put the line in and push propofol (an anesthetic) and, when that took effect, push the euthanasia medicine. This all requires getting that line in. It took a while. They poked her and poked her and the vein rolled and popped the needle out. And the cat just...looked at us. Just looked at us and waited for it to be over.
The vet finally got the anesthesia in and then started putting in the euthanasia stuff and the line blew out and sprayed the medicine all over the towel on the exam table. The vet had to run and get a syringe to finish the injection. It was kind of terrible. But on June 1, 2010 at about 3:30 PM, Guliko died.
They wrapped her up in a big green plastic bag, folded over and taped with medical tape. We put her back in the kitty carrier and carried her back out to the car. There was no charge. We cried all the way home. I dug the hole a little deeper. Then we put her in the hole, still in the bag, and the girlfriend went to get her roommate from inside the house. The girlfriend put a few shovels of dirt in the grave, then I finished filling it in. We put some rocks on top of the grave. And then it was done.
We gathered up all the kitty things in the house and put them together to put them away in a closet at my house. And we drank to Guliko's memory.
I am trying not to remember those last moments. I am trying to wipe away the needle poking the cat over and over and the way her body looked when they were done. I am trying to remember the cat that followed me to the bathroom in the middle of the night so I would scratch her butt and her ears or the one that would sit on my chest or bat at my ear in the morning so I would get up and give her the milk from my cereal in the morning. I am trying.
The girlfriend went off to her 5th college reunion yesterday. Ordinarily, Guliko would come stay with me when the girlfriend was out of town. So I keep thinking I see Guliko out of the corner of my eye. I miss her. She is the cat by which all others will be judged.
I was in the Newark airport getting ready to come home when I called the girlfriend. I asked her about how Guliko was doing. She told me that the vet had called her on Friday and then called her back on Saturday. The diagnosis was the worst possible: an aggressive, invasive cancer that had probably spread to her lymph node from somewhere else. A tumor with no clear margins. A death sentence.
When I left for New Jersey, the cat was still able to walk around and occasionally jump up on things. She could eat some food, though not very much. The day after I left, the cat even got up and jumped over the baby gate we have in the doorway to the girlfriend's room to keep her roommate's dog out. She went to hang out in the spare bedroom. She wanted to be petted for hours and she just purred and purred and purred. I think that might have been her last hurrah.
On Saturday, Guliko was much different. She was wobbly and could barely lick the gravy off her food. She clearly couldn't see out of her right eye, so it took her much longer to walk to the litterbox because she had to walk along the edges of the room to navigate. But she still purred and purred when you rubbed her tummy or petted her. She was spending a lot of time hiding in the closet. But she seemed to be having a harder and harder time. The girlfriend and I went to a wedding on Sunday. We gave Guliko a painkiller before we left so she wouldn't have to be alone and in pain. We got home late at night. Guliko didn't really want to come out, but she did lick some food.
The next day she licked more food. We gave her the painkiller in the morning and again at night. She was having more trouble keeping her balance and getting into the litter box. And just...tired. She didn't want to get up from the box she was sitting on in the closet.
And so the next morning as we watched her walk across the room to the litter box--a ten-minute process--we knew it was time. I called the vet and told her we needed to bring Guliko in. We made an appointment to go in at 3 pm.
I think that day was the longest of my life. We started getting ready, but not talking about it. We cleared a spot in the front yard where Guliko first came to the girlfriend. I dug a hole to put the kitty in when it was all over. Then we brought Guliko out and let her sit outside. She sat under a bush and then on top of the dirt pile from her freshly dug grave. It seemed strange, but she seemed so peaceful. For most of the time, she just sat and smelled and listened. The sun was shining, though this spot was in the shade, and insects buzzed around us in the humid air.
After an hour or so, we brought her back inside. She sat with the girlfriend for a few moments on the bed, but then she was ready to leave. We had to stop her from jumping off the bed and hiding under it! So back she went to the closet.
Then it was time to leave for the vet's. The girlfriend held the kitty on her lap. We both cried. Then we put her in her carrier and went out to the car. We cried all the way there. I held the cat on my lap and petted her.
The receptionist showed us into a room, a somber look on her face. We waited, petting her in her kitty carrier, until the vet came in. She asked us how Guliko was. I'm not sure whether she wanted to make sure we were making the right decision or if she just didn't know what to say. She told us that if we were going to bury the cat in the yard, we should bury her very, very deep. Then she explained the sequence of events and asked us if we wanted to stay. The girlfriend wanted to, so we did.
We put the cat out on the exam table. The vet felt the tumor in the side of her head and closed her eyes. "I can't believe how much that has grown." We put the cat down on her side and they went to put the line in her inner thigh. The procedure is that they put the line in and push propofol (an anesthetic) and, when that took effect, push the euthanasia medicine. This all requires getting that line in. It took a while. They poked her and poked her and the vein rolled and popped the needle out. And the cat just...looked at us. Just looked at us and waited for it to be over.
The vet finally got the anesthesia in and then started putting in the euthanasia stuff and the line blew out and sprayed the medicine all over the towel on the exam table. The vet had to run and get a syringe to finish the injection. It was kind of terrible. But on June 1, 2010 at about 3:30 PM, Guliko died.
They wrapped her up in a big green plastic bag, folded over and taped with medical tape. We put her back in the kitty carrier and carried her back out to the car. There was no charge. We cried all the way home. I dug the hole a little deeper. Then we put her in the hole, still in the bag, and the girlfriend went to get her roommate from inside the house. The girlfriend put a few shovels of dirt in the grave, then I finished filling it in. We put some rocks on top of the grave. And then it was done.
We gathered up all the kitty things in the house and put them together to put them away in a closet at my house. And we drank to Guliko's memory.
I am trying not to remember those last moments. I am trying to wipe away the needle poking the cat over and over and the way her body looked when they were done. I am trying to remember the cat that followed me to the bathroom in the middle of the night so I would scratch her butt and her ears or the one that would sit on my chest or bat at my ear in the morning so I would get up and give her the milk from my cereal in the morning. I am trying.
The girlfriend went off to her 5th college reunion yesterday. Ordinarily, Guliko would come stay with me when the girlfriend was out of town. So I keep thinking I see Guliko out of the corner of my eye. I miss her. She is the cat by which all others will be judged.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Oh, Guliko
That's right, it's another post about the cat. What an exciting blog! I'm going to say once again that I am not generally the sort of person that talks about the cat nonstop, but the beginning of the blog sort of coincided with Guliko's big health crisis. The blog is meant to be about things I find funny or interesting or whatever, and the thing that I'm thinking about the most right now is Guliko.
Anyway, she and I made it through the weekend with the girlfriend gone just fine. Guliko is spending most of her time hiding somewhere--in one of two places in my closet, behind or under a chair in my office, or under the bed--but she does come out to eat, especially in the morning, and she does like to be petted still. You just have to go find her and pet her in her hiding place. And her purrs and her meows sound really funny, we think because the lymph node is pressing on her voicebox a little. She certainly is not pouncing on things or jumping up or being her old self, but she's holding her own.
Then yesterday morning the vet finally called (she claims that their computer system was down all day Friday, which is why she didn't call). She said that a pathologist had looked at the few cells she'd taken out when we took Guliko in last Tuesday and he thought that they were cancerous. She did not sound upbeat. So we went back over to the vet to have some blood work done yesterday afternoon so we could take her in for the biopsy this morning. Poor kitty.
She didn't get to have breakfast this morning, so she was really grouchy, and now she's at the vet by herself. They have to put her under anesthesia to take the biopsy, which means we won't be able to go get her until 5 or so this evening. We won't find out the results of the biopsy until Friday or next Monday, but things don't look good for her.
The worst part is that I have to go away for the weekend for a family reunion at my grandparents', which means I may not even be here when we find out the results. Well, that and the kitty being really sick. This sucks.
Anyway, she and I made it through the weekend with the girlfriend gone just fine. Guliko is spending most of her time hiding somewhere--in one of two places in my closet, behind or under a chair in my office, or under the bed--but she does come out to eat, especially in the morning, and she does like to be petted still. You just have to go find her and pet her in her hiding place. And her purrs and her meows sound really funny, we think because the lymph node is pressing on her voicebox a little. She certainly is not pouncing on things or jumping up or being her old self, but she's holding her own.
Then yesterday morning the vet finally called (she claims that their computer system was down all day Friday, which is why she didn't call). She said that a pathologist had looked at the few cells she'd taken out when we took Guliko in last Tuesday and he thought that they were cancerous. She did not sound upbeat. So we went back over to the vet to have some blood work done yesterday afternoon so we could take her in for the biopsy this morning. Poor kitty.
She didn't get to have breakfast this morning, so she was really grouchy, and now she's at the vet by herself. They have to put her under anesthesia to take the biopsy, which means we won't be able to go get her until 5 or so this evening. We won't find out the results of the biopsy until Friday or next Monday, but things don't look good for her.
The worst part is that I have to go away for the weekend for a family reunion at my grandparents', which means I may not even be here when we find out the results. Well, that and the kitty being really sick. This sucks.
Friday, May 21, 2010
The Irritating Thing about Doctors...
The irritating thing about doctors, which at this moment includes vets as well, is that they don't seem to realize how important your, particular, animal is. They're perhaps a little more cavalier than you would like them to be. So, for instance, yesterday the vet told us to stop giving the cat the pain medication she'd been on because she thought that that was what was making Guliko hide under the bed and not really want to eat. And she said that she would call the girlfriend today to see how Guliko was doing today and let us know if she'd heard from the vet that might do the surgery on Guliko's ear.
She of course did not do that. Fortunately, Guliko is doing much better. She came out yesterday to eat wet food and be petted and today when I came home she came out and wanted to be petted and have her tummy rubbed and sit on my lap for a while. Which is way better than she's done since Monday, so I'm taking it as a good sign. This is a good thing because the girlfriend is out of town for the weekend at her step-sister's graduation, so I'm all alone with the ailing kitty. With any luck, we'll be okay on our own until Sunday!
I have come to terms with the fact that at least until the cat's health crisis is over, this blog is going to be mostly about the cat. Maybe after she's better I'll have non-kitty things to say. Maybe.
She of course did not do that. Fortunately, Guliko is doing much better. She came out yesterday to eat wet food and be petted and today when I came home she came out and wanted to be petted and have her tummy rubbed and sit on my lap for a while. Which is way better than she's done since Monday, so I'm taking it as a good sign. This is a good thing because the girlfriend is out of town for the weekend at her step-sister's graduation, so I'm all alone with the ailing kitty. With any luck, we'll be okay on our own until Sunday!
I have come to terms with the fact that at least until the cat's health crisis is over, this blog is going to be mostly about the cat. Maybe after she's better I'll have non-kitty things to say. Maybe.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Hysterical!
Just to show that this blog is not entirely about the kitty... Julia Sweeney describes talking to her daughter about the birds and the bees. Absolutely hysterical!
More on Guliko as the situation develops. We're still waiting to hear back from the vet. Guliko is still hiding under the bed and refusing to come out when we're around. Call it a standoff.
More on Guliko as the situation develops. We're still waiting to hear back from the vet. Guliko is still hiding under the bed and refusing to come out when we're around. Call it a standoff.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Guliko Update
Well, it turns out this wasn't actually a case of Overprotective Mommy Syndrome (OPMS). Guliko felt better on Saturday after seeing the vet and for most of the day on Sunday, but Sunday evening, she had another one of her spells. And another one. These suckers are really scary and look a lot like she's having terrible muscle spasms all on her right side. The muscles all lock up and stay that way for maybe 30 seconds or a minute, then relax so she can go bounding away. And they clearly hurt a lot, if her yowling and attempts to stay perfectly still between them are any indication. She had another one at around 6 am Monday morning (scared the crap out of me and the girlfriend because she had it on the girlfriend's pillow when we were both fast asleep). She had several more throughout the day and clearly was in a lot of pain, so the girlfriend called the vet (her usual vet) and made an appointment for this morning.
We thought about driving her to a 24 hour vet last night because it seemed like she really couldn't get up after one of the attacks, but then she jumped up and moved into the back of the closet. At this point, we were really thinking she was going to die just right there, but she didn't. She got up in the night to use the litter box and eat and then jumped up on a chair this morning, so we were feeling a little more optimistic on the way to the appointment, even though she had a couple more seizures before we went.
The vet thought at first that she had some sort of back injury and was getting ready to take some x-rays when Guliko had a seizure right there on the exam table. The vet said "I've never seen a cat do that before". Then she decided to check Guliko's ear. Now, when the girlfriend first rescued Guliko from the streets, she was having some ear trouble and she took her to the vet and found out that the cat had a giant polyp in her middle ear. The vet removed it, but warned that it was possible that she had some of the polyp in her inner ear, which would require surgery. So she was checking the ear to make sure that they polyp hadn't grown back. She couldn't tell--Guliko has a HUGE amount of ear wax, apparently--but when her assistant was holding Guliko's head so she could look in the ears, she noted a hard growth on Guliko's neck. And when the vet pressed on it, Guliko had a seizure. The vet needed to run some tests.
The upshot is, it's an inflamed lymph node, probably as a result of the ear not draining properly because of the polyp in the inner ear. The lymph node is pressing on one of the major nerves in Guliko's neck. The cat is going to have to have surgery to remove the polyp and maybe the lymph node. The vet can't do the surgery, so she's looking into where we can take her. Meanwhile, the cat is all drugged up, which would be funny if she wasn't so pitiful. Poor kitty.
We thought about driving her to a 24 hour vet last night because it seemed like she really couldn't get up after one of the attacks, but then she jumped up and moved into the back of the closet. At this point, we were really thinking she was going to die just right there, but she didn't. She got up in the night to use the litter box and eat and then jumped up on a chair this morning, so we were feeling a little more optimistic on the way to the appointment, even though she had a couple more seizures before we went.
The vet thought at first that she had some sort of back injury and was getting ready to take some x-rays when Guliko had a seizure right there on the exam table. The vet said "I've never seen a cat do that before". Then she decided to check Guliko's ear. Now, when the girlfriend first rescued Guliko from the streets, she was having some ear trouble and she took her to the vet and found out that the cat had a giant polyp in her middle ear. The vet removed it, but warned that it was possible that she had some of the polyp in her inner ear, which would require surgery. So she was checking the ear to make sure that they polyp hadn't grown back. She couldn't tell--Guliko has a HUGE amount of ear wax, apparently--but when her assistant was holding Guliko's head so she could look in the ears, she noted a hard growth on Guliko's neck. And when the vet pressed on it, Guliko had a seizure. The vet needed to run some tests.
The upshot is, it's an inflamed lymph node, probably as a result of the ear not draining properly because of the polyp in the inner ear. The lymph node is pressing on one of the major nerves in Guliko's neck. The cat is going to have to have surgery to remove the polyp and maybe the lymph node. The vet can't do the surgery, so she's looking into where we can take her. Meanwhile, the cat is all drugged up, which would be funny if she wasn't so pitiful. Poor kitty.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
The Biggest Loser
I'm going to say it: I love the Biggest Loser. Now, I know that there are plenty of reasons that the show is not a good model for how to lose weight safely, keep it off, and to encourage a healthy lifestyle. Let's be honest, losing 10+ points in a week is crazy, no matter how big you are, and the restrictive diets and intensive exercise regimes the contestants endure should only be undertaken with serious supervision. All of this means that the results they get are unrealistic for the average person. In addition, these people are living on a "ranch" where their only job is to work out and lose weight, a situation that is unlikely to occur for the vast majority of the population.
So why, then, do I love it? The show itself is highly manipulative in its editing and organization (we'll find out how Koli did...after this 5 minute commercial break!) and clearly designed to pull at your heartstrings. The girlfriend finds it cheesy and overproduced, and I agree. Sort of.
The thing is, I find it inspirational, too. Not because the contestants lose hundreds of pounds, but because they want to so bad that they're willing to fight through pain and hunger and loneliness and being screamed at by the trainers so they can do it. And, yes, they're competing for $250,000 if they lose the most weight, but they're also trying to change their lives. That's what all the sweat and tears are about: trying to make life-altering decisions. Yes, when they leave the show, they often gain some, if not all, of the weight back. But some of them don't. Some of them do change their lives.
On the days that I don't want to work out, when I'm tired and grumpy and just want to watch bad TV, I put on a recorded episode of the Biggest Loser and usually that motivates me to get off the couch. If they can get up and work their butts off day in and day out, why can't I do my little 40 minutes or an hour? Why not?
So why, then, do I love it? The show itself is highly manipulative in its editing and organization (we'll find out how Koli did...after this 5 minute commercial break!) and clearly designed to pull at your heartstrings. The girlfriend finds it cheesy and overproduced, and I agree. Sort of.
The thing is, I find it inspirational, too. Not because the contestants lose hundreds of pounds, but because they want to so bad that they're willing to fight through pain and hunger and loneliness and being screamed at by the trainers so they can do it. And, yes, they're competing for $250,000 if they lose the most weight, but they're also trying to change their lives. That's what all the sweat and tears are about: trying to make life-altering decisions. Yes, when they leave the show, they often gain some, if not all, of the weight back. But some of them don't. Some of them do change their lives.
On the days that I don't want to work out, when I'm tired and grumpy and just want to watch bad TV, I put on a recorded episode of the Biggest Loser and usually that motivates me to get off the couch. If they can get up and work their butts off day in and day out, why can't I do my little 40 minutes or an hour? Why not?
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Overprotective Mommy Syndrome (OPMS)
So Guliko the kitty took a little spill on Thursday. She was trying to leap from the floor to the windowsill--she loves to look out at the birds and sniff the air--and only caught the sill with her front legs. Her back legs landed on a pile of pillows, which fell over, so she barely caught herself on the windowsill. She seemed mostly fine on Thursday, but Friday she was limping and having trouble getting up and yowling in pain when she had to get up. So the girlfriend and I were worried. Very worried. And of course she was getting worse after 6, too late to take her to her regular vet. After calling around, we found that the only 24-hour vet in the area was an hour and 15 minutes away, which seemed like an awful long way to go. We decided to wait until the morning and eventually found a vet that had walk-in hours this morning, because she is still limping and clearly not feeling like herself.
The giant dog in the waiting room made us rethink the decision, and Guliko and I found ourselves waiting in the car until the vet could see us, which she did not appreciate. But the upshot is that she is probably fine but very sore. So she gets an anti-inflammatory and as much rest as we can make her take. And lots of pets. And probably lots and lots of the wet food she loves. Man, are we pushovers.
The giant dog in the waiting room made us rethink the decision, and Guliko and I found ourselves waiting in the car until the vet could see us, which she did not appreciate. But the upshot is that she is probably fine but very sore. So she gets an anti-inflammatory and as much rest as we can make her take. And lots of pets. And probably lots and lots of the wet food she loves. Man, are we pushovers.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Nerdy, but AWESOME!!!, Part 1
I apparently surprised the girlfriend yesterday by playing her nerdy music. Now, I teach human evolution and prehistory and have been reading books about evolution in particular all year, so you'd think she wouldn't have been surprised, but there you go. I guess I hide the nerdiness well? To be fair, I make fun of her and her friends when they get together to drink wine and talk about...Bourdieu. Or Foucault. Or what grade they got on papers in their theory class last semester. So I guess she thought that meant I was not nerdy. Joke's on her! So here, for your enjoyment, are...
1. The Real Pliocene Hominin:
Reminds us that we don't know which Pliocene hominid is the actual ancestor of modern humans. With singing skeletons. I'm just saying. Watch out, though, the song will literally stay with you for days, particularly if you know the song it's parodying already...
2. A Biologist's Mother's Day Song
Because, of course, there can never be enough nerdy tributes to mom's DNA. I know it's too late for Mother's Day, but still awesome. There's enough nerdiness in this one that the girlfriend wanted me to turn it off. She does like the tune, though...
3. The Rap Guide to Evolution (you'll have to click on "The Rap Guide to Evolution" under discography)--I suggest "Sexual Selection," but they're all good. Good and nerdy. Plus, he quotes Darwin a bunch. Highly nerdy. In addition, Baba Brinkman (the rapper) also did the "Rap Canterbury Tales" if his nerd quotient wasn't high enough for you.
http://www.babasword.com/
And now Guliko has noticed I'm on the computer, so her next step is probably stepping on it. I'd better sign off. Revel in the nerdiness!
1. The Real Pliocene Hominin:
Reminds us that we don't know which Pliocene hominid is the actual ancestor of modern humans. With singing skeletons. I'm just saying. Watch out, though, the song will literally stay with you for days, particularly if you know the song it's parodying already...
2. A Biologist's Mother's Day Song
Because, of course, there can never be enough nerdy tributes to mom's DNA. I know it's too late for Mother's Day, but still awesome. There's enough nerdiness in this one that the girlfriend wanted me to turn it off. She does like the tune, though...
3. The Rap Guide to Evolution (you'll have to click on "The Rap Guide to Evolution" under discography)--I suggest "Sexual Selection," but they're all good. Good and nerdy. Plus, he quotes Darwin a bunch. Highly nerdy. In addition, Baba Brinkman (the rapper) also did the "Rap Canterbury Tales" if his nerd quotient wasn't high enough for you.
http://www.babasword.com/
And now Guliko has noticed I'm on the computer, so her next step is probably stepping on it. I'd better sign off. Revel in the nerdiness!
Sunday, May 9, 2010
What's in a Name?
...or, why does the blog have a funny name?
Not that most blogs don't have funny names. Most of the ones I read do. Some of them probably have better reasons. My girlfriend has been telling me for months that I need a creative outlet, and writing is something I've enjoyed since I was a kid. My mom has a book I wrote in the 4th grade, about some talking sneakers. I had another about two dinosaurs and an unpublished volume about teddy bears that come to life at night. That story I wrote in the 5th grade but never finished. A shame.
Anyway, about the name of the blog. My girlfriend has a cat named Guliko. She is one of the most adorable animals I have ever met. Don't believe me? See for yourself!
Guliko's name means "little heart" in Georgian. She is, as you can see, an adorable kitty. She is also a little bit timid.
We've been talking about moving in together, the girlfriend and I, and I was saying that I thought I should get to have my own cat. The girlfriend is a little reluctant because Guliko is a timid and careful cat and who knows how she will get on with another cat. It's not an argument that's likely to end any time soon, particularly since we're getting ready to move to a new city, so we probably won't be getting a new cat any time soon. But the new cat's name will be Florain. We know that.
So the blog is named after two kitties--the one we have and the one we will someday have. I do hope they get on okay.
Not that most blogs don't have funny names. Most of the ones I read do. Some of them probably have better reasons. My girlfriend has been telling me for months that I need a creative outlet, and writing is something I've enjoyed since I was a kid. My mom has a book I wrote in the 4th grade, about some talking sneakers. I had another about two dinosaurs and an unpublished volume about teddy bears that come to life at night. That story I wrote in the 5th grade but never finished. A shame.
Anyway, about the name of the blog. My girlfriend has a cat named Guliko. She is one of the most adorable animals I have ever met. Don't believe me? See for yourself!
Guliko's name means "little heart" in Georgian. She is, as you can see, an adorable kitty. She is also a little bit timid.
We've been talking about moving in together, the girlfriend and I, and I was saying that I thought I should get to have my own cat. The girlfriend is a little reluctant because Guliko is a timid and careful cat and who knows how she will get on with another cat. It's not an argument that's likely to end any time soon, particularly since we're getting ready to move to a new city, so we probably won't be getting a new cat any time soon. But the new cat's name will be Florain. We know that.
So the blog is named after two kitties--the one we have and the one we will someday have. I do hope they get on okay.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Farewell, Rosie
I was going to make the first post about the name of the blog, because "Florian and Guliko" probably needs some explaining. But my 1989 Toyota Cressida, nicknamed both "The Red Wonder" and "Rosie" blew a head gasket a few weeks ago. In a newer car, perhaps this would just be a minor inconvenience. Okay, a major inconvenience, if you're not a mechanic, because the fix for a head gasket is a $1500-$2000 repair that requires taking the top of the engine off and some work in the machine shop to make sure everything works okay and then resealing the stupid thing. And that's if the overheating of the engine and the mixing of the oil and engine coolant that happens when the head gasket blows didn't cause any damage.
But the Red Wonder is a 1989 and I just put $2000 dollars into the car in September. So it's tough to justify putting that much money in again, in the hopes of getting another 8 or 10 months out before another major fail. So there she sat at the mechanic's. And, of course, good luck selling a car that doesn't have an operational engine. Finally, I decided that I probably should just junk her, much as it pained me, and get what I could, which turned out to be about $140. When I called the mechanic to tell them my decision, one of the guys at the shop told me he would buy it off me, for $100 plus the diagnostic (about $87). So that's more than the junker would have given me and he clearly was interested in fixing it up.
Then I discovered that I had no idea where the title was, which required some negotiation with my mother to acquire. Anyway, we (the "we" will require explanation later, as well) went over yesterday morning with the title to get the stuff out of the car and sign over the title. Which took less than 10 minutes. Kind of a disappointing end for a vehicle I've owned for 10 years.
I bought the car for $6000 in July of 2000, from a white-haired woman who had driven it only to the store and back. The Cressida was Toyota's luxury car in 1989 (think Lexus before there was Lexus) and its somewhat faded leather interior and 6-cylinder engine quickly endeared her to me. Plus, I've always been a sucker for boxy old-school Toyotas.
We had a rocky relationship from the start. There was an overheating incident and the one where the cruise control got stuck accelerating,but overall she got me where I needed to for 10 years. So tonight, I'm drinking Redbreast whiskey to you, Rosie. Happy trails.
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