Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: Critter foo
I’m not fat, I’m big-boned!
We learned yesterday that Harmonica, our gigantic ferret, does not have a hormonal problem. We’ve been waiting a couple weeks for the result of a blood test. The verdict: he’s fat, and he needs to go on a diet.
Meanwhile, my comic edge is blunted by the fact I’ve seen 59 patients in the last two days. So I came home, snapped at my son, and then tried to put my dominant hand into the garbage disposal. (Try explaining that to my Worker’s Comp insurance rep.) Reminds me of the time post-call, during residency, when my right hand stabbed my left hand with a scalpel. I don’t think they’ve talked since.
Since I can’t be funny, I’ll let Lisa Altalida do it for me. Here’s more from Chapter One of The Pocket Idiot’s Guide to Getting Girls.
You are actually the type of guy that women want. See the power in that. You can meet women just as readily as stereotypical men. Real men have as good a chance to meet attractive, nice women as the next guy. The key is to understand what your strengths are and improve on your weaknesses.
. . . answer these questions to determine your positive traits:
1. Are you funny? Not at the moment.
2. Do you make others feel comfortable? The old folks feel pretty good after I get the wax out of their ears.
3. Do you have a nice smile? You be the judge.
4. Do people compliment your eyes? Only if “Didn’t get much sleep last night, eh?” ranks as a compliment.
5. Do you tell good stories? Yeah, sure. I told my patient this afternoon, a teenage girl, the story about my microbiology prof, Stan Falkow, who once showed a slide of a cholera bucket* with the caption, “Other people’s feces are my bread and butter.”
6. Are you a good friend? If I had any, I would ask them.
7. Do you have a nice physique? Yup. I call it “Russian Mud Wrestler.”
8. Can you point out any other positives? I only pick my nose when people aren’t watching. Except during live-blogging. But that’s not nose-picking, that’s nose-rubbing, so shut up already.
And I have this idea for another novel, but I’m always afraid I’ll irk the piss out of my readers if I bore them with story ideas, so I’m keeping it to myself. That’s a positive too, isn’t it?
D.
*Cholera bucket: a container marked volumetrically, placed below the cholera patient’s hindquarters to catch the drips. Here’s the idea: however much volume comes out, that’s how much volume needs to be replaced. This is a big help, since dehydration is one of the primary ways cholera kills.
Yes, I explained that to my patient. See? I’m an educator, too.
A suspension of feline disbelief
Rustle rustle rustle.
Mist: Pssst. Hey, Ash. The Angry Bald One’s got a foil pack.
Ash: Foil pack?
Mist: Foil pack.
Ash: FOIL PACK!
Doug: Sorry, guys. It ain’t what you think.
Mist: Chicken? I hope it’s chicken.
Ash: You finished all the chicken.
Mist: I can’t help it if you’re slow.
Ash: I can’t help it if you’re a pig.
Mist: Maybe it’s liver!
Ash: Don’t change the subject.
Doug: I’m telling you, you’re not going to like this.
Mist: What’s he saying?
Ash: It’s all gibberish to me. Evidently, it must be something so tasty he’s not willing to share.
Mist: Told you it was liver.
Doug: Don’t believe me? Here. Try some.
*tosses onto the floor two cashews seasoned with lemongrass and mild Chinese chili*
Mist: *sniff*
Ash: *sniff* *sniff*
Mist: Maybe he’s got the liver snacks hidden among these . . . these things.
Ash: I’m willing to wait him out if you are.
Doug: Here. Have some dried pineapple.
*Tosses another bit onto the floor*
Mist: Um.
Ash: Excuse me, Angry Bald One?
Doug: Stop looking at me like that.
Ash: Mind telling me — what is this bullshit?
Mist: If he ever leaves his shoes downstairs, I am so leaving him a present.
D.
A fistful of ferrets
Hands over your heads where I can see ’em and don’t move a muscle.
These ferrets are loaded.
D.
Talking cats, and the translation
Good day today. We had merciless dim sum at Ming’s, spent four hours at the Exploratorium, and had an awesome dinner fixed by Mr. Corn Dog. Corn Dog & her Mister, Jake, Karen, and I spent a good bit of time futzing on the computer. Yes, that’s what blogging geeks do when they get together.
Y’all have probably seen this before: two talking kittens. But have you seen the translation?
If either of my cats ever does this, I’m hiring an exorcist.
This talking cat is hard to believe. She really says, “Hello.”
Easier to believe. Equally cute.
Oy, that’s quite enough of that.
D.
Thirteen cool microorganisms
I’m tired of fretting over macroscopic creatures. If it’s not the humans in my lives (agents, those ornery creatures!), it’s disappearing ferrets or reappearing rats. Let’s take a break from vertebrates and consider life on the nano scale.
Rats
Yes. They’re back. But not cute ones like these:
No, we’re infested with the great fat brown ones, Rattus norvegicus. They’re nice enough as pets, but you don’t want them in your attic, pooping and pissing everywhere and making more racket than Britney with a quart of tequila. For a while, the smell of cats in our house kept the rats away, but I fear the vermin have figured out that Ash and Mist are softies. They’re not hardened rodent-killers like our poor, ill-fated Faithful. Moth-killers, maybe. Provided the moth doesn’t put up much fight.
They kept my son up last night with their carousing. It’s like the dorms all over again, except rats don’t listen to the Kinks at top volume or guzzle their own bong water. Jake devised a method of eradication as novel as it was ineffective: he repeatedly banged on the ceiling with his didgeridoo. And this afternoon, Karen took a stab at Novel Eviction* Techniques by burning a stick of agarbathi incense in the crawlspace.
At least now, the house smells nice.
Ferrets ‘n cookies
We bought a new ferret today. Bought him used*, so he wasn’t quite as expensive as Zappa. Zappa is the darker one in the background; the new boy is in the foreground. He’s creamy white with faint dark markings down his back and tail — an inverse skunk.
Any suggestions for names? I like “Ghost,” but I’m in the minority here. Can’t think of what might work well with “Zappa.” “Hendrix,” perhaps? How about a name-that-ferret contest?
Oh, and I made chocolate chip cookies today!
I wanted to use the Tollhouse recipe, but in searching for it, I found this site, which claims to improve on Tollhouse. Suggestions I followed: I used melted butter instead of softened butter, 1 tablespoon of vanilla instead of 1 teaspoon, and 1/2 cup of oats instead of 1 cup of nuts. The melted butter made for an easier cookie dough (no sore arm from stirring), the vanilla improved the flavor slightly, and the oats were a BIG improvement over the generic Tollhouse Chocolate Chip Cookie. I like the flavor of oatmeal cookies, though, and Jake objects to nuts in his cookies, so the success of the oatmeal addition doesn’t surprise me.
Hmm. Maybe I need to run a “fatten up my family” contest — we can get readers to post their favorite fattening recipes. God knows I need to fatten up my family.
Don’t forget — live blogging tonight. Soon. My pork roast has to get up to temperature.
D.
*His previous owner took him back to the store; she was allergic to him. He’s six months old and as sweet as can be. I thought Zappa was good-natured, but this fellow is even better.
PS: Here’s something different. Gnarls Barkley’s Crazy . . . backwards.
This cracks me the hell up. And where is everyone tonight? You have to save me from myself.
GallimauFriday II: Lost in Translation
This store-bought apple pie I’m eating? Sucks ass. And not in the pleasurable ass-sucking sense, but in the high school bully forcing you to lick his hairy cheeks sense. Not that I would know anything about that.
I have to learn how to make a decent apple pie.
***
It was bound to happen: a wingnut found my 9/11 post:
Zappa vs. Zappa
| Released Weasels Ripped My Flesh in 1970 | This weasel’s claws ripped my flesh in 2007 |
| Only in it for the money. | Only in it for the ferret chow. |
| Once appeared on Dance Fever | Every night’s a weasel war dance! |
| Never ate his excrement on stage* | Never ate his excrement. Not intentionally, anyway. |
| Son named Dweezil | Son of a weasel |
That’s it for tonight, folks. As usual, I thought, “Gaaaah, I’m so tired, I need to do something easy. Hey, THIS idea would be easy!”
An hour later . . .
D.
*From Wikipedia:
An old rumor states that at some point in the 1960s, Zappa once won a gross-out contest against Alice Cooper, by eating his own excrement on stage. Zappa denied the claim, stating, “For the record, folks; I never took a shit on stage and the closest I ever came to eating shit anywhere was at a Holiday Inn buffet in Fayetteville, North Carolina, in 1973.”
Work, work
It’s the good work, the kind of stuff I don’t mind doing.
Thus far, I have:
*identified eight agents who want new clients, represent romance, and represent science fiction. I found them using Agent Query, an online searchable agent database,
*written my query letter,
*reviewed and spiffed my first three chapters, and
*made a dent on my synopsis — the first three paragraphs, anyway, using this page as a model.
The synopsis is the bitchiest part. I’m sure I echoed thousands of writers before me when, upon first learning about synopses, I said, “I have to do WHAT?” And it tweaks me that even if I write a great one-page synopsis, some agents will want to see more detailed three- or five-page synopses. It makes me want to scream, to tell you the truth.
Here’s another page on synopsis writing, one which boils down a lot of the advice I’ve read elsewhere.
And here’s a huge clearinghouse of links on synopsis-writing.
Tempted as I am to send off queries to those folks who ONLY want a query letter, I’m going to hold off until I have the synopsis written. By Murphy’s Law, if someone’s interested in my work, what are they going to want next? The synopsis, of course.
And now, for microsoar and protected static:
Four ferrets and a German Shepherd pup
Yeah, I didn’t waste too much time watching ferret vids . . .
D.