Paws to Appreciate

I moved to Indiana only a few short months after Newcastle was born, and a few weeks after my spouse invited him into her home. We quickly became best friends—even though he’s a cat. But we have so much in common. Like me, he is big, clumsy, and bipolar. 

He’s not the only cat. Since 2000 he has had two brothers—Andrew and Magik—who have graciously allowed me to live in their home.  

And so the five of us have grown older together, and unlike the people in the house, the cats have maintained perfect health, despite the fact that two of them are senior citizens. I should be bracing myself for their inevitable retirement, but I’m starting to believe they’re going to live forever. 

We had moved into the Washington DC metro area the year before, and I had yet to settle in. I’d been unemployed for the most part (this is by choice, since we could afford it), and we’d not really found any friendships that had stuck. And so, while my spouse was working overseas and left me alone for a few months during the autumn and winter of 2009, I had a breakdown. 

It was the cats who kept me grounded, particularly Newcastle, who follows me around like he’s my sidekick. I don’t know what I’ve done to earn his affection, but I’ll always be grateful. In fact, during my first session with a new psychiatrist, he asked me what my goal was, and I said I wanted to be as good a person my cat thinks I am. When he tells me to find my “happy place,” it’s Newcastle massaging my neck and purring, like he does every night before I fall asleep. 

We’ve been living in Qatar for the past two and a half years. I won’t go into details here about how things have gone, suffice it so say that there have challenging at times, and once again, it’s been Newcastle, et al, to the rescue. We’re headed back to the States mid-June, and for some pretty logical-but-convoluted reasons, we’ve sent the cats back early—as in this past Thursday. Our schedule’s been nuts over the past few days, so I’ve barely noticed their absence. But when life returns to normal starting Wednesday, and I’m all alone in the empty house … 

I’ve never been apart from them—and they me—for more than a few weeks in a row before, so six weeks is going to be particularly brutal. They’re with friends who love them and whom they love, so I’m not particularly worried about them. But man I miss these guys. 

Ten

In the fall of 1994, I met someone*. We dated, but that didn’t work out in the long run. Life got in the way. Eventually, after some work and some time, we became friends again.  

Six years later, we enjoyed a very long weekend together, but that didn’t work out in the long run. Life got in the way. Eventually, after some work and some time, we became friends again. 

Four years after that, we enjoyed another long weekend together. Life, as it does, threatened to get in the way, but this time, we told it to go fuck itself. We became more than just friends, and we were going to keep it that way.  

Less than a year later, on April 30, 2005, we said “I do.” 

A full decade later, we have fought tooth and nail, through better and through worse, through sickness and through health, through thick and through thin. We have supported, excited, impressed, entertained, and loved. We’ve traveled so far, learned so much, and have come home to each other. We’ve been friends and lovers on-and-off for over twenty years, and husband and wife for ten.  

It’s our anniversary, and a damned happy one. 

_____ 

* Spoiler Alert! It’s my spouse. 

Superman’s Pal

When comes down to the whole Superman versus Batman debate (or Batman v. Superman if we’re talking about a legal dispute), I come down firmly Team Superman*. This puts me in the minority, I know. 

Why do people love Batman so much? They typically give three reasons for this: 1) He is way cool; 2) He’s the serious hero; 3) He has no superpowers, and that makes him relatable.  

To that, I say: 1) He is totally cool. Most of his comics, movies, and even the 1966 show are hip and slick and often compelling; 2) He’s the serious hero. As serious and hardcore as someone who wears pajamas and throws expensive toys at clowns and drives a car that goes vroom can be, I guess; 3) No powers? More relatable? This is where I get off the boat, laughing.  

Bruce Wayne is obscenely wealthy, and he’s spent most of his life traveling the world, learning the way of the ninja, which are kind of superpowers in themselves. In the end, though, he wants the best for his ailing city, so he invests in local businesses to drive up employment, funds infrastructure projects, donates his time and money into charities, and supports politicians who are socially conscious. 

Ha! Just kidding! He buys pajamas and toys he can throw at clowns and a car that goes vroom, because he’s a serious hero, and uses these things to go beat up on the other 99 percent. 

Clark Kent, by contrast, was raised in middle-class, small-town America by loving parents, and he uses the talents he was born with to rescue people from disasters, save kittens from trees, beat up bullies, and overall to look out for the little guy. 

“But … but …” detractors often say. “Superman has godlike powers! Where’s the challenge? How are you supposed to defeat a guy with godlike powers?” To me, this speaks to the level of imagination in these detractors. Is this all Superman is? The hardest puncher in the world? What about his morality? His honesty (not counting that whole secret-identity thing, of course)? His loyalty? His friendships? His sense of hope? A villain doesn’t have to be strong to oppose these. Hell, his greatest foe is a regular human being with an intellect and some cash, and that guy has Superman on the ropes all the time. 

Therefore, if I want a story where Superman battles an unmarried, genius, obsessive billionaire with lots of gadgets and suits of armor and an iron will, I think I’ll stick with Lex Luthor.  

But, to quote a pre-bonkers Dennis Miller, that’s just my personal opinion, and I could be wrong. 

* But not the one from Man of Steel. I hated that movie. 

A Frightening Thing Happened

I’ve talked about my mental health before. 

But it’s been a while. 

I haven’t really used my journal lately, so it hasn’t come up that the age of thirty-eight has been Mental Health Awareness year for me. I’ve been reading and studying the topic and all of its treatments, mostly because late summer of 2014 was one of the darkest periods of my life.  

I’m going to go more into this later, but the short version is that I went into a deep depression that took months to shake. It left me suicidal for the first time in about five years. This was different, though. Back in 2009, I was ambivalent about living and dying—an emotional state sometimes called “passively suicidal.” Last summer, though, I was ready to actually do the work. I didn’t, because reasons. 

But it passed, and I haven’t thought about killing myself since … until three days ago. It came out of nowhere, and it’s really rattled my shit. 

I’m not depressed. To be honest, I’m feeling a little ennui, which is really not that bad. But one afternoon, while cleaning the dishes, I considered my future, and at the time, it looked pretty bleak. I thought about my miniscule contributions to society. I thought about all the crap I’ve accumulated through my life, whether they be toys or notebooks full of drawings and writings I can’t get published—or even acknowledged by my family or Facebook friends. I thought about retirement and all the work that was going to take. The logical solution, my brain said for a split second, would be to die, and to do it soon. Just get it over with. Let someone else sort it out.  

And then it was gone. I was startled and upset, but I noted my overall okay mood, and I put it behind me as a weird little fluke. 

Until it happened again yesterday. Again, only for a moment. So now I’m worried. I should probably talk to my doctor about this … 

Cosby

As an aside, I had a buddy in college … he had a man crush on me, and I thought he was pretty awesome too. My two favorite memories are when we each bought a flask of Wild Turkey and drank ourselves sick, just because we were trying to impress one another; and how he found me wallowing after my girlfriend dumped me (he raced over as soon as the rumor got to him), and he took me on a long drive through town, playing my favorite artist on his tape deck (PJ Harvey), which was cute because he only had one song by her on his mix tape.  

His only flaw was his girlfriends, who were all pretty not-with-it, and sometimes positively unhinged. Years after we graduated, a good friend dated him for a long time, and I thought, Finally, someone cool worth his attention. 

And when she finally extracted herself from that relationship, she reported that this guy was physically and verbally abusive, and utterly, totally controlling. And it explained everything. Now, upon this revelation, there was no conflict in my mind about my loyalty. To me, he seemed like bromance material. To women, he was a piece of shit, and that made him a piece of shit to the core. I don’t care how much I liked him. 

But what makes me cringe is this: Am I allowed to have good memories of him? How could I just not see the common thread with these women he dated? How could I miss this about him? How could I be so fucking stupid?  

This is the first time I’ve shared this, so it’s a little rambly. But a similar feeling came to me about Bill Cosby’s rape allegations. The man was an idol and a major inspiration to me, storytelling-wise. How can he continue to occupy such a happy place in my memories. How am I allowed to chuckle to myself when I think of his material?  

This has really rattled me. 

Dreamers

I woke up today with the theme song to a telenovela I used to watch (well, sort of watch*), in my head, so I looked it up online when I had a minute and checked out its Wikipedia entry, just for nostalgia’s sake. The plot description was pretty much Mad-Libs with Latin names:  

“When Fernanda and José Luis fall in love, Eugenio gets extremely jealous, but when he decides to eliminate his rival, he discovers that his own daughter Jaqueline, is in love with José Luis. Jaqueline, on the other hand is being wooed by Manuel, who despite his popularity, cannot call Jaqueline’s attention.” 

Also:  

“Lucia becomes beautiful and makes a vengeful decision to get back at Gerardo for dating her out of pity. In the end, Gerardo finds out that Lucia is Adriana and is infuriated with her. They eventually forgive each other and start dating again.” 

Seriously, I LOVE telenovelas. 

__________ 

* I didn’t, and still don’t, speak Spanish, but it doesn’t matter with a telenovela; it’s the most visually expressive of television genres, so they’re actually pretty easy to follow. They were actually a nice thing to have on in the background, because they didn’t interfere with whatever writing or artwork I was focused on, and if I needed to give my eyes a rest, there was almost always a pretty face—male or female—emoting on screen. 

Let Me Ass a Question

I’d been having a day full of traffic stress and other such inconveniences that low blood sugar transforms into Godzilla-level disasters, leading me to a mild panic attack. I had to get out of my truck, and so I (safely) abandoned it and hauled ass to the closest place to get a sandwich and a smoothie. 

A few bites and sips later, manager of the cafe dropped by my table to instruct me on the proper use of a glass catsup bottle. Just before he left me to my fries, he shyly inquired, “If you don’t mind, I was hoping you could help us with something we need to know.” 

“Sure,” I say. After all, he did outwit the catsup for me. Besides, I was curious. 

“Do you say ‘d-OHN-key,’ or ‘d-AHN-key’?” 

“Um,” I reply. I now had a few questions of my own, but they were better left unasked.  

But the story didn’t end there. Because after lunch, I took a walk and stopped in a Starbuck’s for a coffee and a half-hour with my new sketchbook. The barista consulted me on something she could not comprehend at all, which was the American obsession with pumpkin-flavoring every autumn. 

And so, all it took to wipe away all the stress and tension of the previous ninety minutes was a brief discussion of the regional accents and seasonal flora of my home country. Seriously, I forgot why I had this headache. 

The Hero That Mews by Night

By day, he is a mild-mannered kitten named Henry “Houdini” Schroeder. But whenever adventure beckons, he becomes the mighty of heroes … in your darkest hour, you call him by name: 

Dammitcat! 

MARVEL! as he pushes breakable objects off of high spaces! (Dammitcat!) 

BE AMAZED! as he clamps his tiny jaws on your lunch and dinner and drags them away when your back is turned! (Dammitcat!) 

GASP! as he weaves his way between your shins as you walk down steep stairs! (Dammitcat!) 

THRILL! as he bats your pens, fingernail clippers, phones, remote controls, and medications under furniture! (Dammitcat!) 

LKDKJHFG! as he leaps on your keyboard when you’re trying to type! (Dammitcat!) 

He’s DAMMITCAT! Coming soon! To your house! because I want him the hell out of mine! Like, immediately! 

Cat Fight Part 2

I overheard the following exchange this morning between Kate and Henry the kitten: 

MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

“I’m not letting you in!” 

MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

“I’m allowed to go to the bathroom alone!” 

MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

“Go away!” 

MEOOOOOOOWL!” 

I then heard the sound of a door opening and closing. 

“Happy now?” 

Mew!” 

Jersey Barrier

The New Jersey National Guard moved onto the military base over here, which was nice, because it meant I could use my native tongue whenever I rolled through the gate to get the Post Office. 

GUARD: (taps on my car window) Pardon me, sir; can I see some ID? 

ME: (rolls down the window) Yeah? What for? 

GUARD: Oh, so the smart guy here thinks he speaks Jersey, huh? 

ME: So what are ya gonna [Bad Word]ing do about it? 

GUARD: I’m gonna [Bad Word]ing ask you for your [Bad Word]ing ID, that’s what I’m gonna do. 

ME: (hands it over) I hope you choke on it, jerk-off. 

GUARD: (scans card) So, trying to bring weapons or contraband on the base like some stupid [Bad Word]? 

ME: What, are you [Bad Word]ing stupid or something? Do I look like the kind of [Bad Word] who would bring [Bad Word]ing weapons or contraband on base? 

GUARD: (hands the card back and signals his partner) You look like a [Bad Word]. Now get the [Bad Word] out of my face! 

ME: Up yours, [Bad Word]! 

(The gate opens, and I drive away) 

GUARD: (shouts after me) [Bad Word] you, buddy! 

ME: Same to you, pal!