I got a column done

I just finished writing and submitting a piece for the Journal on a computer with a mouse that doesn't track and a copy of Word that error'ed out and lost the complete first draft. I'm not even sure the attachment was correct, because that was finicky too. Jeez, except for the fact that I was clean, safe, & sitting on my ass, it was one step up from coal mining.

Two Quick Book Reviews

I'm not sure if I've ever read Jeffery Deaver before, so officially, let's count "The Burning Wire" as my introduction to the author. I wasn't blown away, especially by a silly comic book plot masked by a ton of research material, but it was enjoyable for a summer beach read.


Frankly, a large problem I had with the book was the main character of Lincoln Rhyme. I know he's a genius, I know he's a quadriplegic, I know he's beloved by readers. I also know the guy seems like an insufferable ass, and just about every scene where he held center stage was one I regretted. I don't think I'll return to this series.

Still, to be fair, it was a good read and I won't let my personality clash with the lead character influence my rating: B.

Columbine by Dave Cullen is the non-fiction account of the horrific school shooting in April 1999. The book dispels many of the media-driven myths that arose from the carnage (the idea that they were unpopular, bullied outcasts for one) and devotes much of the text to trying to understand the minds of the killers.

I thought this was a great book, start to finish. If there is one flaw it's a misplaced empathy for the second killer (D.K.)*. Yes, he was a depressive and overly sensitive. Yes, he was a follower and easily influenced. He was certainly not the mastermind of the attack. Cullen, like so many others, seems to think that buys him a small shred of sympathy. To me, the opposite is true; unlike E.H, who seemed programmed to kill, D.K. chose his own path.

At any point he could have stopped the attack, simply by speaking out. He could have told E.H. 'no', he could have . . . he could have done everything differently. He didn't. He made a conscious decision to join the plan, unburdened by the madness that was boiling in E.H's head. For me, he may be more liable, morally, than his partner.

A+

* I've always said that tossing the names of killers around gives them the immortality they so often seek. Screw that; the initials will do here.

The Father Hunt by Rex Stout

I finished "The Father Hunt" by Rex Stout today, a mystery centered around a paternity case. Not the strongest of Stout's plots, but otherwise a typical Nero Wolfe mystery - which is to say, a great read.

Goodbye Billy, We Love You 1994? - 2010

For a cat that brought so much joy into our household, Billy's arrival was marked by anger and tears.

I'd only owned one cat before in my life, an old stray named Lucky, and when we put him down we were eager to replace him. As we toured the Humane Society I came across Billy, asleep in a cage. I was furious. Nevermind that even as it ran through my mind I knew the idea was insane; I was convinced this was Lucky, that we'd been lied to and tricked by the vet.

When I calmed down it was easy to see it wasn't the same cat. Oh, they resembled one another, but Billy was younger (only two or three)and his face rounder - he had, in those early days, features that had an oddly Asian appearance. We spoke to a clerk, filled out the paperwork, and were told we could take him home.

And then, as we were getting ready to leave, we were told we were unsuitable to adopt. Some higher up caught wind of the fact we were moving in a weeks time and denied our application. By the time we were 'suitable' Billy would be long gone. I launched an epic fit, as did Lisa, and for no other reason than to shut us up, they rubber stamped the purchase.



Over the years Billy would move with us many times. From 31st Street to 26th; from there to 56th, then on to 23rd, back to 31st and finally to the home we now occupy. If it 'stressed' him out or lessened the quality of his life, it did so without changing his personality or appearance. Start to finish we was a huge, calm, loving cat.

He was never *the* biggest cat in town (at his heaviest he was 22 pounds) but he carried himself lightly, with a spring in his step that was disconcerting to someone who was confronted with his size for the first time. Petite he was not. For all his size, he wasn't much of a fighter; he killed a mouse once on 23rd St, which forever cemented his place in my heart, but he got along fine with animals and humans alike. He resembled a lion, but his idea of a hunt was a search for a warm lap. This was a cat that would come running when you called his name ("BillyBillyBillyBilly, Billllly!", that would knead your belly until you ached, that purred with a loud, deep rumble that left no doubt when he was pleased.

In all the years we shared together he gave me trouble on only two occasions. The second, when he fled in a snowstorm, was documented here. The first was only months into our time together, when he snuck out the window of our second floor flat and jumped to the neighbor's roof. Two, three in the morning, in the middle of a shady neighborhood (26th and Orchard) and I go and knock on a stranger's door and ask them to shoo my cat back towards home.

Oh, I was ticked.

If I'd known then how patient Billy would be with my children in the years to come, I'd have given him a pass for that night. He was with us four years before YaYa was born, but he never once gave in to jealousy when we became parents. William Sonoma would find his way into the cribs of all of my children, and do nothing more than curl up at their feet and keep them company. As they grew into toddlers he was tolerant of their curiosity, putting up with far more than the old man deserved, but never snapping or growing angry. He was so ingrained in their lives that at one point YaYa's Kindergarten teacher approached us about her 'imaginary brother' - they knew she had no brother at that time, but noted she'd often talk about her 'brother Billy'.








In his final years he had a set routine. He would spend the morning and early afternoon on the 2nd floor, napping with our cat Angelcakes. As the kids came home from school he would vanish into the basement, and after bedtime, when the house was quiet, he would emerge to prowl the first floor - and find a kind lap to explore.

About a month ago we noticed he was missing a patch of fur. We assumed one of the kids had tried giving him a haircut, but it was only the beginning. He would continue to lose hair, weight and energy. By a week ago his routine was gone, and his existence confined to the first floor. Last night he soiled himself, and we could deny it no longer; it was time to put him to rest. He himself seemed to know; before I went to bed he walked up to me, meowed once, weakly, then retired to sleep.

This morning, with tears in my eyes, the family (minus Ginger) took him to the Pahle Clinic. All three kids had cried when we told them of our decision. An hour later YaYa was still weeping, and could not stop; Smiley was too young to grasp the situation; Lulu was sad but controlled.

We were given time alone with him, and we all cried openly. When the vet came back to finish the deed she too was upset, with tears flowing down her cheeks. She'd never met Billy, but said it was obvious how great he was by how much he was loved. She injected him as we held and petted him, and a moment later, his eyes still open, he was gone.

They let us take him home, and we placed him in a pillowcase and buried him in the backyard, laying a concrete stone over his resting place. I wouldn't allow the burial to become a 'production', and turned down the kids' requests to include notes or toys, but I let each kid toss a clump of dirt over his body and say goodbye.

We aren't going to replace him. Someday, yes, of course, but we have Angelcakes, and that's enough for now. Billy was with us for fully a third of my life; friends who returned to our lives after a decade's absence were greeted by his familiar purr. Right now, any replacement would feel like a poor substitute, and that's not fair to Billy, to us, and most importantly to the new cat.




Rest in peace Billy. You are, and always will be, The. Best. Cat. Ever.

We love you.

Thanks for all the kind thoughts today. We didn't cxl any of our plans, hoping to keep the kids minds focused away from Billy. Lisa, Smiley and Junie and YaYa went up north to visit friends; LuLu went skating w/ a friend and to a party; I did some yard work, went grocery shopping, wrote, read, and watched baseball. Still, a shitty day.

Congrats to Roy Halladay on his perfect game for the Phillies.

How we Mourned Billy on Facebook

Will most likely say goodbye to my cat Billy today. Anyone who has ever met him, knows how special he is, he has been an awesome cat for 14 years (we got him at age 2/3). He is and always will be the best cat I've ever known, the best in the world. I love you Billy!!! Lisa This morning we put our cat Billy, age 15-16 years, to sleep. Many, many tears to start this day. RIP Big Bill - you were The. Best. Cat. Ever. Angelcakes, our remaining cat, just made a circuit of the house, I'd imagine looking for her friend Billy. She meowed to get my attention but fled rather quickly; sad. On a brighter note, I just watched Corey Hart blast his 2nd homer of the night, a sure HR the second it left his bat.

FB March 17th - 20th

March 17th:

TV quote of the day: I'm jumpier than a virgin at a prison rodeo - Blanche (Golden Girls)

* A good day so far (knock on wood), but w/ an unexplainable current of anxiety right below the surface. As good as it's been, I think I'll be glad when today is done.

* And the day(light) ends crappy, w/ YaYa having an epic fit outside. One so ghastly I threw her over my shoulder and carried her inside, where her theatrics continued. God Bless my Mom for teaching me to reign in my temper, because I was dang close to losing it tonight w/ YaYa.

March 18th:

* In the dead of night I heard someone mucking around the house and got up to investigate. I found our 2 year old calmly watching TV. "Hi Daddy," she said. I said something less friendly in reply. Hours later YaYa repeated yesterday's tantrum, this time because I wouldn't give her YoGo's for breakfast. Not a good first third of the day.

* California's lame 'happy cows' couldn't even produce the 2nd best cheese in the US; they finished behind WI and Idaho.

* 2nd third of the day: so-so. Smiley & I stood on an overpass and watched a train. Then my friend Tre came over, and we took his boy & Smiley/Ginger for a walk & to the playground. While there news came that LuLu had yet to be found a full *half hour* after school let out; not in extended care, or play practice, or on theplayground. She was found - safe & sound - at a Daisy meeting, but oh man the scenarios in my head!

* Actor Fess Parker passes away. RIP. I had a vinyl single of the Davy Crockett theme song back in the day but, sadly, no coonskin cap.

My 36th Birthday:

We started off the day by taking Smiley to have his cast removed. He'd walk with a noticeable limp for a week or two, but in the end all was well. We did forget to bring a second shoe with us (!) and so had to stop and buy a new pair before we continued our errands. Eventually we wound up at Wal-Mart, where I purchased some socks and shoes for myself. Then, a nap at home. Later, in the evening, we had a cake and the family went out to Vila Roma for dinner. It was a nice, quiet day w/ plenty of birthday wishes on Facebook.

March 20th:

RIP - LBJ aide Liz Carpenter, and JFK Cabinet Member Stewart Udall.

* Sure, I'm 110% worthy of your adoration, but that doesn't mean I'm ungrateful when you express it publicly. So to everyone who took the time to wish me a Happy Birthday Friday - Thank you!

* "Turn the Beat Around' In modern day LA an aspiring young dancer convinces a developer to open a retro disco. Drama ensues w/ her boyfriend, a rival choreographer, etc. An MTV production, the film's look is very Hills-ish, and the lead could easily pass for a Latin Lauren Conrad. Not enough dancing, plot, or skin, but a passable waste of 90 minutes. C.

* Congratulations to Badger wrestler Andrew Howe. NCAA Champion at 165 lbs. Which is roughly the weight of my ego alone.

* [regarding the racial announcement incident at an East Coast Wal-Mart] I can see arresting him for hijacking the store's PA system, I can see hanging him out to dry in the press or suing his Mommy. All well deserved. But cuffing him for "bias intimidation and harassment charges" seems like moronic PC double-talk, and frankly steps on the 1st amendment (remember, this wasn't Wal-Mart or a corporate entity, just some idiotic teenager that grabbed the PA).

* This made me ill, & not for the reasons u think. Michael Brown, who was convicted of murder during a OK robbery in 1975, served 10 years in prison, then escaped & lived on the run for 14 years. He held down jobs, opened his own business, stayed true to a wife he loved, and was a pillar of the community. In the end he turned himself in so he could get proper medical care for his wife's heart. The $ the FBI spent hunting him with MY tax dollars (inc. 'teams' across the country, TV shows, etc) is revolting. There were no more immediate threats to our nations harm to worry about? Or was a guy who turned over a new leaf 'it'?

A Nice Evening

Got home from work, set the sprinkler out in the backyard for the kids, now cooking dinner and reading Rex Stout. A good afternoon/early evening. 

Fed the kids, then took Grace to the mall to get a new remote from Time Warner & somehow got suckered into spending $6 on scented hand sanitizer at Bath & Body Works. We got home in time to see the last 3 innings of the Brewers game and Hart's walk-off homer. Now I'm settling in for a night of Rex Stout and reruns of 'Justified'.

That was crazy, Torchwood

TV show's don't normally scare me - what am I, ten ? - but Torchwood may be the exception. Case in point, the episode 'Countrycide'. How the hell was that shown on broadcast TV, even in the UK? Folks being skinned and eaten for dinner, corpses everywhere - c'mon that was NUTS.