HAPPY 54th BIRTHDAY TO EL SEEBENO!

With Calvin (aka Ween), Thanksgiving 2011.

Happy birthday to the best stepdad in the world: El Seebeno! Here's to many more years of hilarious one-liners, spur-of-the-moment pet adoptions, impressive handyman skills, and witty repartee with Mom. Seeben, I hope you have the best goddamn birthday in the whole universe!

Do I want to know what that is?

An unfortunate accident has befallen this chair, and I'd rather not think about what made that stain. I mean, look where it's positioned! And look how big it is! Something tells me that's not Diet Dr. Pepper.

All three of my Somewhat Larger University classes meet in this computer lab. And in each class, none of the students will sit in this chair. NOT ONE. It's funny to watch their expressions before class as they circle the room in search of the most comfortable seats. They look like they're playing a game of "duck-duck-goose," extra-Cooties edition.

A few weeks ago, one tired, bedraggled, post-flu student was going to stand in front of her computer station rather than sit in the Accident Chair. I felt sorry for her and gave her mine. I spend most of the 75-minute class period standing up, anyway. After a few years in the classroom, you get accustomed to being on your feet.

One day last week, I walked in to find that the classroom absolutely reeked. The smell's hard to describe: sweaty armpits, unfiltered cigarettes, home perms, dirty socks, beer burps, a hint of chorizo fart, and something else I can't put my finger on. (Just so long as I don't go pulling any fingers...) That last element I still can't identify, but whatever it was, it smelled awfully nasty.

At first, I thought it was me. Maybe a cat peed on my briefcase or my boots or the hem of my coat—hey, it's happened before. But no. Cat urine smells great compared to the funk of that classroom, and I checked out fine after a self-sniff. So as the students took a quiz, I walked around the room to (of course) ensure they weren't cheating, but also to act as if I weren't trying to figure out where the stink was coming from.

The class was nearly done with the quiz. A few stragglers worked on the last couple questions as I slowly made my way up and down the rows. The smell seemed to be everywhere, and quickly getting worse. I would gladly have sniffed a week-old chitlin teriyaki sandwich on pumpernickel instead of this.

I can understand how, say, a dorm room or locker room could get to smelling like this. People and their dirty clothes live there. But a classroom? Where people don't live, and spend just an hour or so a day, two days a week, before moving on to different rooms in different buildings? I don't get it.

The windows in the computer lab don't open, and we had too much Heart of Darkness symbolism to discuss to merit a "skunky room" cancellation. Besides, it would look bad if my supervisor were to walk by an empty room at my appointed class time. But good Lord, this smell was foul.

Wait a second! I could open the door and let in some fresh air. That's what the ubiquitous brown doorstop is there for. "Does it smell bad in here?" I asked, propping open the door with the wastebasket. (No can do on the doorstop. The only thing that cheap, flimsy wedge would stop is trying.) "I keep smelling something funky. Do y'all?"

Nearly everyone nodded, raised their hands, or replied that they smelled it too. Except one student. "It smells like ASS!" he shouted.

It took me a minute to stop laughing, and another two to get the room calmed down.

Follow the recipe!

Praise the Lord and pass the bread crumbs! I've loved Cedric the Entertainer ever since I saw him on BET's Comic View in 1994, when he was just beginning to get famous. Browsing YouTube videos the other evening, I stumbled upon "Cooking with Chef Reverend" from Cedric's short-lived TV show. At least I can still watch the funniest skits on the internet. Reruns also air on TV One, for those of you lucky enough to have it on your satellite lineup.

Who else but Cedric could combine a cooking show and a traditional black church service—and make it funny? "The microwave is the devil's box!" Hallelujah!

Talking hubcaps with the Colonel

Sunday morning—sipping coffee and eating sausage biscuits at the HKC.

ME: I gave Mom that '51 Pontiac hubcap from my old office.
COL: What for?
ME: She wants to make a clock out of it.
COL: All right! That's cool.
ME: Think so?
COL: Hell, yeah. Old hubcaps make awesome clocks.
ME: I dunno.
COL: Why not? It'll look great, and won't be too hard to do. Just get one of those clock kits from Hobby Lobby or something.
ME: Yeah, but—I dunno, maybe I should've found her a nice, flat Chevy or Ford dog dish hubcap. There are lots of those around, see 'em all the time.
COL: But the '51 Pontiac hubcap is unusual. Nobody else will have a clock like that.
ME: But maybe it might be worth a lot of money one day. I mean, they're not making '51 Pontiac hubcaps anymore—
COL: Baby, there's a lot of shit they ain't makin' anymore.

Happy Birthday to the Man in Black

Johnny Cash in 1969 (photo from Wikipedia)

John R. Cash was born this day in 1932, in Kingsland, Arkansas. He would have celebrated his 80th birthday today.

There isn't a whole lot I can write here about Johnny Cash that hasn't been said better elsewhere. However, music buffs may enjoy reading about Cash's famous middle-finger photo over at Iconic Photos. And for the record, I have a 36" x 48" poster of this famous image. Eventually, it will hang either in my den or kitchen.

HAPPY 7th ANNIVERSARY, MHP & GUY!

Photo from I Can Has Cheezburger

Happy seventh anniversary to my sister, Mile High Pixie, and my brother-in-law, Mile High Guy! Hope you have the best goddamn anniversary trip ever, living it up in Las Vegas this weekend. The traditional gifts for seven years of marriage didn't sound too exciting (wool, copper, desk sets), so maybe I'll just send you another kitteh instead. WIN!

Friday Campus Kitteh: 2/24/12

Although my work week usually ends on Thursday afternoon, today finds me at Somewhat Larger University for a department meeting. Thank goodness SLU's English folks aren't a meet-y bunch. At most, we have two meetings per term.

As I was walking to the conference room for the meeting, I saw a furry orange ball under some shrubs. Lo and behold, it was a campus kitteh, all snuggled up warm on a cloudy, windy afternoon. I gave him the International Kissy Noise (you know the noise I'm talking about), and the campus kitteh raised his head to look at me. "Wat yu wants, ladee?"

The SLU campus ferals are (nearly) all fixed. About a dozen of my co-workers volunteer with the local Humane Society, and do the kitty trap-neuter-release thing a few times a year. If I see a cat at SLU who doesn't have an ear clipped—the "I'm fixed and have my rabies shots" signal in the cat rescue field—then I know he or she is next on the TNR group's list. This one may be among those ferals who are spayed/neutered but don't have the tip of the left ear snipped off. There are a few of those around.

But they look pretty fixed to me; a female's belly may be a little floppy, for instance, or a male's equipment may be relatively small compared to his body size. Many cats, even ferals, put on  a little weight once they're no longer reproducing. The body saves energy, and precious calories aren't going toward roaming, fighting, mating, or raising kittens.

Walking around campus, I glimpse plastic cat dishes full of food and water, tucked away under shrubs and overhangs. Once in a while, I even see a tail disappearing among camellia and forsythia branches, or a pair of ears poking up from behind a retaining wall. But today, this cat graced me with a full-on disapproving stare. Thank you, O jaded and cynical orange campus kitteh!