Thursday, November 16, 2006

The Seafood of the World

Margery often thinks she is an Imperial.

She loves the Ramones, and her fur smells like baked goods.

Tonight I kept addressing Margery as a Gay Escort (I had been reading the news a lot in the preceding hours, and there was that whole thing about the Evangelist from the Religious Right who bought meth, and the Gay Escort, who talked of going to the gym at like 5 in the morning in this interview I watched), and saying, "Margery, you are a Gay Escort!" and laughing hysterically, because she just kind of pretended not to notice.

Supposedly the seafood of the world, or at least that which we eat, will be gone by mid-century. It is true. I have been worried about that for awhile, because I have a vegan guilt that I buy Margery canned seafood (like Ocean Whitefish and TUNA, or the Savory Seafood Feast, because that is what she LIKES, and she does not like the fowl, or the beasts of the field, by which I mean the cows), and thus contribute to the deaths of the fishes, it grieves me that I am deliberately contributing to the destruction of our great Earth by buying cat food with fish in it, but otherwise Margery would not eat, and end up like Nicole Richie, or some other skinny-ass broad. And that is my vegan dilemma.

The other day I was frolicking upon the shores of Lake Michigan, because it was sunny weather and good for a frolic, and I saw two very large dead fish, with their eyes gone, and holes in their bodies, but I was not surprised because that is a sight I got very much used to on the shores of Lake Erie in Cleveland. But dead birds and squirrels still freak me out, and appall me, and disturb the rest of my day when I see them lying on or beside the sidewalk. But Margery does not eat birds (by which I mean chicken, or turkey), or squirrels for that matter, so I am not directly contributing to their deaths. Still, it is a grievous thing to see.

"Heed the fire," I said to Margery when I opened the oven. And she obeyed.
Sometimes I used to worry that Tasty or Motor might harbour a secret Hansel-and-Gretel complex, and leap into the oven without warning when I opened it, so it was something I guarded vigilantly against, when I was making Tater Tots, or a glorious squash.

"I've been nothing but good to you," I just said to Margery, and laughed. Although sometimes I make her do rap-arms when it is late at night and I am being a secret rapper in the privacy of my apartment whiel finishing an assignment, and I am not sure if that exactly counts as good.

Some people do not heed the scales of justice.

Heed is a good word, I have decided. I must bring it further into my vernacular.

In class there was a debate over whether cats go through Lacan's mirror stage.

And then at the very end of class (when we were all quite ready to leave) this broad suddenly burst out, "But what is a woman? What is a VAGINA? What is a UTERUS?" and we all just looked her and thought, "Whoa, dude, we just want to leave," but she ranted for a good while longer, and we were like, 'Dude, this is crazy. Is this what grad school is?"

And that is all.


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