Truffles

Earlier today my cat, Truffles, passed away.

I met Truffles two and a half years ago in a Petsmart near my work. I wasn't looking for an older cat and I definitely wasn't looking for a fat cat. In fact, the cat I had my eye on when I decided to adopt one was a skinny gray cat in the cage next to hers. The lady who assisted with the adoptions offered to show the gray one to me and I was excited to meet my new furry friend. But when the cage door opened, my furry gray friend turned into a hissy pissy mess.
"Maybe not that one," I told the woman.
"Are there any others you'd like to look at?"
I looked at the cats in the cages surrounding the gray one and a chubby orange one caught my eye. I asked the lady if I could see the orange one and I braced myself for the worst again when the cage door opened. But this cat seemed normal; nice even. I put my hand inside and she sniffed it and then began rubbing against it and purring. And that was how I met Truffles.

Truffles wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I had set foot in the Petsmart. She was six years old, fat, de-clawed and spayed. When I took her home, I also learned that she was one of the strangest cats I had ever met. Our first night together, it was two in the morning and I was just falling asleep when she walked up onto the pillow next to my head and flopped down right on my face. The next night, she got stuck inside a grocery bag and thrashed around inside it until I woke up and got her out. I began thinking that maybe owning a cat wasn't for me. As Truffles would show me though, a cat can teach a you lot.

Truffles taught me patience. Two summers ago, I started having massive panic attacks, which eventually needed professional help. Whenever I was alone, I would start to panic. My breaths would get shorter, my airway would constrict, and I would start moving closer to hyperventilation. After I was diagnosed with panic attacks, I realized that I was going to need to fix myself. I would have to find a way to calm myself down whenever I felt an attack coming, otherwise they were going to ruin my life. Every time I was alone and would feel an attack coming, Truffles was there. If I felt my breathing getting short, soon enough, a furry orange mass landed in my lap, waiting to be pet, and the focus on the act of petting took my focus away from everything else. Whenever I needed her, Truffles was there. In the book "The Cave," Jose Saramago says that a dog always knows when he is needed. I'm the last person in the world who will ever disagree with anything Saramago says, but I would add to his idea that the right cat knows when it is needed just as much as any dog you will ever meet. And Truffles was the right cat for me.

Truffles taught me persistence. If you stuck your head in a refrigerator and someone shut the door on your head, you probably wouldn't ever do it again, right? Not Truffles. Every time I would open the refrigerator door, there was Truffles' head. The first few times it happened, I was completely surprised. I had never met a cat who was so active in searching for treats. The weird thing was that I had never given her a treat from the fridge. I wouldn't until a few weeks later, and yet still, every time the refrigerator door opened, Truffles head was in there. It was like she was waiting for the treats to materialize. Finally, I gave in and put treats in the fridge to give her on occasion when I opened the fridge. Maybe her persistence seemed stupid to some people, but I loved it. If Truffles had a motto it would have been: Look hard enough and you'll find something. Maybe there's something we can all learn from that.

Truffles taught me unconditional love. Truffles was the first cat that I was completely responsible for. To tell the truth, I had no idea what I was in store for, or what I was doing half the time. There was feeding, petting, brushing, litter box cleaning, flea treating, barf swabbing, and all kinds of things that you never would have imagined before you got the cat. Sometimes, a few days go by before you realize that you've forgotten something, sometimes important things like water. And yet every time that this happened, I found Truffles coming up to me and curling up on my lap the first chance she got. To her, the only thing that mattered was that I was there. The hand stroking her head at the end of the day was more important than the food in her bowl or the water in her stomach. Truffles needed to receive love just like anyone else. The love she gave in return was without grudges, without prejudice and without parallel. She lived to be loved and as I spent more and more time with her, I realized that a part of me was happy and alive because of her love.

Truffles taught me friendship. I didn't set foot in Petsmart two and a half years ago expecting to find a friend. But as the time went on and as Truffles became a bigger part of my life, I realized that a friend was exactly what she was. Maybe she wasn't the kind of friend you go to baseball games with or go shopping with, but Truffles loved and Truffles listened, and if I can't think of two more important characteristics in a friend. When my girlfriend and I were driving today, she told me that she never had liked cats, but she liked Truffles. This was true for plenty of people that met her. Maybe you didn't like cats, but you liked Truffles. So many people call their pets their "furry friends," but how many actually find a friend in their pet?

And so today, I watched as the vet began to put a pink liquid into my friend's leg as I cradled her in my arms and told me: "This is going to stop her heart and lungs," and there was only one thing I could say to her: "I love you, Truffles."

It's hard to lose a pet, but it's harder to lose a friend.

Love IS a Battlefield

Wow, so this whole blog writing everyday thing is going really well. Yikes. The next few weeks may not go much better given the way things have gone so far this summer. When did summer get so hectic? Anyways, without further ado:

There's a fairly new song out there right now by Jordin Sparks: the season 6 winner of American Idol. The song is called "Battlefield," and is currently all over the radio. Here is one chorus of the song:

"I never meant to start a war
You know, I never wanna hurt you
Don’t even know what we’re fighting for
Why does love always feel like a battlefield, a battlefield, a battlefield"

Ok, now let's stop for a second to think if this reminds us of anything. Maybe a song that came out quite a while ago but is still very, very popular. Wait for it...No? The second I heard the line: "Why does love always feel like a battlefield," my jaw dropped. Here's a sampling from the chorus of the song that this one feels just a little too similar to:

"We are young, heartache to heartache we stand
No promises, no demands
Love Is A Battlefield
We are strong, no one can tell us we're wrong
Searchin' our hearts for so long, both of us knowing
Love Is A Battlefield"

The song above is, of course, the 1983 hit from Pat Benatar: "Love is a Battlefield." A few things struck me when I heard the Jordin Sparks song. One: Why would the songwriters go near using the word "battlefield" anywhere in the vicinity of the word "love"? I'm gonna go out on a limb and say I'm probably not the only one who thinks of Pat Benatar every time I hear the new song. The rest of the song's lyrics are pretty typical for modern day pop, maybe even a little above the average pop song today. But "why does love always feel like a battlefield"? We had to go there?

Here's my biggest problem with the song (besides the total knockoff of "Love is a Battlefield): how unconvincing it is. When you listen to "Love is a Battlefield," what's the first thing that strikes you? Let's start with the title: Love IS a Battlefield. It's not just a title, it's a statement made with total conviction. There's no doubt in your mind when you're listening to that song: Pat Benatar is serious about this one. It's not just one of the most popular songs of the 80s, it's a nod in the direction of every love torn soul.

In some respects, Sparks' effort is also geared towards people going through difficult times in their love lives. However, "why does love always feel like a battlefield," feels more like a teen crying to her mom than a woman standing up for lovesick women everywhere. There's absolutely no conviction behind it. For further proof check out the difference between Sparks' video (here) and Benatar's (here). The main problem I have with the Sparks' song is that the songwriters had to know that comparisons were going to be made between their song and Benatar's. However, rather than giving a nod to Benatar, they took it the complete opposite direction. The line "don't even know what we're fighting for" pretty much sums it up. If you don't know what you're fighting for, why write a song about it? Benatar's song leaves no doubt in the listener's mind that she knows exactly what she's fighting for, while Sparks' song is pretty much just melancholy indifference. Instead of empowerment, the songwriters for "Battlefield" took the direction of self pity, which is a disgrace to one of the most famous love ballads ever written. Sparks is a talented singer and I doubt that this song will be the last we hear of her. However, I think it's better she (and her songwriters) leave the battles to the singers who know what they're fighting for.

Someone Stop Christian Audigier!

I'm a believer in sticking with what you're good at: It's why Michael Jordan should have stuck to playing basketball instead of baseball, and being retired and playing golf instead of trying to be a general manager; it's why Scarlett Johansson should stick to acting and not singing; it's why Paris Hilton should stick to being rich and not acting; AND it's why Ed Hardy should stick to tattoos and not anything else.

Now don't get me wrong- Ed Hardy is a good artist and I can see why people originally would have wanted his work on their bodies. I first saw his artwork a few years ago and I was really impressed. Then I started seeing it more... and more...and more. Soon it was on t-shirts and it was pretty much the beginning of the end from there. In 2004, Christian Audigier started producing clothing for Ed Hardy and that was around the time that it got old for me. Now, you can find Ed Hardy products literally everywhere you look. It's not just shirts anymore. Now, you can find Ed Hardy jeans, sandals, rhinestone cell phone covers, belts, scarves, sunglasses, perfume, shoes, and pretty much anything else you could imagine on any street corner in America. I was already convinced that Audigier had taken the trend too far when I found an Ed Hardy bottle of wine at Whole Foods. I can't remember ever seeing a trend that went so overboard. Wine? Are we really supposed to believe that a wine with Ed Hardy's name on it is going to be good? Someone needs to get Christian Audigier to stop. I can't even think of what's going to be next. An Ed Hardy professional sports team? Ed Hardy Hemorrhoid Cream? At this point, nothing would surprise me.

Crazy of Love

I don't watch much television. When I do, I try to keep it to Sportscenter or games that I really care about. However, sometimes I wander off and end up watching things that I regret immediately, namely reality TV. I remember when reality TV was first coming out. "Survivor" was the first one I can remember other than all of The Real World shows. Survivor was a cool idea and I didn't watch much of it, but I could get the appeal. Then a bunch of new shows came out; some good and some bad. As more and more came out, I kept thinking that reality shows were just a phase. There was no way that people could keep getting entertained by something so idiotic. I was wrong though, and soon we moved into the unfortunate phase of reality dating shows. This probably started with shows like "Blind Date," and then moved into the "Elimidate" and "Next" age. Eventually came "Flavor of Love," and it was all downhill from there. Soon we moved into the age of "Rock of Love," and I'm sorry to say it's only getting worse.

Lately, my girlfriend and I have been watching a newer show called "Daisy of Love." The girl, Daisy de la Hoya (yes, she's related to Oscar) was previously on "Rock of Love," and apparently, the producers loved her so much, they decided she needed her own show. While watching, I'm constanly asking myself a few questions:

1: Who's voice does her voice remind me of? - I still don't know! Every time, I spend the first half of the show trying to answer this question. The closest thing I can think of is that it's kind of like listening to Fran Drescher's voice on helium and then put inside a girl who's IQ is comparable to a dish sponge.

2: How does a guy who's name is "Sinister" make it past the first episode? - This may have something to do with the whole IQ thing. Or it may have something to do with the fact that the other choices have names like "12 Pack," "Torch," and "Dropout." Ouch.

3: Why am I still watching this? - Ummmmmm....

That's the thing about reality television. You never know why you're watching it, but you know you're strangely entertained. 5 years ago, I doubt that a show that's about a girl who has more plastic than a life size Barbie doll sorting through 20 tools to find a boyfriend would have sold. But now, people need to be shocked by their television, and it's taking more and more to shock them. Sure, shows like "Blind Date" had their place at the time, but compared to "Daisy of Love," "Blind Date" looks more tame than my de-clawed cat. What scares me is that now it seems like reality shows AREN'T going anywhere anytime soon. If we've moved from shows like "Blind Date" to shows like "Daisy of Love" in such a short time period, I am more than a little terrified of what is going to come next. So stay tuned and brace yourself.

The Coolest Man in Movies

The other night, I watched a movie that I was probably more excited for than any other movie that came out last year: Gran Torino. The reason: Clint Eastwood. The man is what, 80? 113? But he still makes killer movies. He proclaimed that this movie would be his last acting role, so I knew I had to see it.

To start, I should say that I probably have more respect for Clint Eastwood than any other actor in Hollywood. The man has a resume that is tough to top and he is truly a Renaissance man. Don't believe me? Look at what he did for Gran Torino: Not only was he the lead actor, but he directed and produced the movie as well as co-wrote and sang in the theme song for the movie (which was nominated for Best Song in this year's Golden Globes). He also directed the movie Changeling last year and wrote the score for that film. The man does it all and does it well.

So what was the final verdict on the film? The truth is, I'm still trying to figure the answer to that out myself. I do know one thing though: Clint Eastwood was amazing. The main problem for me was that he didn't have much surrounding him in the way of acting or, for that matter, a script. He had some amazing lines, but a lot of the other actors got screwed with lines that I doubt anyone could make sound normal in their circumstances. There were a few scenes that made my girlfriend and I look at each other like: Did that really just happen? And not in a- That was awesome! Did that just happen??? way. Despite the awkward moments and acting around him, Eastwood's performance makes the movie worth watching. He speaks each line with a growl that simply cannot be topped. It's epic. I would love to be able to growl like that. Somehow, he always manages to land some great lines and this film doesn't disappoint. When he shoulders a shotgun at a young punk and growls: "Get off my lawn!" I got chills. At another point of the movie, he's confronting another punk and says: "Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while you shouldn't have fucked with? That's me." What other actor can you think of who, at nearly 80 years old, could say that line and completely convince you? Can you see Tom Cruise pulling that off when he's 80? Jake Gyllenhaal? Vin Diesel? I don't think so. Clint Eastwood is in a class of coolness of his own, and if you're not convinced, watch Gran Torino.

The Curse

The other day, I went to my first Dodger game of the season. I had a really great time, but when I got the tickets, I forgot about one important thing: The Curse.

In case you don't follow baseball, the Dodgers are having one of their best years ever so far. They have the best record in baseball and they show no signs of slowing down. Even with (arguably) their best player, Manny Ramirez, suspended for 50 games for steroid use, they continued to play strong and with him back, they look poised to make a run at the World Series. Going into Friday's game, they were even riding a 5 game winning streak. So basically what I'm saying is that I should have know better than to go to the game. You see, statistically, the Dodgers lose 90% of games that I attend.

My girlfriend and I were late getting to the game, so we strolled in around the 4th inning (I should note at this point that usually when I am late to a game, the Dodgers are down by multiple runs and the starting pitcher is fuming on the bench next to a cooler of Gatorade he has smashed with either his fist or the nearest bat). I cringed a little as we found our seats and looked at the score: Dodgers:1, Marlins: 0. Whaaaaaat? Maybe this really is their year. However, shortly after we took our seats, the Marlins made a charge and went up 3-1. To my shock, the Dodgers came right back, and tied the game at 3. Around the 7th inning, something happened that I have learned to accept through the years. Though I can't know for sure exactly what transpires each time, I imagine it to go a little something like this:

Joe Torre (the Dodgers manager) signals to home umpire that he wants to come out to talk to the pitcher and heads to the mound, looking into the outfield as he walks out. The pitcher is looking at him, confused.

Torre: Look, I know that you're pitching well, but did you see who's in section 313 tonight?

Pitcher (looks out at the bleachers. A look of disbelief comes over his face): Seriously? Doesn't he know we're trying to make the playoffs here?

Torre (shaking his head): I guess not.

Pitcher and manger sit in silence for a few seconds

Pitcher (looking up): Listen, I know the drill, but do you think maybe, just once, we could do things a little differently? I mean, my ERA is down below 2 for the first time in my career.

Torre: I'm sorry, there's just a way things are done when this guy shows up.

Pitcher looks at his feet and kicks some dirt, looking dejected.

Torre: Tell you what, Washington is coming into town in a few weeks. I'll play you a minimum of 2 innings a game when they're in town. Your ERA will be back down in no time. I'll even take you out for a Shirley Temple after the game. Deal?

Pitcher (smiling): Deal

Torre: Good. This guy likes high fastballs.

(Torre hands the pitcher the ball)

Torre (starting to walk back to the dugout): Serve it up!

Pitcher: Wait...what if he comes to the games against Washington?

Torre (stopping in his tracks and turning slowly): Then God help us.

Save the Pandas!

I really really don't like SUVs. I think the habit was ingrained in me by my mom. I don't think my mom would ever get behind the wheel of one unless someone put a gun to her head and told her to drive one. When I was little, my mom would always complain about them (how big they were, how much gas they guzzled, etc.). As I've grown older though, I've realized that she wasn't just being a weird mom. There's something about SUVs that I really don't like, and it doesn't have anything to do with their ridiculous size or their unconscionably bad gas mileage. In fact, I'll even take foreign SUVs out of the equation (I still hate them, just not as much). I save my utmost dislike for American SUVs, and here's where it starts: the name.

When I was in Europe a few years ago, I caught sight of one of the smallest SUVs I've ever seen. Having seen all the small cars in Europe, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, but seeing an SUV in Europe kind of blew me away. I decided to go check it out. When I got closer, I noticed that it really wasn't all that bad. It had all the space that five people could realistically need, and it didn't look like a direct descendant of a World War II tank. I moved around to the back to read the name: Panda. The Panda??? I'm from America: land of intimidating SUV names. My foreign made Civic is used to driving alongside Excursions, Navigators, Armadas, and Titans. Not Pandas. Can you imagine the crap GMC would take if their next SUV was called the Panda?
Then I started thinking about it more. Is there actually a reason that American SUVs have to have intimidating names? Really, what's wrong with a name like the Panda?

The truth is, there's absolutely nothing wrong with a name like the Panda. But for a culture that prides itself on it's bad-ass-ness, naming a car (especially a car as American as an SUV) anything short of "bad-ass" would be admitting defeat to foreign companies. So while I can hope for more Pandas and less Envoys and such, the truth is, I'm more likely to live to see an Apocalypse than a Panda made by an American company on the highway.