Also, I like the fact the actors look like Don Rumsfeld, with a Philly accent, and Condoleeza Rice.

I have no idea why that is. Firedoglake had a piece about Marko “Daily Kos” Moulitsas being banned from Scarborough’s show , but that doesn’t link to me.

If any readers dropping by could let me know who’s sending you here, that would be awesome. Thanks!

In October of that year, we took in Elvis, a little orange ball of fur that was rejected by its mother, a feral cat that pumps out the kittens like a popcorn machine. I’d been eying the plucky little guy for a few weeks: he was so insistent that he be cared for, and his mother was equally insistent that he go away. When Christina walked into the living room holding him in the palm of her hand one afternoon, it was clear that one of two things was going to happen: we were going to adopt him, or he was going to die. So now I have two cats.

Elvis is a weird little guy, I think because he’s never had a mother cat to attach to: he’s kind of stuck. Elvis was so young when we took him in that he sort of imprinted on both Christina and me, in a way more appropriate for other cats. He’s never truly matured, not the way Henry has.

For example, Elvis has never really outgrown the kitten voice. No meows from Elvis: you go in the kitchen, he jumps on the counter, looks at you and says “meeeeeee.” About twenty minutes before the alarm goes off, he’s poking you with his head. “meeeeeeee.”

Even though he’s more than a year old, for another example, Elvis will try to nurse on us (he usually goes for the armpit). Or his hygiene, which is questionable at best: it was Henry, not the mama cat, who taught Elvis how to groom himself. And in fact, Elvis still hasn’t mastered the art of “not getting shit on your fur”.

Henry stood in as Elvis’s parent grudgingly. Besides disliking the intruder on principle, Henry was tormented by Elvis, who stole his food, attacked him whenever he could, chased Henry off the bed, and was in general a little fuck head. At the same time, it was clear Elvis was imprinting on our older cat as well, following him everywhere.

Like I said, he’s a weird little guy. And I got a nice taste of that weirdness today. But let me back up a moment for yet even more background.

At some point that first year, Elvis was old enough to get his shots and get neutered, so it fell to me to take him to the vet. He didn’t care for the car ride, yowling and crying the whole trip. When we got back, he was pretty freaked out. As I opened the cat carrier to let him out, Henry came bopping up. Elvis let out the weirdest meow I’d heard. I laughed, because it almost sound like he’d meowed “Henry!”

I didn’t hear that exact meow again until today, two years later. This time, it was Henry that had been to the vet. He didn’t like the car ride either, and practically screamed the whole way. Henry was scared shitless, and I mean that literally: he took a fear shit in the cat arrier.

When I opened the door to my house, Elvis ran up the way he usually does — then all of a sudden bristled, and his eyes got huge. I don’t know if it was pheromones or what, but it was clear he knew something was up, and that something was scary as shit. I put the cat carrier down to let Henry out, and there came that EXACT sound I’d heard two freakin’ years back and never since “MEM-meee!”

It was such a weird sound, this sort of two-syllable thing that sounded almost more like a bark than a meow. It was recognizable, but not just because it sounded like the other cat’s name. Who does that sound like?

And then it hit me, the damnedest thing.

What you need to know here is that Henry has ALWAYS been Christina’s favorite. When she comes home from work, she says hi to Henry before anyone else, and she always greets him the same way. “HEN-reee!” she says, her voice going up a register or so, the stress on the first syllable fairly exaggerated. “HEN-reee! oh how’s my Henry cat?” That’s the exact sound Elvis made, today and two years ago. “MEM-meeee.” Both times he did this were in stressful situations, and in both cases Henry was present.

I swear to God, I think the little bugger imprinted on us so hard, he figured out how to say his buddy’s name. It’s the damnedest fuckin’ thing.

My fiancee took a job in NYC and we’ve been spending the past two Saturdays moving her stuff up to her new apartment (don’t ask me if I’m moving, I don’t know yet. Certainly not until 2012.)

At the same time, I’ve been running like the devil to prep for two big shows out west, Viva Las vegas 14 and the TCM Classic Film Festival.

When I get back, I start the work on the house: exterior paint, new floors, masonry work, and the final cosmetic porch repair. I do this while planning a trip to Montreal to visit Sam and figuring out how the hell I’m going to balance my life while commuting back and forth on alternating weekends to see my fiancee.

Not to mention writing for Scrapple, writing for work, blogging for fun (lord knows this site isn’t a moneymaker).

So fuck it, here’s some Unholy Modal Rounders singing about food.

Sure, the song’s stuck in your head. And the images associated with it are uncomfortable. And the way the child dances suggests that the pee pee did not so much end up in his bed as much as it ended up in his underpants along with significant amounts of poo.

On the other hand, you now now that if you see this kid walking through your local shopping mall it’s time to turn tail and run before he opens fire.

…and they wonder why so many kids who grew up in the 1970s and 80s are so weird.

…with a little Royal Crown on the sides for extra shine.

The problem with both of these classic products is that, being made primarily of petroleum, it is verrrrrrry difficult to get the stuff out of your hair. If you want to look your rockabilly best on Friday night,you better believe that grease ain’t comin’ out till Tuesday, and that’s if you’re lucky. Another potential problem was raised by my drummer, who claims that using products like Murray’s suffocates your hair follicles and can make you go bald. This has (some degree of support, although most sites say that can happen only if you use too much of the stuff and rub it right into your scalp, and that any loss is reversible once the residue is gone.

Either way, I was willing to try something else. I have a new job, and I haven’t been here long enough to feel comfortable coming in with my rockabilly hair: no one here knows about the rock-n-roll side of me yet.

When i was down in Chapel Hill, I got to try some Layrite…

…produced by Hawleywoods, which describes itself as an “original, period correct 1940’s style shop”.

What makes Layrite different is that it’s water soluble, offering the hold of a wax with the convenience of a gel. With the promise of a “Hy-Sheen” as well, I really wanted to give it a test-drive, so I shelled out the $15.00 (the price of about 5 cans of Murray’s) and a few days later my new pomade arrived.

The first surprising thing was the color, a blinding tangerine shade. The smell had more in common with that bubblegum-flavored toothpaste dentists used to use with child patients than it did with a men’s hair product, but I gamely rubbed some on my hands and ran it through my dry hair, as suggested, and began combing up my pomp.

Layrite’s strengths are its hold and the height you can achieve: my pomp has never been stiffer and has never been THAT high before. Layrite’s hold also lasts a lot longer than Murray’s, which has a tendency to wilt and need regular attention.

On the other hand, because Layrite is water based, there’s a tendency for flyway hair that doesn’t stay slicked back. It also makes your hair feel brittle: if you’ve ever waited for the schoolbus in winter, with freshly-showered-but-frozen hair, you know the feeling. And as for “Hy-Sheen”, that’s false advertising, at least when it comes to the super-hold formula I chose: Layrite has no sheen at all. In fact, as the stuff dries, your hair begins to look kind of dull and dusty.

All that said, there’s nothing like taking a shower and knowing that every last bit of your pomade is washing out. And it’s nice to know that you’re not supporting the petroleum industry every time you do your hair up (”suit by Calvin Klein, hair by BP”).

At the same time, I can’t give Layrite a 100% positive review, due to the nature of the product. I think it’s probably best used in conjunction with Murray’s and Royal Crown, which I did down in Chapel Hill. Layrite’s hold/height gets an A, and is a great complement to the sheen you get from these other products, giving you a super-high pomp with that glorious 1950s glow. But as a stand-alone product, I give it a B-.

Everytime I think I have something to say, I realize I don’t. I’m assuming y’all don’t need me to deconstruct and parse Toby Keith’s “How Do You Like Me Now”. [the answer, by the way, is “I still don’t because you’re a dick.” At least that’s what the woman the song is directed at should say, judging by the lyrical content. hey, maybe I’ll deconstruct it later).