Prim’s Cat: The Real Mockingjay?

Last night I watched The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 1.  Am I the only one who was scratching their head at the sheer ridiculousness that was exhibited?  Not with respect to the dystopian future portrayed.  Not with respect to blowing up planes with exploding arrows, while the archer remains unscathed despite standing directly in the path of the aircraft’s machine gun fire.  I’m fine with all of that.  What I cannot get on board with is the behavior exhibited by Prim’s cat.  Let’s walk through the events that unfolded.

Katniss visits what remains of District 12, where she discovers her sister’s cat within the family’s former residence.  She then picks up and places the cat inside her satchel bag, as she peruses the house for other items to salvage, at one point opening the bag and tossing a picture frame in alongside the cat.  All things (and cat) in bag, she returns to District 13 (presumably by air since that is how she got to District 12 in the first place), makes her way through the compound to find her mother and sister, opens up the bag, and out comes the cat…a cat who has been shockingly indifferent to hanging out in a bag during the tumultuous journey over land and air.

At this point I turned to my wife and said, “this movie has lost all credibility”.

Ok, well maybe this cat hangs out in satchel bags devoid of breathable mesh screens all the time.  Maybe he spent his adolescent years at a military base where he was a frequent flyer.  And maybe he’s got an extremely serene disposition to top it all off.

But alas, the plot thickened.  Later in the film, residents of District 13 are rushed into an underground bunker to take shelter from an impending airstrike from the Capitol.  However, the bombing commences before Prim makes it into the bunker - you see, she had gone to retrieve her cat and is now racing down the stairs with the animal in her arms, in the midst of explosions, falling debris, and cascading water spewing from what I assume was a sprinkler system set off by the bombing.  At the last moment, they make it into the bunker in one piece, as the cat continues to hang out in Prim’s arms without ever having squirmed an inch; wet and seemingly content with the entire ordeal.

Now, I ask you, what kind of mystical fucking cat is this?  Unless the cat’s actually a robot, this is either the most relaxed cat in the history of the feline species, or the movie decided to cut out the part where the cat gets injected with Valium.  Or the movie was produced by dog owners who have no experience with cats and are strangely under the assumption that they are meditative beings capable of achieving extraordinary levels of zen.  

Regardless of how the cat came to be portrayed in this manner, rest assured - I don’t care how awesome that cat is (and I’ve known some pretty awesome cats in my day), Prim’s arms, body, and/or face should have been cut up and bleeding from the clawing that would have transpired as that cat lost its fucking nerve.  Merely managing to hold onto the cat at all during that fiasco would have been miraculous.  To do so and remain unscathed…perhaps the single greatest feat of all time.  To have the cat stay as calm as a summer afternoon nap throughout it all…fucking impossible.  The movie should have just made Prim a sorceress, as a magic spell would have been more believable than what was depicted.

But in case you thought that was the last of the cat, fear not, for at the end of The Hunger Games: Mockingjay - Part 2, he makes one more appearance.  By now, days or weeks have elapsed since the bombing of District 13, a war has been waged, and many have perished.  Katniss is now back in District 12, trying to make sense of the chaos that has led her to this point, when lo and behold, the cat appears in the window.  He has traveled untold miles, through battlefields and ruins, persevered against bombings and starvation, and has finally made it back home.  In response to the cat’s truly heroic efforts, Katniss goes completely psychotic, unleashing all of her pent up anger onto the cat who has unknowingly become the symbol of everything she lost.  The screams escalate into attempted battery, as Katniss throws a glass across the kitchen with the intention of stoning the cat, all in a furiously loud and violent rage as she aggressively moves closer toward the cat…a cat who remains stoically silent and still in response.  He doesn’t run away; he doesn’t hiss; he doesn’t even flinch when the glass flies within inches of his face, smashing into shards upon contact with the countertop and backsplash…he just looks at Katniss, as if to say, “Katniss - I know - it’s not your fault”.

Wow.

My wife turned to me and said, “that cat would never have sat there like that”.  To which I replied, “are you kidding me, if that cat did anything other than sit there, the movie would have been totally inconsistent”.

What You Need To Know About Infidelity and Mate Selection

Discussions about human behavior are often rife with ridiculousness.  A good example of this is with respect to infidelity.  I can't tell you how many conversations I've been a part of where someone conclusively states that all men cheat (some just don't get caught, or don't have the opportunity, or whatever).  According to these specialists, male infidelity stems from a genetic imperative to spread their seed.  Although sexual drive in and of itself is biologically programmed, this has nothing do with who we choose to sleep with (or how many).  I think a far more likely explanation for male infidelity is that sex feels good and is quite enjoyable, inclining men (some men) to pursue it unabashedly.  Some men are addicted to alcohol, and some are addicted to boobs.  Of course, some view women as sport and appear to experience an unnerving high upon "conquering" a woman, as if they had just taken the beaches of Normandy or something.  However, I think the majority of unfaithful men just like to fuck a lot.  

But here's a revelation: women have an equal propensity for infidelity.  Yes that's right - women like to fuck too!  The stereotype of men following the whims of their penis while stalwart women are immune to the compulsions of desire is quite simply false.  Ashley Madison anyone?  I believe it was Albert Einstein who proved that it takes two to tango.

Some cheat because they don't love their partner (and maybe never have).  Some cheat because their partner is about as interested in sleeping with them as with going back to work on Monday.  Some cheat for the physical sex.  Some for the intimacy.  Some for love.  But some people don't cheat…maybe because the appeal of sex with another person is outweighed by the potential hurt their partner will feel upon finding out, or because of social stigma, or because sex with a stranger is far less gratifying in reality than it is in fantasy, or because they simply don't feel the need to have intercourse with everyone.  The point is that not everything comes down to genetics.

Similarly, consider mate selection.  It is commonly believed that a woman's primary concern in life is security, and consequently, that she will seek a mate that has either wealth, status, influence, or something else along those lines - someone who will provide a safe and stable environment.  This may very well be…for some women.  And guess what?  For some men too!  All humans feel vulnerable.  Despite the adrenaline-craving junkies of the world, no one actively strives to live in an unstable, inhospitable, uncaring, or dangerous environment.  Well, maybe no one apart from those depicted in the show Mountain Men, however even they feel secure in their way of life.  But make no mistake - some women prefer the mate that makes them laugh over the mate with the stable job, some prefer the amazing lover over the wealthy businessman, and some would rather struggle on their own than suffer the banality of their secure life with the snow globe salesman.

The bottom line is, there are a lot of variables that go into a person's makeup and behavior -  their thoughts, feelings, upbringing, moral compass, life experience, the presence or lack of a conscience (4% of people apparently don't have one), their innate nature and/or genetic proclivities, and probably a bunch of other things I'm not aware of.  In short, we're not all built the same.  So let's all agree to stop generalizing each other…except for blondes, because it's been scientifically proven that people with yellow hair really are dumber.

What You Need To Know About A Man's Shoes

I was once told that the first thing women look at on a man are his shoes.  This was said to me by a woman, just so we're clear, and according to her everything you need to know about a man can be discerned from this one item.  Apparently, a man's footwear is the summation of his entire being.  After she said this to me, I remember thinking "that's fucking stupid," but I didn't want to be rude so I remained silent.  Fortunately, at the time of receiving this insight I was actually wearing flip flops, so I was thankful to have evaded her penetrating analysis (or could it be that she was analyzing my toes???!!!???).  Regardless, now that many years have passed and this woman has long forgotten me, I think it's finally safe to come forward.

Here's what I think a man's shoes tell you about the man: nothing.  It's not that a person's shoes don't reflect who they are - it's that there are a multitude of traits and characteristics to which a given pair of shoes could potentially allude.  If a man is concerned with his image, his attire will certainly reflect that, and in turn, his shoes will probably look snazzy.  But then the question is, why is he concerned with his image?  Maybe such concern stems from his line of work and how he is perceived by his associates.  Or, maybe he's simply an ego maniac who is obsessed with his image.  So for those tempted to automatically conclude that a man with snazzy shoes is a respectable individual who takes pride in himself, always remember to consider the alternative possibility that he only cares about looking good and doesn't actually give a shit about you.

Taking another example, if a man is a complete mess in life, then his shoes may indeed be a mess as well.  But slow it down Speed Racer, because embarrassing footwear could also be indicative that he's got larger priorities in life - maybe he spends his days volunteering at homeless shelters and simply doesn't have an interest in looking spiffy this evening.  Moreover, don't discount the possibility that some may intentionally adorn a pair of shoes as a means of deception…that individual wearing Christian Louboutin red bottoms may not be as upscale as he appears, and for all you know those shoes may even trace back to a corpse in the trunk of a car somewhere (and this person is about to cut out your pancreas as soon as you get back to his place).

As a final example, if a man is wealthy, then he will very likely have nice and expensive shoes.  But don't start fawning when you see a man with nice shoes out and about - for all you know, the money he spent on his shoe collection should have gone to paying the child support.  How many wealthy scumbags can you think of?

I trust we all get the picture.  In case anyone thought otherwise, the above is equally applicable to female footwear.  And the same principle applies to suits, cars, and other items of status.  Things are just things.  Nothing more.  In and of themselves, they can't tell you anything definitive about a person's past, present, or future standing, and they certainly can't tell you anything about the content of a person's character.

FYI, when it comes to me personally, I buy a new pair of shoes once my current footwear begins to get holes in them.  What does that say about me?

 

What Are The Chances?

I'm not sure how many of you have experienced synchronicity, but I can tell you that when it happens, it's quite mind-boggling.  A classic example is that of the famous mythologist and writer Joseph Campbell, who after reading about the praying mantis opened up a window in his 14th floor apartment building located in New York City, only to find…a praying mantis staring at him.

As to if such cases of synchronicity are completely coincidental, or meaningful in a deeper sense, I cannot say.  Perhaps synchronicity is bound to occur, given enough time, within the complex interaction of laws, chance, and probability that blanket the universe…perhaps our very existence is the prime example of synchronicity.  Or perhaps there are unseen forces at work - forces which we may or may not contribute to, but to which we are nevertheless connected and influenced by - forces that shape and guide the trajectory of our lives like a hidden hand arranging life's puzzle pieces.  

I'm going to abandon attempts at explanation, and instead, simply add my recent experience to the annals of synchronicity.

My good friend Omead Afshari, designer extraordinaire and lord of the male belly dance, recently became a teacher at Carver Center for the Arts located in Maryland.  He's in the midst of his first school year, and since September of 2012 has been trying to persuade me to come to his school and speak to some of the students.  Well earlier this month, I decided to drive down to Maryland from New York and pay my friend a visit in his native land.  So of course, I also visited the school and spoke to a few different classrooms.  The students were all awake and attentive, so I must have been doing something right.

The school day came to an end, and as it turned out, a dance performance was scheduled to take place an hour later in the main lobby.  Sounded interesting, so we decided to hang around for it.  After two performances, the dance instructor invited everyone to the dance studio for additional performances.  Omead and I debated whether to abandon ship at that point, given we had an engagement to attend in less than two hours.  But we threw caution to the wind and proceeded to the dance studio, wherein we were handed a program that seemed to suggest there were going to be an additional 15 dance performances taking place.  Now we were seriously considering abandoning ship, but ultimately our interest endured and we continued to stand fast.

At the start of the 2nd to last performance, the dancer walked onto the stage and the music began.  Omead immediately turned to look at me, jaw agape. "Am I hearing what I think I'm hearing" he asked?  Yep.  It was my song "See What I've Become".  This confirmation sent him into a mental tailspin, and he stressed that he had nothing to do with it, and that the students picked their own music for these routines.  Then during the Q&A after the show, he stood up and let the cat out of the bag:  "I'm a teacher here and I just want to say that art has a strange way of connecting people.  In the 2nd to last performance, for example, the person who made that music happens to be a good friend of mine…and he happens to be here right now" [cue American Idol screams and applause].

So to my mathematics and statistics friends, consider this: I drive to Maryland from New York for an impromptu school visit, on a random day of no significance, a day in which there happens to be a dance performance taking place after school, a performance which I happen to choose to attend (despite two separate considerations of leaving), during which one of the performances happens to be done in concert with my song.  What are the chances?  I've never stayed in Maryland prior to this, nor had I ever spoken at a school before, and Omead had no interaction or communication with the dance instructor or dancers (located on the opposite side of the building)…moreover, I'm no Justin Timberlake with respect to popularity; my music is not on the radio, nor is it affiliated with a label or part of a PR machine, and my album sales are so far from platinum they ought to be considered aluminum.  Things get even spookier when you consider the fact that the dance students apparently received their assignment to choreograph and perfect a routine for this show about 2 to 3 weeks beforehand - which is just about when I had called Omead to tell him I would be visiting him in a few weeks.

Be on the lookout friends, for things are in motion.

Quotations and Punctuation...I'm going rogue.

American grammar is quite goofy when it comes to how punctuation interacts with quotations.  The placement of the period in the following sentence is said to be grammatically correct:

1A)  George threw out his socks, claiming they were "poisoned."

Does the placement of that period look blatantly wrong to you as well?  I contend the following should be considered correct:

1B)  George threw out his socks, claiming they were "poisoned".

Here's an alternate example:

2A)  Cindy explained, "It's his baby, not yours."

Compared to:

2B)  Cindy explained, "It's his baby, not yours".

Now check out the following examples, both of which are considered grammatically correct with respect to the placement of the question mark:

3)  After slipping in the aisle, Gunther inquired, "Who the fuck put lubricant all over the floor?"  

4)  Was Tammy correct when she claimed, "the three things that never stop growing on a man are his ears, nose, and testicles"?

The sensibility of question mark protocol is encouraging, but we're not out of the woods yet.  Consider two final grammatically correct examples that throw more chaos into the mix with respect to the placement of commas and periods:

5)  Out of a possible "10", Haley's breasts would have to be considered a "12".

6)  Jared wasn't "feeling well," so he put the dildo in the box marked with an "X".

So in summary, this is a complete clusterfuck, and frankly I'm not going to stand for it.  From this point forward, I'm going to place all periods as the last item in a sentence, and the quotes can go "fuck themselves".

Ben & Jerry's - How Deep Is The Rabbit Hole?

You know how after paying for groceries, you routinely receive various coupons and/or advertisements? Well, a few weeks ago I received the following….uh, statement….from Ben & Jerry's:

Now, it took me a minute to understand what was going on, but eventually I realized that I had in fact purchased a 14 oz container of chocolate ice cream from Haagen Dazs. Apparently, Ben & Jerry's was so disturbed by my decision, that they were going out of their way to inform me that I had bought a substandard portion of ice cream, as compared to their 16 oz containers.

My jaw fell open…there were so many questions racing through my mind - could this be true? Have I been losing out on 2 oz of ice cream per container every time I bought a non-Ben&Jerry's variety? How many containers has that been over the years? If you added up all the lost servings from consumers across the world, how big would the resulting pile of ice cream be? It was horrifying to think of the lost seas of ice cream, never to be salvaged. And how could I have been so misguided and hoodwinked, as to be blind to this truth for so long?

The severity of the situation was overwhelming. I vowed to get to the bottom of this, even if it meant sacrificing more ice cream for the sake of the cause. No matter how long it took, no matter how far…I would find answers.

Thus began the furious task of researching this issue. My inquiry took me to distant lands, atop ancient glaciers, to the heartlands of ice cream nations across the globe. I consulted with psychologists, experts in the medical community, and even spoke with a lama. When all the data was in hand, and the dust finally settled….5 minutes later….I had my answer:

The grocery store didn't carry chocolate Ben & Jerry's ice cream. (Gasp)

In fact, none of the stores in my area carried a Ben & Jerry's chocolate-only flavor. But how could that be? Nothing was making sense. Surely Ben & Jerry's would make it a point to have stores carry such a basic flavor, wouldn't they? Why would they issue their press release amidst my batch of coupons, if they couldn't offer to match my choice in flavor? Was this just a coincidence, or was it evidence of something far more nefarious? More questions began flooding my brain - too many to ignore. No, this had to be investigated and there was only one man for the job. Rest assured, I will get to the bottom of it….right after I finish this 14 oz container of Haagen Dasz ice cream.

The Giggle Revolution

There seems to be an awful lot of laughing taking place nowadays…..you can't go two sentences without someone replying with an "lol" in a text message or iChat. Then there's always the "lmao" and the really intense "LMFAO". Every time I see that, I think to myself that I must be some comedian to have gotten that response out of Cindy - she's usually such a soul-less sub-human.

I'm still trying to figure out what is so funny about the statement, "well you never know, maybe you did better than you think" - am I missing something here? Or how about this exchange: "Hey, I hear it might rain on Saturday…guess we'll have to reschedule" / "I know, that sucks….oh well, lol". Are you nervous or something? What the fuck are you laughing at?

Have you ever told someone you thought their tire might be flat, and they responded with "lol…are you serious"? And you're sitting there asking yourself, is this asshole being condescending with me….what, I don't know enough about automobiles to discern a flat? And so you reply with, "no, I was just messing with you…it's all good….lol…let me know how the skiing trip goes…see you when you get back".

Not to mention that "lol" is blatantly self-evident….you mean you're laughing out loud? Like, generating actual sound waves with your laughter? Holy shit Bob, that's some pretty serious laughter right there, maybe you should take it easy…you don't want your diabetes acting up. Is there an inward non-sound-wave-generating laughing technique that I simply have yet to be initiated in?

And while we're on the subject, why is it always laughter? What about a giggle? It only seems to be either full on laughter, or complete seriousness, apparently. Are people so bipolar that they never just giggle anymore? Well I giggle….and frankly it takes a lot for me to break out into laughter. Unless your parrot escaped from it's cage and took a shit on your iPod, a giggle is probably the best you can hope for from me.

But of course, how does one convey a giggle? Perhaps I should come up with a hip way to communicate this - "gol" is pretty lame (and equally self-evident) and "gig" is just a little too creepy for my taste. On second thought, why should a word or phrase require a cool concise abbreviation? Are we really this lazy that we can't afford the time it takes to write "talk to you later"? Oh but I know, you're so busy - there's just not enough time to write out everything and still get done all the things that require your attention on this complicated day. Well guess what, you're not that fucking busy and you're not that important either.

Let it be known that I will not uphold the impatience or the spelling of a 2nd grade student….if I'm giggling, I'm going to write "giggling", and if it's an intense giggle, expect to see "uncontrollable giggling taking place right now" - and if you're really lucky, maybe even "giggling my motherfucking ass off and still giggling…..lol"