Archive for June, 2012

Brilliant Ideas or Follow the Bouncing Brain

June 11, 2012

I’m sitting out on the patio, drinking coffee on a weekend morning. Mr. Mittens is on the wicker table beside me… he is so big that parts of him spill off the edges. Mr. GG is busy flintknapping, i.e., making giant bifaces and piles of obsidian flakes that seem to migrate across the cement, no matter how careful he is.

Mr. Mittens practices good hygiene. By that I mean he pees outdoors and grooms himself. Our remaining cat, Furrbutt, is senile and has really let herself go. Last time I consulted the vet about her overactive bladder and dull fur, he told me healthy cats groom themselves 5 hours a day. Furrbutt is nowhere near her quota of personal care. As I watch Mr. M. lick his paws, I imagine dampening a terry washcloth with warm water to simulate the cat tongue effect on Furrbutt. Maybe I could cut out and sew finger shape caps, like those rubber things you use to turn pages. Or maybe I could make specialized gloves with terry cloth tips. And groom my elderly cat. But what if warm water isn’t good enough? I know they make synthetic spit for people with dry mouth. Would I need to have synthetic cat spit? And if so, would it come in flavors like tuna breath, or mouse burps, or ass? Cause every cat I know licks its’ butt. At this point, I give up on this topic, and go back to drinking my coffee and listening to the nerve wracking sound of Mr. GG shattering more volcanic glass.

The last time I had a spate of brilliant ideas, we were driving across the windswept interstate 80 in Wyoming. It was awful and there were no frisky antelopes out and about. There were only crazy drivers. Which made me think of having a paintball turret-mount machine gun on the passenger side of the car hood, so I could shoot jerks who ought not be allowed to drive. Splat them with a scarlet letter of DUIS – Driving under the Influence of Stupidity. When I calmed down, I saw some cattle shivering there on the range, and I came up with the idea of Teacup Cows. Ya know, like teacup poodles?

 
You could genetically engineer mini cows and carry them around as pets, and then you could always have fresh dairy to squirt into your coffee at Starbucks, and you could market the tiny cowpies as fertilizer for African Violets and exotic orchids. There would be a huge market for Cow Carriers, and people like Paris Hilton would have Swarovski studded Marc Jacobs Cowbags, and Kohls and Target could knock them off and make a fortune.

Mr. GG didn’t think much of either of these ideas, and somehow I got to talking about diamond mines in Canada, and “Ice Road Truckers”, and smuggling “Ice Diamonds” (I have to say, sometimes I really crack myself up). Diamonds are so small you could smuggle them on the backs of chipmunks, if you could train chipmunks to do it. Imagine itty bitty chipmunk pack trains, scrabbling across secret trails in the wilderness between the US and Canada. Just think of how adorable chipmunk pack saddles would be.

Mr. GG doesn’t seem to get into the hypothetical the way I do, and he finally got a radio station, and while he was listening to high wind warnings, I started wondering how Michael Jackson’s kids are doing. Especially Blanket. I think Blanket was the one that got dangled over the hotel balcony. I wonder if they still call Blanket, “Blanket”. Then I consider how we could call the Baby “Basket”. As in “all my eggs in one basket”.

I’m bored, so I text this idea to her, to see what she thinks. Doesn’t take her long to reply. She says that if I call her Basket, she’ll start calling me “Farmom”. As in, “this time you’ve really gone too Far, Mom!”.

Anyway, Mr. GG often says my train of thought gets derailed, or comments, “You have quite the imagination”. And he never says this in an appropriate tone of awe – it’s more like he’s perplexed. That’s okay. I need to keep him on his toes. Who wants a complacent family?