Cats Working May be Haunted

July 30, 2021

By Karen

Yesterday was a big day here, but as in any suspense tale, I’m going to work backward to describe it.

Last night, after an afternoon under the bed (why in a minute), Tony must have been feeling his 31 days of fame waning as Mr. July on the Richmond Animal League’s calendar.

After dinner, he threw himself down on the living room floor to contemplate his next career move and wonder if he had peaked too soon…

“Could I really be a has-been at 2 years old?”

But with Tony’s looks, brains and charisma, he has nothing to worry about. I’m sure we’ll figure something out.

In the afternoon, a crew I’ve been waiting nearly two months for finally showed up to take down the dead tree in the front yard.

In the spring, I worried when that tree was a few weeks late putting out leaves, and its trunk looked paler than the others. Then when all the new leaves immediately began to die, I had to pull the plug on it or risk it taking out my office and the kitchen in a storm.

I never watch when I lose a tree, but I think it came down in sections because there was never a big crash. A lot of moss in the yard was torn up where I guess the pieces fell.

Nevertheless, it was a noisy business. Roc sat calmly in the living room with me through it all. Max stayed in the Man Cave and Tony went under the bed.

Grinding the stump turned out to be the worst of it. This is now our view from the big kitchen window. The red circle is where the tree was…

Now all is sawdust where once there was moss.

My yard guy isn’t returning my calls about cleaning up. Here’s the mess from the walk, facing the house. This isn’t a situation that’s just going to heal itself over time…

The rocks strewn about were the border of a patch of daffodils and azaleas, now a wasteland.

But the day began in my bedroom with something I wouldn’t have believed if I hadn’t seen it myself. This bookcase is one of six around the house and stands opposite my bed. It holds mostly New Age books from my 30s, as well as other prized volumes, like the copy of Little Women I got at Orchard House, Louisa May Alcott’s home in Concord, Massachusetts, where she wrote it…

The corner shelf holds some of my vast cats collection.

Notice the arrow pointing to a book I pulled out on the bottom shelf, just to show you where it came from. It was actually on the shelf in line with the rest. Since Roc refused to participate in a reenactment, the black stuffy cat on the floor is his stand-in, and a waterbowl is to its left.

Anyway, I was making the bed and Roc was getting a drink. He turned to walk past the bookcase when that book suddenly flew out and fell on the floor in front of him. Roc jumped back, but then calmly went around it and hunkered down in the opposite corner to watch ME.

Did he know or see who did that?

It was just like the poltergeist activity you see on Paranormal: Caught on Camera.

The cats never bother that bookcase, and I haven’t touched it myself in months. This is the book that flew out…

Why this book? Does the title have any significance?

It happens to be the last book I shelved there, unfinished because I didn’t like it. I felt a little tingly as I put it back.

There’s no way that book moved on its own. No book has EVER fallen off that shelf before. So, what was it? It couldn’t have been the spirit of the tree, because this happened hours before either of us knew it was going down that day.

BONUS: Cats Working reader Glamour Milk uncovered this (possibly) maiden interview with Anthony Bourdain in 1995. He was just 39, pre-thumb ring, pre-Les Halles, beginning his writing career as a novelist with Bone in the Throat)…

On “Connie Martinson Talks Books,” August 1995

He wrote a second novel, Gone Bamboo, before he hit it big with Kitchen Confidential. You have to download the interview here…

https://ccdl.claremont.edu/digital/collection/cmt/search/searchterm/Bourdain%2C%20Anthony/field/creato/mode/exact/conn/and

But it’s well worth it, especially in hindsight, for what he says about loyalty and betrayal.

Many thanks to Glamour Milk for her online sleuthing. Morgan Neville might have been interested in this for Roadrunner, had he uncovered it.

The same link includes another 2002 interview about A Cook’s Tour. Notice Tony’s marked increase in confidence, sophistication and gray hair. Also, the thumb ring.


Twitter and @CatsWorking Part Ways Forever

March 8, 2021

By Karen

BUT FIRST, BREAKING NEWS: In what can only be described as a miracle, I just returned from receiving the one-dose Johnson & Johnson COVID-19 vaccine! The county sent an email late Saturday night with appointments today at the county fairgrounds, so I pounced. Four days shy of my one-year lockdown anniversary, I can barely wrap my head around knowing that normal life may finally be on the horizon.

Now, Twitter. It took exactly 10 weeks to confirm my status because Twitter euphemistically calls all disciplinary action “suspension,” including permanent banishment. I was indeterminately suspended on Christmas Eve and immediately filed an appeal. Hearing nothing back, a few weeks ago I requested clarification on the duration of my suspension.

By the way, all contacts with Twitter “support” get canned bot responses, so I don’t know if there’s any human intelligence involved, or if they just spit stuff out based on algorithms.

I’d had a Twitter account since 2010, but the three strikes leading to my termination all occurred during Trump. First, I was shut down for 12 hours for insulting Sandra Huckabee Sanders. Then I got seven days for calling Ivanka the C-word. At Twitter’s command, I deleted those tweets but have no regrets about what they said.

On Christmas Eve 2020, the hashtag #ImpotentTrump was trending (meaning thousands of tweets included it), so I joined in. Here’s the tweet that pushed Twitter to the breaking point. It was viewed 138 times…

And here’s their rationale…

Compare their list of protected categories to my tweet and you’ll see that none apply, unless they’re defending Trump’s potency. I was criticizing his POLITICS and utter failure as a president, as well as his family’s corruption. Perhaps instead of “tar & feathers,” I should have wished them coal in their stockings, or bags of dog shit on their doorsteps.

The lesson here is that it’s incredibly easy to have your message misconstrued.

Twitter revoked my ability to delete the tweet or deactivate the account, which still sits there in some weird Twitter cyberpurgatory with 8,000+ tweets.

I respect Twitter’s right as a publisher to reject my work. But, since they have rejected it, I don’t believe they have any right to hold it hostage, and have asked them to delete @CatsWorking altogether.

Twitter began to self-destruct when they refused for four years to rein in Trump for thousands of insulting, cyberbullying, lying tweets FAR worse than anything I ever tweeted. Now they’ve swung the pendulum hard in the opposite direction and seem to be banishing people willy-nilly.

In January, Twitter closed 70,000 accounts of QAnon followers, as well as Trump’s, and faced accusations of stifling conservative voices.

I feel like the baby thrown out with the bathwater, but c’est la vie. Cats Working, the blog, lives on.


Chapter 103: COVID Chronicles

July 9, 2020

By Karen

Day 120

Waxing Poetic & Pissed at SCOTUS

Once upon a time, I was an English major. But one of my least favorite things about it was analyzing poetry. I remember slamming into the wall on this little gem by e e cummings in both high school and college. Perhaps you’ve seen it…

The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

PoetryFoundation.com describes the high school experience perfectly. I’d want to strangle every teacher who taught this one and asked, “But WHAT depends so much on the red wheelbarrow?”

NOTHING! Can’t you recognize gibberish, you fool? The guy doesn’t even know how to capitalize or punctuate!

Now another pesky poem from my past that used to make my eyes roll back in my head, by William Butler Yeats, keeps popping up in the media.  You’ll understand why if you read it with Trump in mind. It makes terrifying sense…

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Our “Second Coming” would be a Trump second term, should he last that long. But the “rough beast” actually arrived in 2017 and has been tearing the center to ribbons, aided by “the worst, full of passionate intensity.”

Today the Supreme Court finally ruled that Trump isn’t above the law in New York, and a grand jury can have his financial records. But then SCOTUS had to kick Congress in the balls by sending their similar request back to the lower courts, in a prime example of what happens when “the (supposed) best lack all conviction.”

In bringing about a quicker end to the vile scourge of Trump, Congress has failed us and now the Supreme Court has failed us. Meanwhile, Trump exploits a lethal virus — and the gullible nitwits willing to spread it for him — to kill off as many of us as he can.

Our only hope left until November, when we can slay this beast ourselves at the polls, is for COVID-19 — aided by Trump’s own myriad health issues — to find him and slay him first.


Chapter 98: COVID Chronicles

July 4, 2020

By Karen

Day 115

Independence Day’s a Dud & Amazon Solves 28-Year-Old Norwegian Puzzle

I didn’t go to my parents’ cookout. I don’t know if they still had one, or if I ruined it. My sister was invited, so my guess is they did get together for lunch. Probably a quick one — on holidays Sis and her boyfriend usually have other obligations — so they weren’t together for too long. That will be their justification that it was all fine and I’m a bitch.

Meanwhile, on American Independence Day, I’m all Norwegian, or norsk, as they say. I’ve stuck with Duolingo. Initially, I was whipping through lessons so fast that I temporarily achieved Duolingo’s highest status, Diamond League.

But I had covered too much and I stopped retaining most of it, so I went back to Lesson 1. That’s when I discovered each lesson has four levels with lots of repetition and drilling, which was exactly what I needed. I also found grammar explanations and vocabulary lists. So, now I’m building a better foundation. However, Duolingo still makes you question your comprehension with nonsense like…

Nei, gitaren min gråter ikke.
(No, my guitar is not weeping.)

And…

Den fulle fyren kastet en hamburger på meg!
(That drunk guy threw a hamburger at me!)

And…

Katten er tre bananer lang.
(The cat is three bananas long.)

Who measures cats in bananas?

Speaking of cats, to help me remember min norsk, we’ve named that bird Roc carries around Fuglen (loosely pronounced Foolin’). It means “the bird.”

Speaking of Fuglen, he may be plotting something. This morning I found this shady gathering (mouse, Fuglen, Rowdy Rat, and Tony’s balding blue sparkle ball, which had migrated from the bedroom) on the kitchen rug…

But back to norsk. When I took up Norwegian in 1992 while dating a Norwegian, I asked him to bring me a book from home by any American author so I might buy the English edition and have the translation while I practiced reading.

He brought me Garrison Keillor’s En Rolig Uke I Lake Wobegon (A Quiet Week in Lake Wobegon), originally published in 1987, with Norwegian translation in 1988.

Here’s where it gets weird. Remember, 1992 was pre-Amazon, or really pre-online shopping anywhere. I never found that book in any store, even by comparing the first page of text, whose gist I got, with every Keillor book I came across. Since the Norwegian edition was too advanced for me, it has sat on my shelf all these years.

The other day, I pulled it out and was gobsmacked to find that I had somehow missed clearly written at the top of the copyright page: Originalens tittel: Leaving Home.

Amazon had THAT book…

Keillor wrote a much shorter foreword for the norsk edition, and some of the stories have titles as stretched as the book’s itself, but it does look like a valid translation.

So my next project is to read a whole Norwegian book. Didn’t former presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg once say that’s why he learned Norwegian?

They say when you really absorb a language you stop translating it in your head. I hope that’s where I am by the time I get to Slutten (The End).


It Took 10 Years, But Finally…

January 10, 2012

By Karen

…My “day job” has a website. If you’ve ever wondered what I really do for a living (or you just can’t get enough of my brilliant writing — I can dream, right?), now there’s karenwormald dot com (or click here).

Contrary to popular notions about the infinite power of the ‘Net, I’ve managed to make a good living as a freelance writer since 2002 — and help businesses improve their websites — without having a Web presence myself. But I’ll concede that it would have been a bit easier with one.

My new site is really a WordPress blog because I wanted to stick with the platform I sorta know and not have to funnel updates through a busy Web designer. And I can post rants about writing there whenever the spirit moves me.

I’m letting you know about this to explain the scarcity of posts here lately and because I hope some of you out there may be able to help me drum up some new clients.

If you enjoy reading Cats Working and you know someone in corporate America who has any responsibility for bad newsletters, ads, or brochures, an error-riddled website, or cringe-worthy attempts at internal communications, please refer them to my site. I can help them clean up their act and get some respect.

Distance doesn’t matter. I’ve worked years with many clients I’ve never met face-to-face. That’s what email, phone, and the occasional fax are for.

My new site has a “Contact” form. Feel free to use it if you want to pass me a lead or ever want to get directly in touch with me for any reason. (I can’t find that feature in the Cats Working template or I’d have it here, too.)

Thanks!


Book Review: Blood, Bones & Butter

May 12, 2011

By Karen

I’ve been churning this because every time I look at it, it just revives my lingering annoyance.

People who make food the all-consuming (pun intended) theme of their lives, which Gabrielle Hamilton glorifies in her memoir, Blood, Bones & Blather Butter, bug the crap out of me.

I never would have read BB&B, except that when an exceptional writer like Anthony Bourdain claims it’s the book he wishes he’d written, attention must be paid.

It’s easy to see where Hamilton’s life resonated with Tony:

1. As a teen, she developed a tough façade and a drug habit, and overcame them.

2. She began her restaurant career as a grunt.

3. She married an Italian and grew enamored with Italian family life.

She managed to top Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential descriptions of restaurant kitchen hell only because he never worked nine months’ pregnant.

For me, that’s where similarities ended. Bourdain should be thankful that, like her, he’s not an emotional cripple.

Hamilton’s MFA in fiction certainly paid off — she knows her way around clever similes and metaphors. But since most rhapsodic descriptions of food look to me like…

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

… on the page, I was more interested in Gabrielle the person. I really wanted to like her.

The book is marketed as “memoir,” but she only sprinkles glimpses of her adult life as garnish. The sin of omission is so chronic that very little about her personality adds up — except her obsession with food.

She claims a woman she met at grad school was probably “the love of her life,” yet gives her no more than two pages of ink, and never bothers to humanize her with even a fake name.

Then she marries a man she’s been screwing but professes not to love so he can get a green card, but decrees they live separately — then has not one, but TWO children with him.

I wonder how many years her kids will spend in therapy, trying to figure out Mom’s relentless, white-hot hatred of Grandma, and why they had to commute to see Dad for years because Mom insisted they all pretend she was single?

On the other hand, she loved her husband’s family in Italy (when she wasn’t furious at them for making her feel enslaved by the care of her children or by cooking meals after she commandeered her mother-in-law’s kitchen).

In 7 years, she never learned enough Italian to communicate with her in-laws beyond food terms, and then kvetched about how alienated she always felt.

I don’t know how any reader could not have been left with a strong urge to slap the shit out of her and wish she would just GROW UP.

I thought Hamilton ended the book on the implication that divorce was probably coming (well-deserved and long overdue, IMO). But NPR interviewed her in March, and she talked as if she’s still married and things are fine.

Who knows? Even if she brings it up, unless the topic is food, don’t expect candor from Gabrielle Hamilton.

One more Bourdain connection: They’re both represented by the same literary agent.

Other reviews:

Josh Ozersky fawns in TIME.

Frank Bruni largely agrees with me in the NY Times on the autobiographical angle.


Second-Guessing Mark Twain

January 6, 2011

By Yul

Mark Twain’s masterpieces, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, are becoming politically correct, thanks to Montgomery, Alabama, publisher NewSouth Books, who is producing a new combined edition.

On the advice of some local hot-shot Twain scholar named Alan Gribben, they are replacing the 219 instances of the word nigger with slave.

And they think leading schoolkids to believe that Twain said being black = slavery is an improvement.

Just for good measure, they’re also replacing injun with indian, because NOBODY in the South speaks in a dialect that mangles spelling. (For the record, southern squirrels think they’re squirls).

Once again, form triumphs over substance. A word is granted unlimited power so people can fixate on the word itself (and show their sensitivity by calling it “the n-word”) instead of thinking about what it MEANS and cluing in their kids.

Instead of letting Twain deliver his timeless message about man’s inhumanity to man, they’d rather let American kids grow up naïve and ignorant of the past’s realities so they can commit future atrocities and think they invented them. And so our stupid future leaders can get their asses handed to them by other countries who valued honesty and knowledge and actually prepared their next generation to avoid blunders already committed and recorded.

When nobodies like NewSouth and Gribbens are allowed to second-guess one of America’s all-time most insightful writers, where does it stop?

I’ll tell you. It doesn’t stop.

Next, NewSouth may decide to revise Gone With the Wind so the Confederacy wins and southerners can finally feel good about themselves and get a life.

(The Richmond Times-Dispatch — Richmond was the capital of the Confederacy, don’t you forget it — made its first 2011 front-page headline about the Civil War. No lie. ‘Round these parts, there ain’t nothin’ goin’ on in the world bigger than a 145-year-old war.)

And if we continue our purge of all literature that might upset or agitate somebody, somewhere, we should probably “fix” other classics so they won’t offend, like F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Beautiful and Darned and Henry Miller’s Tropic of a Suspicious Lump.


Bourdain’s on the Road – Again

September 20, 2010

By Karen

We’re fresh out of new episodes of No Reservations, but this week Anthony Bourdain is making personal appearances in Houston (tonight), Toronto (9/22), Fredericksburg VA (9/23), and Springfield CT (9/24).

The Houston Chronicle got an advance interview. Among other things, here’s what Tony had to say about food writers…

“I can hardly imagine that this brave new world of bloggers can be worse than the agenda-driven, overprivileged, entitled class of dottering old farts who currently occupy the top tier of food journalism. It’s a pretty appalling bunch of bent, angry people who despise their subjects and hate their jobs and have been going through the motions for a long time.”

NowToronto published a 2-part interview with Bourdain, where he describes himself as an “’ex-cook who tells stories.’ Essayist maybe?” In Part 2, he says he doesn’t hate Paula Deen, and describes his upcoming graphic novel, Get Gyro (spelling? Ottavia spelled it Get Jiro on Twitter) as “Yojimbo meets Big Night and Babette’s Feast, an ultra-violent slaughter-fest over culinary arcana.”

Earlier, he told the Omaha World-Herald it’s “a gourmet slaughterfest, sort of like Fistful of Dollars meets Eat Drink Man Woman.”

Whichever it is, it sounds like an orgy of food, blood, and guts that may make his animated Alternate Universe seem tame.

When Bourdain was recently in London pushing Medium Raw, he told Metro that he doesn’t see food writing as part of his future path. He said he’s “kind of pushing himself” out of it because he’s becoming jaded, and has shelved plans to move to Vietnam because of No Res.

Hey, you read it here first. I’ve been saying that all along.

He also said something I take issue with. That is…

“I don’t think my writing has evolved. I mean I haven’t been working at it.”

By virtue of his output since Kitchen Confidential, he has unconsciously been honing how he expresses himself, even if he thinks he writes like he talks.

Tony, here’s the test: If you can read anything you wrote at least 6 months ago and find anything you’d like to revise, your writing is evolving.

On September 13, Bourdain appeared at the 92nd Street Y in NYC with David Chang and Eater.com provides a thorough account of what sounds like a strange and awkward night. Chang is weird. Tony mentioned that Cuba, Haiti, the Congo, and Kurdistan are on his short list for NR Season 7.

Bourdain did an interview with Submerge before his September 17 Sacramento appearance and said that daughter Ariane and Alice Waters are a lot alike because Ariane eats only organic food and likes Paris.

CTnow got a really good interview with Tony before his September 24 Springfield appearance where he mentions that Ariane behaves herself in restaurants.

For some reason, I want to give Ottavia most of the credit for making sure Ariane’s never a whiny, fidgety brat in public, like the ones we’ve all had the misfortune of sharing meals or airplanes with.

On a side note…

Chow.com selected the still-unidentified Ruth Bourdain as one of the Chow 13 in their 2nd annual recognition of the food world’s movers and shakers. They even got an e-mail interview with the elusive, yet always hilarious, tweeter.


Bones to Pick with Bourdain

August 9, 2010

By Karen

In another new episode of No Reservations, Anthony Bourdain shows us around Dubai for almost 5 minutes before plunging his fingers into mush that looks like vomit. Except for one scene in a deserted Gordon Ramsay restaurant where he wields a knife and fork, it’s finger food everywhere else, even if it has the consistency of sour cream.

My highlight is Bourdain on skis on a snowy slope manufactured from desalinated water in the Mall of the Emirates. His well-honed sense of the absurd also gets a good workout.

But I still can’t wait for him to get to Rome and Paris, where people don’t eat every meal like toddlers.

Must confess I finally abandoned The Best American Travel Writing of 2008, which Tony edited, due to its everywhere-but-Europe emphasis. I understood why he was drawn to the essays he picked, but enough’s enough.

I call “Bullshit!” on “Where it All Began” when Bourdain asserted he hardly considers writing a “craft” and has learned nothing about it because he just writes the way he talks.

Yeah, and all his first drafts are publishable.

Tony originally aspired to be a novelist with Bone in the Throat and Gone Bamboo. He had to know something about plotting, pacing, character development, dialogue, description, point of view. There’s much more to crime fiction than “writing the way you talk.”

Granted, he finally hit one out of the park with Kitchen Confidential, which he just called his first “real” book on his blog. Of the 7 books he’s produced since, 6 have been nonfiction (The Bobby Gold Stories is the exception).

But his next book will probably be a novel, since he’s got personal appearances here through at least February 2011 and the Vietnam book still seems iffy.

And now for my coup de grâce…

The other night I caught about 20 minutes of Samantha Brown in — guess where? — Vietnam. I hadn’t seen her in while, and she seems to be over her “Golly, gee, I’m just a dumb American, but ain’t everything lovely!” phase. She met people and tried things most tourists would probably never do. She ate bun cha, but didn’t dwell on it. Vietnam through her eyes seemed more appealing than Tony makes it.

There, I said it.

Tony and family have been enjoying some much-needed R&R in Italy, but there’s a little news…

Jonathan Sorof at The Improper Bostonian did an interview some time in June with Tony where I learned that Brussels sprouts are part of his Thanksgiving dinners. Yeecchhh!

Here’s the article and photos of the Bourdains in the July 5 People, in case you missed it.

Eater.com collected Bourdain’s best one-liners from “Where it All Began.”

Blogger Scott D. Parker did write a review of the Medium Raw audio book, which he devoured. Scott, just for the record, No Reservations’ 100th episode isn’t until September 6, and it will be in Paris, returning where Tony filmed the first episode. Travel Channel is advertising for tributes.

Village Voice reports that a panel of editors will select the finalists from which Bourdain will choose a winner in the Medium Raw essay contest, which is now up to 1,300 entries. He was checking the site and commented on a few in the beginning, but the chances of him reading your essay now seem pretty slim.

The New York Post, still referring to Les Halles as “Bourdain’s flagship brasserie,” reported that the restaurant received a B grade on a recent Health Department inspection for “evidence of mice, problems with plumbing and food left out unprotected from contamination.”


Update on Bourdain’s Next Book

February 6, 2009

By Karen

Unfortunately, I don’t have one. Anthony Bourdain has committed to 3 new books with The Ecco Press, an imprint of HarperCollins, but none seem to be in the pipeline for the near future.

You can read descriptions of the upcoming books here.

I browsed through all the HC titles being published through May 5 and Bourdain’s nowhere on the list, although he’s hanging with an eclectic group of writers these days, including Miguel de Cervantes, Mark Twain, and C.S. Lewis. Among the living authors, a few weirdo titles caught my eye that you might want to check out in the meantime, like…

I’m Hosting as Fast as I Can! Zen and the Art of Staying Sane in Hollywood by Tom Bergeron, host of Dancing with the Stars, due out April 7.

In Praise of the Stay-at-Home Mom by Dr. Laura Schlessinger — if you have the stomach for her — also due April 7.

Me Cheeta by Cheeta, — yes, that Cheeta, who’s 76 years old — March 3.

And if you want to be first to know when Tony’s next book is ready to go, you can sign up here.


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