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We’ve been travelling a lot during the past month…as you may have noticed by my spotty entries…and not so spot-on blogs.

I don’t like to say exactly when we’re away, because that would be giving a green light to the crooks to “Come on Down. The Price is Right.” Besides, I like our spiffy Hi-def fancy pants TV, so I like to keep that information on the down low.

I’m not a fan of flying, but I’m also not a fan of the alternative…not flying. So I just do it. Anyway, during our latest travel, I’ve started to feel like the airlines are picking on me…profiling me…as the next Kat Bomber. What is it about my profile?

On one trip they pulled me out of line and asked to inspect my hands. I promised them I had washed after using the restroom. But they still insisted. So I put them out, palms facing up, as they requested. They dusted them with a brush containing a powder and did some test. I suppose they were looking for bomb residue. I proved to be innocent…although apparently my profile is questionable.

The last trip we took…security became very interested in my clogs. After my shoes had already been through the x-ray machine, they asked for them for further inspection. They probably took them aside because the clog had a wedge (not to be confused with chicken and a wedge) and thought they contained explosives. I gotta get a better looking profile.

As for PaulA’s profile…PaulA had his usually identity crisis. When he checked his bag, the attendant with the bag ticket called out “Paula.” (In case you care to know…that’s how Paul got his blog nickname. The airlines print his middle initial next to his name – PaulA…and it just cracks me up.) The airline attendant told PaulA he was in good company. The day before, they had a RobertA check his bag.

So if you are a crook out there…thinking about casing our joint…PaulA and the Kat Bomber may, or may not have left the house, but we aren’t telling you when, or where, or anything about the spanking, cool TV in our family room.

Super Bowl Saturday

Did you watch the Super Bowl last Sunday? I’m guessing you did. 106 million people did, so the odds are in my favor. It was the most watched TV program ever…overtaking the M*A*S*H finale. I’m sure even Alan Alda tuned in.

Super Bowl XLIV (44, for you non-Romans) was good this year…not a super bore, or a super snore, which is sometimes the case. It was actually better than the commercials, and could have gone either way…until Manning threw the interception in the 4th quarter. Then you knew the Colts had no kick left in them.

And I really didn’t care who won, because our team, The Poopy Patriots, lead by Thomas Brady…didn’t make the big game this year. So I was a territory that could be claimed. I was up for grabs by either side. (I’m being formal with Thomas Brady…because I didn’t even recognize him this year. Who dat?)

Because I had no allegiances…I could either be Team Colts…because I like Peyton Manning and his commercials with his Bro. Or I could be Team Saints, because they hadn’t won before, it would be something positive for the city of New Orleans, and Drew Brees makes me think of a cool tropical day. Yes, I’ll have another Drew Brees, please.

The half time show was entertaining, in an old fart kind of way. A throw back to the rock of ages…back when rockers were rollers and half in the bag. I’m not sure why they don’t have young bands play during the half. I would be down with a younger band…but just don’t sick the Jonas Brothers on us…bow wow.

And if they wanted to go old school at half time…they should bring back college marching bands…and make that Tuba player work for his free 4 year scholarship…instead of sitting on his fat tuba.

My biggest beef (not corn beef, hate that) with the Super Bowl is that it is played on Sunday. I know traditionally games are played on Sunday, but they do have Monday Night Football (I’ve seen Faith Hill, strutting her vixen self) and also Thursday night football..so don’t say it ain’t possible. Maybe a Super Bowl Saturday?

The Super Bowl game starts late for us East-coasters. Doesn’t anyone ever think about us …and our schedules? Sunday evening, an evening when you feel like you should be making school lunches and drying out…and NOT eating nachos, wings, and guzzling beer. Maybe the Super Bowl would have more audience…if the organizers listened to my helpful suggestions.

But then again, I’ve proved myself wrong…especially with the record number of people watching last Sunday. And also by the way Colinboy and his friend’s apartment looked on Monday morning…the morning after. I don’t think the day, or time the Super Bowl was played…was ever a consideration.

PS. Never allow your parents to enter your unattended apartment, unsupervised...the morning after a Super Bowl party.

Walking Stick Man

If you had 104.3 million dollars…What would you do with it? Would you do something altruistic? Ahh…that’s so nice of you. I would choose another -istic. Materialistic. I’d start by purchasing homes around the world, one on every continent…throw in a Lear jet ...a few baubles and bangles…and then toss a couple of bucks to the kid carrying the UNICEF box.

With 104.3 million dollars…the possibilities are endless.

BUT, there is ONE thing I would NOT do with it. Buy a 9 foot bronze statue of a stick man. That’s just crazy…although, for some reason, it was a sane decision to some anonymous buyer.

Last week the statue entitled “Walking Man,” sculpted by Giacometti, sold at Sotheby’s for 104.3 million dollars…an auction record. I saw the photo of the pricey stick man on the cover of the Wall Street Journal and had to wonder about the buyer’s taste. Maybe the statue is more impressive in person. I hope for the owner’s sake it is. To me, it looks like he got ripped off and deserves a refund.

I do appreciate art, so I do realize it can be costly. I might understand the price, if the art was a Renoir, or a Picasso…at least I’ve heard of those artists. Or even a Van Gogh. He had a cool story with a lot of drama around cutting off his own ear. Ouch.

But Swiss sculptor, Giacometti? What’s his story? His story probably has something to do with Swiss chocolate…or a Swiss watch. Maybe he cut off his wrist watch…with a knife. Sliced right through the leather band. Ooooo.

I can’t imagine his friends are gonna be that impressed by his purchase. The sculpture isn’t even that old. It was sculpted only 50 years ago. Heck, I have friends who would be considered much more of a relic than the “Walking Man.”

Let’s face it…the sculpture looks like lawn art. Like pink flamingo art…only larger than life. Too bad the flamingo artist didn’t gain that kind of respect. He should have made one giant pink flamingo…and not thousands of them. Apparently he didn’t know the value of supply and demand.

I have no artistic ability at all, but coincidentally, my forte happens to be a stick man. I had a lot of practice doodling them during college lectures. And to think my drawings could have been the start of something big.

I also have enormous talent for drawing a Hangman stick man. A stick man with a noose around his neck is way more creative than a “Walking Man”…and waaaaaay more dramatic. I’m just saying.

Kick Out of Vending Machines

I’ve always liked vending machines...and especially gotten a kick out of old school vending machines.

With so many enticing choices displayed in the glass case…a decision was never easy. Sliding coins in the slot ….a quarter…a dime…a nickel..and listening to them as they dropped, one by one. Pulling the knob out as far as it would go…and letting it spring back. Watching the goody fall to the tray…and reaching in to grab it. (Sometimes getting an arm stuck there.) And kicking it. Even if everything worked properly, the vending machine always deserved a swift kick. ..for good measure. Everybody knows that. The process was almost as good as the snack.

I remember taking family road trips as a kid, and stopping into a Full-Service Rest Area. Begging my parents for coins…so I could get a box of candy cigarettes from the vending machine. I loved to smoke those bad boys with the red tips . Sometimes I would smoke 3 at a time…one at each corner of my mouth and one dead center. Smoked like a fiend, back when I was 10.

Today’s vending machines are so much more advanced. As items got more expensive…they were designed to accept dollar bills…occasionally spitting out a George Washington, when it didn’t sit right with the machine’s taste.

Heck, now you don’t even need cashola on you. Just a credit card will do…should you want to purchase item E55. Occasionally I would push the wrong number, missing it by one, and end up with E56…the Nutter Butter peanut-shaped cookie. Ugh. Not a fan of those.

Not only can you get a bag of chips, cookies, candy, or drink…you can get stamps, DVD rentals, and even iPods. I will never bring myself to purchase an iPod from a vending machine. I think if the item is over a couple of bucks….I should probably find my way into an Apple Store and have a juicy discussion with an Apple employee.

I did a double take the other day, when Colinboy and I walked by a vending machine on a college campus. The vending machine actually made Hot Pizza. Good idea…college kids are always hungry…especially in the middle of the night. I just can’t imagine what it tastes like. I did notice there was one thing missing. An antacid vending machine next to it. Plop, plop, fizz, fizz.

I might go back and give that Pizza vending machine a try. I haven’t kicked a vending machine in a long time. I miss it...and need to get my kicks out.

For Posterior-ity

I enjoy movies with separate and distinct storylines. Stories that eventually intersect…or in some cases, collide. Maybe I could write a screenplay about characters whose life paths end up crossing each other. Think Academy Award winning movie… “Crash”……

Cut to:
Kat the blogger…at home in her blog chair.
The camera pans far and wide, capturing Kat’s large ass in her blog chair. She’s at home blogging her simple life away. A tornado spins up out of the plains…think Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz.”‘ Kat runs for cover in her newly installed bomb shelter in her basement. The tornado picks up her house…swirling it around…carrying the house and contents. Her computer and blog chair is seen flying through the air….as Kat watches her blog life past before her.

Cut to:
20 Years Later in a Peruvian Rainforest.
An archeologist is searching for ancient artifacts deep in the jungle. After weeks of excavation, he discovers a segment of petrified wood…brushes the dirt off…revealing an impression. He’s perplexed by the shape of the impression and the faint symbols, or possible letters, imprinted in the wood. His discovery is not indigenous to the area. He questions how the material ended up in this “neck of the woods.” He contemplates who would know the answer…perhaps, an expert at the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History, or Al Roker? The archeologist brings the wood back to the states to…Washington DC.

Cut to:
Kat’s new residence
Kat’s house was rebuilt after the tornado. She’s still at the business of blogging…different chair…same wide camera angle. Kat decides to take a trip to Washington DC to represent Hack Bloggers of America . As President of the organization, she's there to voice concerns regarding how hack bloggers get NO respect…think Mr. Smith goes to Washington. While in Washington, Kat takes in some historical sights and visits the Museum of Natural History…

Cut :
Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History
A precocious kid from Idaho, on a field trip with his middle school, is walking through the Rainforest Wood exhibit. He is intrigued by a large impression in a piece of wood not indigenous to the rainforest neck of the woods. He tries to decipher the symbols or letters found in the impression of the wood...“I” … “K” ...“E”.

Kat is standing at a nearby exhibit, counting the rings on a cross section of a tree, when she hears the youngster’s loud sounds of astonishment, as he views the petrified wood. Kat pushes through the crowd to take a closer look. Could it be…could it be Kat’s long lost IKEA blog chair from years gone by?

Cut to:
Local museum in Kat’s hometown.
Kat brings home the remains of her old IKEA blog chair. Her posterior…for posterity sake.

Anyone interested in the movie rights? Come on. You know it has “Academy Award Winning”… written all over it.

Six More Weeks

It’s groundhogs day all over again….
And Phil saw his shadow….like last year. And the year before that. I’m wondering …When did Phil ever NOT see his shadow? I wanna change Punxsutawney Phil’s name to Pete…or RePete.

I’m sure the poor rodent is pissed off, after being pulled from his burrow this morning. I thought he was supposed to emerge from hibernation on his own. I know I hate it when I’ve been awaken in the early morning to see my shadow…especially before my coffee.

According to legend, if the groundhog sees his shadow (a sunny morning), there will be six more weeks of winter. But isn’t the sun shining, an indication that the weather is getting warmer? And if the sun isn’t shining …isn’t that a sign that the weather will remain cold and snowy? What the hell? My mind goes round and round in circles over the complexity of this issue.

So for good reason…I never could get Phil and his shadow figured out. I guess it doesn’t matter….it is always 6 more weeks of winter. Isn’t that why they call it Ground Hog’s Day?

Besides…How reliable is a badger anyway? And why the town of Punxsutawney? I have heard that there are other groundhog posers out there trying to beat out Phil for his job. Yep. I hear there’s one in Staten Island. Staten Island Stan. Watch your spiny back, Phil. There is no such thing as job security…especially these days.

Personally, I have more faith in Cupid…flying around shooting arrows at people on Valentine’s Day. I was stung by Cupid’s arrow when I met PaulA….so I know there’s some truth to a pudgy baby with wings...and good aim.

The Catcher in the Rye

American author, J. D. Salinger, recently died…but the voice he gave Holden Caufield will continue to resonate…in our psyche. Salinger’s book, The Catcher in the Rye, with its themes of alienation, the phoniness of adults, the innocence of youth, and the painfulness of growing up….struck a chord with every teenager who read it.

J.D. Salinger, died at the age of 91, a recluse in Cornish, New Hampshire. I’ve actually been to Cornish…not to stalk Salinger, or to look for a Cornish hen, but to visit my sister, Jayniebug, who lived in the area for 20 years. The people of Cornish always gave Salinger his space, and even helped him live his life of self-imposed isolation…by keeping outsiders away.

I remember reading The Catcher in the Rye when I was 16. The Catcher in the Rye was the first REQUIRED reading in high school…I actually enjoyed. A novel idea. I looked at my English teacher in a new light. “Mr. Johnson…you, dirty dog, you.…assigning a book containing countless swears and provocative situations.” It was the first time I had seen the F-word in print (bathroom stalls don’t count), and the word “goddam” was written so often, I tried to count the number. But quit after 100.

Teenagers through the years, who have read The Catcher in the Rye, easily identify with Holden’s angst. Feeling like not belonging. Feeling awkward and alienated. Seeing the adult work as phony, superficial, and hypocritical. Wanting to show individuality through self-expression.

Holden expressed his individuality, his desire to be different, by wearing a red hunting hat. It could be considered the equivalent of a teenager today…covered in tats. Although, I would venture to say, the red hunting hat is much easier to remove than a sleeve of tattoos.

A few years ago, another author tried to publish a book describing Holden Caufield’s life…60 years later…but Salinger’s lawyers sued to block its publication. I would never buy the book. I prefer to leave Holden at age16…the way we care to remember him...angst and all.

Besides, most people by the time they get to my age know what happens to Holden Caufield after 60 years.

Holden would have been forced to grow up and enter the world of phony adults…forced to conform and wear his red hat…only for hunting…forced to join society and become a card carrying productive member…get a job, pay bills, educate his kids…yada, yada, yada. And Holden would have answered his own burning question, the question he repeatedly asked adults: "Where do the ducks in Central Park go when the lagoon freezes?"

Holden would have learned…as we all learn when we grow up…that ducks fly south…to Florida. He would have been to Florida in the winter and seen the increase in bird population…ducks, geese, and snowbirds. Especially the snowbirds. Holden would have seen snowbirds for miles and miles…..

Thank you J.D. Salinger for Holden Caufield, the Catcher in the Rye…the Holder of our Youth.