Everyone Naps

Heyyyyyyyy Boy Cats

Warming up the DVR

Emma doesn't care what you think of her sitting habits. Stop looking at her.

Only cartoon cats sit like this

The latest chapter in the saga of Things Emma Sat On: her butt.

I feel I must note that the extended absence of this feature does not stem from the fact that Emma has been behaving normally. It's more that she's conditioned us to think that regular cats like to sit on DVD players and other household appliances. (Emma on a DVD player...coming soon.)

Definitely a Mac person

I was sort of avoiding posting this, because I think Emma would be embarrassed if she knew. But it's either this, or my wedding to-do list, so I think we can agree this is the better choice.

Animal House

Rob took care of our neighbor Eric's dog, Josh, this weekend and when I got home from Chicago, it was like Josh had always lived with us.



Smokey, slightly thrown off by this intrusion, felt the need to exert his authority over the apartment by ferociously helping himself to Rob's piece of pizza.



Also, though my efforts to get her into a baking dish went completely ignored, Emma did sit on a tote bag.

Later, the box caved in

I don't even really know what this is that Emma is sitting on. I think it might be bike-oriented.

Emma asks for guitar lessons

She's always been musical, whereas Smokey is more of an athlete.

New Blog on the Block

You're all very, very lucky. Ellie has entered the blogosphere with Living Off Piste. Check it out. Her first post is totally a true story. I remember that guy.

In other news, Emma is never happier than when one of us returns home from a business trip and leaves a suitcase out.

Paulie comes to New York. Hilarity ensues.

My brother Paul came to visit this weekend. He had never been to New York, and every time we told someone that, they got a doe-eyed blissful look on their face like we had just told them he was about to lose his virginity to a solid gold princess. We ran into one of my neighbors on the elevator and he was simply thrilled to hear that Paul would be experiencing New York through fresh eyes. Like several other people we spoke to, he clapped his hands and proclaimed avuncularly "I am so excited for you. This is wonderful."

And it was. We saw The National, Modest Mouse, and REM at Madison Square Garden and John Scofield at The Blue Note; jogged along the Hudson River; walked through Central Park; went to the Neue Gallery of German and Austrian Art; ate and drank copiously; and viewed the city from my rooftop. Then I begged him to move here and hang out with me all the time. And this was beautifully balanced by a number of phone calls from our mother, who asked if I would please make sure Paul got on the plane on Sunday to return to Oak Park. In my dad's words "We need him here, too." I think their anxiety stems from the fact that they now have children in New York, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas. Paul sometimes threatens to move to Colorado and my mom breaks into hives.

Everyone loves Paul. He is the youngest in our family and when he was a baby, the rest of us siblings fought over who got to sit near him in the car. He was so small and cute and he referred to himself as "My Paul" since that's what our mom called him. Oddly, many of our other relatives still call him "Paulie Boobs," for reasons that remain unclear. I think the only time I have been even remotely angry at Paul was when I was 10 and he was 4 and he bit me really hard. I screamed so loudly that he burst into tears and ran away.

There was no biting this weekend.* Paul did get on the plane, and is back in OP at this point, while everything here is as it should be on a Sunday night:

I am slowly recovering from the weekend and pretending tomorrow isn't Monday. Rob is packing to go to Korea for the week, because if the two of us are actually in the same place for more than 7 days at a time, there will be a catastrophic disaster in the space-time continuum. Smokey is resting quietly so that he has enough energy to wake us up in the middle of the night. And Emma is protecting a pizza box with her oversized cat butt, proving the point that if we put anything at all on the ground, Emma will sit on it. I might make "Things Emma Sat On" a regular feature of the blog.




*Rob kicked me, though.