Right now, it's late. I'm tired. I'm terribly behind on artwork that's due tomorrow. The place I'd like most to be is in bed beside my bride, but for some reason I've been struck by the notion that typing aimlessly into the blogger would be far more rewarding than much-needed sleep.
Let's see, what to talk about... I'd really like to discuss books I've been reading, but that usually comes off as snobbish and elitist, so I'll abstain. Ooh, I had a couple stories to tell, didn't I? I'll try that.
Saturday, Carey and I tried out Open Sesame, a little Mediteranean restaurant down in Belmont Shore. The food was rather good, but there's something about Mediteranean food that, while always enjoyable, makes me want to abstain from it for a good couple of months after partaking. Anyhow, the experience was terribly mediocre... not the cuisine, mind you, but the service. Everything was a mind-numbing wait and, at one point, Carey had to resign herself to simply not getting a drink refill, even after asking the waitress 3 times. No biggie, not enough to ruin our evening, but I'll have to admit that I was rather annoyed and, in the end, I left a lousy tip (somewhere in the 9 or 10% range). I know, I know... what a jerk. Carey was not happy about the gratuity pittance and we had a mild argument about tipping. Her contention was that it's part of Mediteranean culture to not rush and to sort of do things when you get around to them... therefore, they shouldn't be penalized for it. Fair enough, but while we're talking culture... mine says that hard work should be rewarded. And, besides, when I waited tables back in college I recall being stiffed at least once a shift (something I would never do, no matter how terrible the service), so it does go to show that there are indeed much ruder hosers than myself roaming about.
Anyhow, we'd parked on a residential street about a block away and we reached the car just as our argument reached its bitter climax. We never got to finish, though, because behind us there was a fantastic crash and some sort of inhuman screeching. We turned around to see the apartment facing our car.
And a cat fell out of the window.
The cat screamed, hit the concrete from its 2nd story drop, and bolted south to parts unknown. Behind it, a dog crashed right through the screen and would have fallen out himself if his owner hadn't yanked him back inside. Soon, a human head popped out the window, looking frantic. I offered up:
"Sir? Your cat just fell out the window."
"HE DID??? Did you see which way he went?!"
"Yeah, he ran that way."
"Oh, God. Thanks."
The man shot out of there, helter skelter, calling out "Scooter!" and it soon became apparent that there was some sort of altercation with the dog that had ended poorly. The cat was long gone.
To make a long story somewhat less long, Carey and I found ourselves combing the streets with this poor guy and his wife for the next 2 hours. Scooter, fat and gray, was nowhere to be found. We walked as far down as the ocean, thought we caught glimpses, asked strangers for help, peered under cars, overturned alley boxes... all for this frenzied feline. The woman was hysterical. Apparently, Scooter was a house cat and had never in his three years of cathood been outside. Carey hugged her and assured her that it would all be all right and, spit spot, we'd find ol' Scoot soon enough.
The sun went, down however, and we were eventually forced to tell them that we might have to call it a night. "We'll come back tomorrow and look in the daylight with you," we assured them. They thanked us many times over and we eventually returned home and went to bed, feeling a bit guilty for not sticking it out. They'd told us their plans however: they were going to post fliers all around Belmont Shore and SouthWestern Long Beach, hoping for the best. We told them that was a great idea and, who knows, sometimes a scared cat will eventually wander back home.
The next day, we returned in the afternoon. To our delight, Scooter had indeed wandered back at around 3:00 in the morning and his owners couldn't have been happier. They were terribly grateful for our efforts as well and they insisted on having us over for dinner someday soon, possibly even this coming weekend.
So, that's that. We may have made some new friends and the aptly named Scooter is back safe and sound. Funny how things work out.
...
And now I truly am tired. Off to bed with me. I still have to get around to talking about good old Gene Toth, but I suppose that'll have to wait.
Sweet dreams.
Let's see, what to talk about... I'd really like to discuss books I've been reading, but that usually comes off as snobbish and elitist, so I'll abstain. Ooh, I had a couple stories to tell, didn't I? I'll try that.
Saturday, Carey and I tried out Open Sesame, a little Mediteranean restaurant down in Belmont Shore. The food was rather good, but there's something about Mediteranean food that, while always enjoyable, makes me want to abstain from it for a good couple of months after partaking. Anyhow, the experience was terribly mediocre... not the cuisine, mind you, but the service. Everything was a mind-numbing wait and, at one point, Carey had to resign herself to simply not getting a drink refill, even after asking the waitress 3 times. No biggie, not enough to ruin our evening, but I'll have to admit that I was rather annoyed and, in the end, I left a lousy tip (somewhere in the 9 or 10% range). I know, I know... what a jerk. Carey was not happy about the gratuity pittance and we had a mild argument about tipping. Her contention was that it's part of Mediteranean culture to not rush and to sort of do things when you get around to them... therefore, they shouldn't be penalized for it. Fair enough, but while we're talking culture... mine says that hard work should be rewarded. And, besides, when I waited tables back in college I recall being stiffed at least once a shift (something I would never do, no matter how terrible the service), so it does go to show that there are indeed much ruder hosers than myself roaming about.
Anyhow, we'd parked on a residential street about a block away and we reached the car just as our argument reached its bitter climax. We never got to finish, though, because behind us there was a fantastic crash and some sort of inhuman screeching. We turned around to see the apartment facing our car.
And a cat fell out of the window.
The cat screamed, hit the concrete from its 2nd story drop, and bolted south to parts unknown. Behind it, a dog crashed right through the screen and would have fallen out himself if his owner hadn't yanked him back inside. Soon, a human head popped out the window, looking frantic. I offered up:
"Sir? Your cat just fell out the window."
"HE DID??? Did you see which way he went?!"
"Yeah, he ran that way."
"Oh, God. Thanks."
The man shot out of there, helter skelter, calling out "Scooter!" and it soon became apparent that there was some sort of altercation with the dog that had ended poorly. The cat was long gone.
To make a long story somewhat less long, Carey and I found ourselves combing the streets with this poor guy and his wife for the next 2 hours. Scooter, fat and gray, was nowhere to be found. We walked as far down as the ocean, thought we caught glimpses, asked strangers for help, peered under cars, overturned alley boxes... all for this frenzied feline. The woman was hysterical. Apparently, Scooter was a house cat and had never in his three years of cathood been outside. Carey hugged her and assured her that it would all be all right and, spit spot, we'd find ol' Scoot soon enough.
The sun went, down however, and we were eventually forced to tell them that we might have to call it a night. "We'll come back tomorrow and look in the daylight with you," we assured them. They thanked us many times over and we eventually returned home and went to bed, feeling a bit guilty for not sticking it out. They'd told us their plans however: they were going to post fliers all around Belmont Shore and SouthWestern Long Beach, hoping for the best. We told them that was a great idea and, who knows, sometimes a scared cat will eventually wander back home.
The next day, we returned in the afternoon. To our delight, Scooter had indeed wandered back at around 3:00 in the morning and his owners couldn't have been happier. They were terribly grateful for our efforts as well and they insisted on having us over for dinner someday soon, possibly even this coming weekend.
So, that's that. We may have made some new friends and the aptly named Scooter is back safe and sound. Funny how things work out.
...
And now I truly am tired. Off to bed with me. I still have to get around to talking about good old Gene Toth, but I suppose that'll have to wait.
Sweet dreams.
posted by Jeremy Bear at
1:40 AM
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