It's a Guinea Pig...

...named Misty.

I like her well enough. (Remember Obama to Clinton: You're likable enough.) X loves her. She is warming to X, with little squeaks. I have blocked off the hallway for her playspace. This is a big idea to me. She plays—and poops—in there. Ewww.

X's friend came over yesterday and got scratched by Misty. That's because I don't have the nerve to trim Misty's nails. (Do you suppose I could just take her to the nail salon?) Anyway, minutes later, the girl broke out in mini-hives. I freaked out and monitored her breathing every ten minutes til her mom arrived. Apparently she survived, because I saw her with X today after school.

The care of the piggie (they call them that on the net) was supposed to be X's job only. But I have had my hand in there. In the yucky cage. Because I like her—well enough.

Adventures in Cookie Sales

Encounters with the homeless seem more frequent here in Austin than in San Francisco. Weird, huh?

So yesterday, X and I drove out to the aptly named Slaughter Road. I say aptyly because X wondered aloud about the unpleasant name of the road. Well, there were some cattle still evident in the fields between cheap, windswept developments. All this dotted by oases of gas stations, fast food, supermarkets, drugstores and the occasional Starbucks.

We were out there to meet up with X's Girl Scout troop leader, for a late morning round of cookie sales. The poor young leader had driven out to the Slaughter Road Walgreens (our assigned cookie destination. We are a new troop so I bet we get the worst assignments.) before having her morning coffee. This was an emergency that I could relate to--and handle. So the two set up their table while I made a Starbuck's run.

When I returned, a youngish man wearing a Burger King party hat was hanging around the table, making the girls feel uncomfortable. And not just them. When he approached one couple in the parking lot, the man yelled out, "DON'T TALK TO ME!" I could see why the troop leader wanted me to stay around for a while. But what was I to do?

I led the Burger King man away from the cookie table. After a brief conversation, it became clear he wanted money and attention. (Don't we all?) So I pulled out a five, figuring that would be enough money for him to actually buy something with, so he wouldn't need to hang around asking for more. And from his breath, I knew he'd be needing a swig sometime soon. I told him that I was giving him the money so he would go away and leave the cookie sellers alone. He could see he was making things difficult for them, couldn't he? He rambled on some and asked me for a hug. After a quick "what would Jesus do?" assessment, I gave him one. I really thought about it: if an acquaintance or a family member asked for a hug, I would do it. The ideal is to treat every person like a brother. But ewwwww. I did it anyway.

I then asked him where he was going, reminded him that he had to leave, and walked him to the edge of the parking lot toward the train trestle under which he and his friends had apparently made camp.

I stood around the cookie table for a while, hoping my five dollar investment had worked, and finally drove home. I called the troop leader later and Mr. Burger King had not returned.

I asked X about it later. She said she was "creeped out" and tried not to watch. She admitted that she was prejudiced against him. I said that was fine: I didn't like his aggressive ways and dirty clothes either. And reminded her that, being a child, she shouldn't do any of the stuff I had done. She agreed heartily.

Probable Pet

X is going to get a guinea pig. Probably. We think.

Last week, Girl Scout cookie sales were held in front of PetCo, so I told X that after she did her time, we'd go into the store and buy some stuff for the soon-to-be new pet. It was her idea to get the cage and bedding and all before getting the animal itself. The target pet was a gerbil.

But then we got into the store and started looking at all the rodents. I had the creeps just looking at the sign. Mice and rats were out--still. We looked at the gerbils, but X was taken by the guinea pigs. She had already read about how friendly they can be. The ones in the cage looked vaguely psychotic to me. But then, the clerk brought out an adoptable pet guinea pig. Apparently they keep these nice, raised-in-normal-families type animals in the back somewhere, and if you don't like the looks of the caged specimens in the front, you become a prospective adoptive "parent." For 20 bucks.

Anyway, I have to say that even I found the little creature appealing. And it appeared normal--though what do I know about normal guinea pig behavior? I was almost ready to buy it, when I asked X the big question: "Are you SURE you can take care of this thing, all the time, for a long time?"

"I'm not sure," was the answer. So we left the store with a book on guinea pigs, which X has been poring over ever since.

I am missing some wiring that a lot of people have: I have absolutely no desire for a pet. Never have, really. I think I wrote about this before. We had some pets when I was a kid, and I was sort of emotionally attached to one, but it lived outside. The idea of animals in my house is vaguely disgusting to me. (Sorry, pet owners, just being honest.) The idea of responsibility for yet another creature frightens me.

But X should have her pet experience, so a guinea pig it will be—probably. After thoroughly reading the book, she has decided that she can in fact care for it—every day, for a long time. I am waiting to see if that decision has much conviction behind it. But I won't wait too long.

Witches and Widows

I am reading the Widows of Eastwick, in honor of John Updike's passing. His Rabbit Redux was one of the first adult novels (in the good sense of the word) that I read, when I was 17 or so. RR caught that 70s mix of "straight" culture and post-hippie culture in which I lived during most of the 70s—even though it was written in 1969. I loved it and cried over it. I know I read the other Rabbit novels, but none stands out to me.

Now, as for Eastwick, the movie about the Witches was one of my very favorite of the 80s, with Cher, Susan Sarandon and Michelle Pfeiffer in their juicy prime. And Jack Nicholson as the Devil—what perfect casting, if not typecasting. Sort of a guilty pleasure, but so what? It was based on a respectable novel. I am sure I read the novel, but the memory of the movie is imprinted. Which leaves me with slightly sketchy basis on which to read the Widows.

In reading the Widows, I am noting Updike's swirly, smooth prose (the part I want to quote here would embarrass me; go read it yourself) and his uncanny ability to inhabit women, to understand them (not unlike Nicholson's character in the movie, really).

Here's to John Updike, a great American novelist.

I Love CNN

I've had a migraine for the past 48 hours or so. (Just the hangover, now.) Anyway, during most of that time I lay semiconscious, watching CNN (or MSNBS if my husband got hold of the remote.) Some observations:

I love: Wolf Blitzer (just his name alone); John King (wise and goes gray well); Candy Crowley (always has the best sources and best necklaces); and Ali Velshi (upbeat while delivering bad economic news).

On Wikipedia I just found out that Velshi is a Canadian who was born in Kenya of Indian parents. Does CNN have the most diverse, international personnel? I haven't even gotten to Sanjay Gupta who MUST be surgeon general because he performed brain surgery in Iraq. Or Christianne Amanpour, the first of the international reporting gang.

In comparison, now, MSNBC has Rachel and Chris and that other mouthy guy. Maybe one of them is a Canadian? Why am I bothering to make this point? Notice how I mentioned that MSNBC is on when husband is in control of the TV? He says he'd rather be entertained by Rachel Maddow than John King. Now I don't mind hanging out with guys from "our" side. The two white guys and a gal get in some good barbs. But you know what? Rachel's mouth curls mean just like Greta Van Sustern's does---you know, the gal from the "other" side.

It's just a symptom of what I think is wrong. See what I mean?


I mean, besides the fact that I have been watching way too much TV over the past 24 hours. But they have the cockpit tape from the landed-in-the-Hudson plane, and they are playing it word by word...gotta go.