Saw the movies 'The Queen', 'Children of Men' and 'Grindhouse'

I used to be up on all the movies that came out, but then something happened in my life that put a snag into that hobby, which is having a baby (not me, my wife... although I obviously helped kick start the process...)

After the baby came, the semi-regular trips to the movie theater stopped. Also, it seemed that I didn't have as much time to watch movies that I rented, either because of many reasons (our schedules and other factors).

Now I'm trying to make an effort to stay on top of my movie viewing, which is so important on the grand scheme of things, I realize. I would stockpile them and wait until I retire to catch up on them, but I'm sure by then my tastes would have changed drastically.

Last night, we watched the movie, "The Queen", starring Helen Mirren as Queen Elizabeth II. The movie takes place mostly during the days after Lady Diana died in a car crash. Having been stripped of her title as 'Her Royal Highness' (a few references to former HRH), the royal family did what they thought was proper when Diana passed... nothing. Their reaction, especially Queen Elizabeth's, are what move the story along.

Tony Blair had just started as the new prime minister a few months before the tragedy and it's really interesting to see the interplay between the elected officials and the monarchy. They claim that they know what the British people want even though they are sheltered miles away in a vast estate. They continue to claim that the British people will come to their senses, but as the days build between the death and the funeral, the lack of anything from the royal family causes tension between the public and the royal family until they are finally forced to action to make it look like they actually cared for a person they despised.

While I'm sure dramatized a lot, it is still a fascinating and sometimes funny movie about the Queen Elizabeth II and how she handled the death of Lady Diana. I'd recommend it.

...

Keeping with our British theme, Laura and I watched "Children of Men", a movie about a future world in which women are barren and the last birth was 18 years ago. The world is now a place where terrorism runs rampant, immigration is a crime and refugees are caged like animals. The movies protagonist, Theo (Clive Owen) is dragged into a fight to deliver a woman, Kee, who is about to deliver the first baby into the world in years.

The movie starts out a little slow, but the action gets moving fast. The action scenes are amazing in that they were often shot with just one camera following the action, which gives the movie a very tense feel to it as you follow Theo through some very harrowing situations. The action is also very unique. One scene in particular has Theo trying to jump start a car down a hill while people are running after him.

I'm sure some people might scoff at the statements made in the movie. There are many comparisons to how Jesus was born. Also, the themes of immigration I'm sure will turn some people off (as we're going through some pains with this ourselves in this country), but anyone that isn't very easily offended by that should be fine with it.

I really liked this movie. It's exciting and makes you think.

...

I drove to Lincoln a few weeks ago to see the movie, "Grindhouse", with my brother, Bill. We hadn't seen a movie together in a while. After all, with both of us with kid(s), it's hard to coordinate time for a movie, let alone in another city.

Bill secured a sitter for his kids and my kid and we were off to see the movie.

For those of you (all 5) that don't know about the movie, "Grindhouse", I'll explain. "Grindhouse" is a double feature film from directors Robert Rodriguez of Spy Kids and Desperado fame and Quentin Tarantino of Pulp Ficton and Kill Bill fame. The movie is basically split into two parts. The first is "Planet Terror", a movie about a toxic gas that turns those unlucky enough to be infected by it into skin-lesioned, flesh-eating zombies. The second movie, directed by Tarantino, is called "Death Proof", about a guy that kills people with his death-proof car, a car reinforced for stunt work in Hollywood pictures.

Now you might be wondering why we'd want to go see these pictures? Because we were weened on horror and action films, we tend to like unwinding with films that we can turn your stomach or frighten you. Remember, we're the generation with the low work ethic because of our numbness to television, so our fondness for violent pictures shouldn't surprise anyone.

When we got to the theater, Bill got in one line and I got into the next line. We continued talking about whatever it was we were talking about when a woman in front of me asked, "Are you both twins?"

We paused and replied "Yes" at about the same time.

The woman asked, "How old are you?"

We said, "36."

The woman said, "Oh, I have twin boys who are 26."

"Ooohh." We replied politely.

This happens a sometimes when we're together. People are amazed that grown men are twins and have to ask us about it. I don't mind, but Bill sometimes gets a little annoyed by it.

Bill pays for his ticket and I'm still waiting behind the woman with twin boys.

The lady with twins pays for her movie. I move forward to pay and a lady starts to step in front of me.

I say abruptly, "I was next."

The lady that stepped in front of me says, "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were with her." indicating the lady with twins.

I buy my ticket and start to think. Did she mean that I look young enough to be that woman's son or old enough to be dating her? I wasn't sure if I should be offended or complimented.

The first part of Grindhouse is a zombie flick called, "Planet Terror". "Planet Terror"'s plot revolves around a deadly biological warfare virus that's unleashed over the population of a small Texas town. It turns most of the inhabitants into puss-filled, boil-covered, flesh-eating zombies. The rest of the town has to survive.

It's pretty mindless, but pokes fun at all sorts of action movie cliques. It's a bit gross and over-the-top in it's zombie special effects, but if you can stomach that, it's a pretty fun ride.

One interesting twist to movie is that a go-go dancer named Cherry Darling, played by Rose McGowan, gets her leg amputated early on in the movie. She spends the next part limping around on a makeshift leg made of wood until she's fitted for a gun for the leg. Now if you've seen the trailer or commercials, then you've basically seen every part of this sequence with her leg-gun contraption. So prepare to be disappointed...

Of course, by the time I'm writing this, Grindhouse is now out of the theaters, but oh well...

The next part of Grindhouse is a Quentin Tarantino movie called, "Death Proof". While I'm a big fan of his most well known movie, "Pulp Fiction", I would have to say I was a little disappointed in "Death Proof".

"Death Proof" follows the story of Stuntman Mike played by Kurt Russell, who has a car that's death proof. He uses that car to kill women by slamming into his first victim's car head on.

Now "Death Proof" would be an exciting movie if it wasn't for all the inane dialog that you have to sit through. The movie starts with a bunch of women talking shit with each other about men and relationships and stuff. This goes on literally for about 25 minutes before something interesting happens. You'll literally look at your watch wondering when the action is going to start. I realize that dialog is meant to get you invested in the characters, but this dialog is all loud and ultra-witty to the point where I almost didn't care who theses characters were. Also, I can't remember much about who the different women were supposed to be. By the time, some action happens, it's much too short and I stopped caring long ago.

Thankfully, "Death Proof" has two parts. The second part follows Stuntman Mike as he targets four other women, two of which are stuntwomen and one is a makeup artist (played by Rosario Dawson). The second part starts like the first part with a lot of ultra-loud and ultra-witty dialog. Mercifully, it's a lot shorter and the action starts a lot faster. The movie ends with an extended car chase that's pretty cool and it's a nice payoff that saves the movie from its horrid beginning.

From the Vault: Just file me under Gullible

I'm in the middle of attempting to work on a book, in addition to some other blog posts, so I thought I'd repost this story from my archive, for those that haven't read it. Enjoy! A note about this story. I edited it and added a few new details.

I'm not saying that I'm gullible, but let's just say that if you were to look the word up in the dictionary, you're likely to find a picture of me next to the word.

I think it all started with my brothers and sisters. Being the youngest of 5 kids, my brother and I received the brunt end of all of the mental torture that could be executed onto siblings. My two older brothers, Joe and Paul, and our in the middle sister, Mara, were masters at manipulation. They loved to play on the fears of a little child, much in the way a cat plays with a mouse before eating it.

As a kid, I'd heard and believed them all.

Break a mirror? Seven years bad luck. I had managed to break 4 mirrors by the time I was 9. I figured I was screwed until my mid-twenties with that streak going.

Swallow watermelon seeds? Uh-oh. That means you have watermelon plants growing out of you

Swallow some gum? It'll rot there forever in your stomach.

The most elaborate tale that I heard involved the delivery of my brother Bill and I. This tale haunted me for years, but was retold to me with a gleeful disregard that only carefree older brothers or sisters could muster.

If you were to believe them, my brother and I were the result of a Buy One Get One Free sale.

"Mom and Dad really didn't want two more kids," one would say.

"They were going to the store one day when they saw a Buy One Get One Free sale sign in the window of the store, so they decided to buy Bill. You were the Get One Free."

I kept denying it, but they insisted that it was true. I didn't cry about it, but it did stick with me. And it was repeated over and over.

Not that my brothers and sisters weren't nice to me. Sometimes, they would draw me in when they were playing games. Then, when I had relaxed and gotten to trust them, they'd dare me to say dirty words. I knew that they were bad, but I was dying to get in my older siblings good graces. As a 4-year old, I didn't have much exposure to coolness, but I was willing to try and act cool.

"Bob, say Shit," one would say.

"Why?" I'd ask kind of scared. I knew they shouldn't be saying that, either.

"Just do it. We want to hear you say it."

"No," I'd say slowly and softly. "That's a naughty word. I'll get in trouble."

"Oh, come on!" They'd plead. "We're not going to tell! We just want to hear you say it."

"Please?" someone would ask.

"Oh... OK." I said and kind of gave them some nervous looks in the circle we were sitting in.

"SHit," I said with kind of a toothy lisp.

Instead of looking pleased, my brothers and sister looked shocked. I suddenly froze because I couldn't understand what was going on. I did realize that I was in trouble. Was it the way I said it? The worse was yet to come.

"MOM!!!!!" one would yell. "Bob said the S-word!!!"

My Mom came downstairs in a huff as she usually did (I came to realize as an adult that she was probably so moody because she was sick and tired of our antics) and with a little investigation in which my brothers and sister told the whole story about my saying the S-word. I was dragged off for my punishment. Sometimes a spanking, but usually I got my mouth washed out with soap. Not too pleasant.

Did it stop there? Nope. I fell for it again a few times more. Each time, believing them when they swore up and down that they wouldn’t tell on me this time and each time ended with another mouth washing.

When I was in 4^th grade, one of our assignments was to cut out a “news” article out of a “newspaper.” At that age, I had no idea that the National Enquirer wasn’t a reputable newspaper. But hey, it was lying around my house because my Mom bought it, so it had to be true right? Sure, they had articles about aliens, alien abductions and Lorne Greene getting mauled by wild dogs, but I figured if it was in print, it had to be true.

I remember coming to class with an article about aliens being found at Area 51. It was complete with photos and wild illustrations of what the aliens looked like. They were, of course, gray and thin, like any aliens you ever see depicted in the movies. The kids laughed when I was reading from the “news” story. “It’s not funny,” I said very seriously.

This is coming from a kid that used to think that movies were based on real life events (most of them anyway). I had seen a movie once about HG Wells coming to the future to stop Jack the Ripper. So when it was time to dress up as a famous person, I chose HG Wells. I looked him up in the encyclopedias that we had. He was in there and there was a mention of him writing a book called The Time Machine, but no mention of his actual time machine. This HAD to be an oversight. No Time Machine? I added to my short report on the life of HG Wells that shortly after writing The Time Machine, he invented the time machine. That satisfied me.

I grew smarter when it came to my older siblings, however, so I’m not hopelessly gullible.

I was about 13 when my older brother, Paul, asked me to do something for him.

“Put your nose up to this screen door.” He demanded.

“No way,” I of course retorted, “You’re going to hit me.”

I was no fool. After hundreds of senseless beatings at the hands of my brothers, I knew a trap when I saw it.

“If I hit you, I’ll give you $5.” Paul said.

Hey, five dollars was five dollars, so I risked it and put my nose up to the screen on the screen door.

Smack! He punched my nose from the other side of the door.

A short time later, I was five dollars richer. My Mom punished Paul by making him pay me the five dollars. Gullible, but richer.

Even as an adult, I'm prone to falling for some trick that I shouldn't fall for.

In my mid-twenties, I was working at Pizza Hut part time.

I had to go downstairs to the manager's office and make a photo copy of some information for him. Seeing as how we were a little slow and I was a little bored, I thought I'd have some fun. I plastered the side of my face to the copying machine glass and pressed the button. The machine engaged and out came a smiling half-face, stubble-chin mug shot of me.

The light from the copying machine was bright, but I had closed my eyes, so I wasn't worrying.

I brought it up and showed it to another employee. He looked at it and laughed.

"Be careful man. You can go blind from doing that," he said seriously.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"Yeah. I had a friend of mine do that once and days later he lost his vision. It was pretty scary."

My heart fluttered a bit, but then I tried to be rational by saying, "Well, I closed my eyes when I did that, so I think I'm safe."

The guy didn't skip a beat.

"That's what he said, but he went blind anyway."

He must have noticed the shock on my face because I was suddenly getting worried that I was going blind. Indeed, the light was bright from the copying machine. Also, my eyes were still adjusting to the not-so-bright light upstairs so I was seeing that tracer effect that one sees when exposed to bright lights.

He started laughing. "Dude, I'm just messing with you! My friend didn't go blind."

I laughed and said, "Don't do that to me! You're talking to a very gullible guy!"

But I'm not so gullible that I fall for things like chain letters, pyramid schemes and internet scams. At least, I hope it stays that way. When I retire, I probably have a better than the average chance of being one of those guys that gets scammed.

I'll be on the news going, "Well, I got an email from this man in Africa that said that he was in the process of inheriting 18 million dollars and I could have half of it if I only gave him my bank account routing number, my 401k portfolio, my car's pink slip and the deed to my house. I thought it sounded a little fishy seeing as how I never gave this man my email address and didn't even talk to him, but it sounded legitimate."

Aging Baby Boomers making us nuts...

Right before I married my wife, I had a big fixation with the Baby Boomer generation. I had just read the book '13th Gen: Abort, Retry, Ignore, Fail?' by Neil Howe and William Strauss and I was pretty obsessed with Baby Boomers.

If you don't know what Baby Boomers are, they are the generation of people born between 1946 - 1964. The authors of '13th Gen' separated the generations by 20 years, so they considered it 1941 to 1960. They listed Generation X as those born between 1961 to 1980. Until I read that book, I never really thought about generations and how others perceive them. It's a pretty interesting book. They basically laid out the realization that history dictates that one generation is given heaps of praise and expections while the one after or before that one is ignored and scorned. To that extent, this ran true for Gen Xers. The Baby Boomers were supposed to change the world and make it a better place. They sort of did, but the book lays out a lot of instances in which they make things a lot worse.

So I started noticing every time a newspaper article highlighted something that Baby Boomers tend to do. I would talk about it with my wife and she'd quickly get irritated because her parents are Baby Boomers and since she was in her early 20s, she never really gave it much thought. She would call me obsessed as I would rant about how much I hate the Baby Boomers.

One article talked about how a lot of women in their late 40s to early 50s are now dressing on the beach a lot more revealing than they used to. I guess they're making up for lost time. One woman is described as purring that it's very sexy. My question would be: to who? Certainly not to us younger people having to look at that. One article I just read said that Sophia Loren at 73 has curves that someone in their 20s would dream about and that people are still swooning over Paul Newman at 83. Who are these people that think this? Probably Boomers that are getting old themselves.

Another article I read talked about how Baby Boomers were going to change how retirement is done (even sexier!) and certainly current ads make you think that they are currently trying to do that.

As Boomers have gotten older, we've been overwhelmed by commercials that appeal to the Boomer lifestyle. They're easy to spot. Take this SUV commercial from a few years ago. We see a couple of Baby Boomers driving the larger model SUV through woods and forests. They are frantically trying to find something. At the end of the commercial, you get the pay off. The lady Boomer takes a snap shot of a wolf with her big telephoto lens. The message being that you deserve to own a big SUV because you have important things to do.

If you contrast that with a commercial from the same company aimed at Gen Xers, you see a different message. A Gen Xer couple is driving the smaller model SUV. They are arguing... about a hat. That's right. The woman hates the man's hat so she throws it out the window. He hightails after his hat in his SUV, jumps out, grabs the dusty hat and puts it on. The message? You're going to do stupid shit anyway because you're young, so why not do it in our sporty SUV?

Even to this day, the commercials aimed at Boomers are becoming more and more pointed that they are not just doing mindless pursuits. A current commercial shows a lady getting out of sporty vehicle and putting on a wet suit. The young hunks are checking her out. She then has three other girls, her daughters get out of the car. All four head to the beach with their surfboards. The message being that you're old, but still sexy even with three kids in tow. By the way, you still surf, so look how cool you've become! Nothing says sexy like young guys checking you out in front of your kids. Who's with me? Okay, that one isn't so annoying as wishful thinking. It wouldn't look so great to see how they probably use the vehicle: to get to work, go shopping, the movies and the golf course.

Every night we see commercials aimed at Boomers retiring, which is only natural because they're all getting old and the first crop of them just retired.

These commercials drive my wife nuts.

Rather than point out that they need to save money for retirement, the commercials again point out that being important people with important stuff to do, they shouldn't be happy just retiring. They need to open their own business! They need to build a sail boat out of scratch! They need to skydive! They need to ski!

One commercial even shows two aging couples flying to the middle of nowhere to go fishing. The guy then tells his buddy that they'll be able to do this whenever they want when they retire.

Isn't this supposed to be time when they're supposed to slow down a little? And does it always have to be overly complicated and dramatic?

Then again, it does make a little sense. After all, they were always labeled as the people that get things done. On the other hand, my generation is alway portrayed as the slackers that get by with minimal work, which I guess is sort of true. It's not that we don't like to work. We just don't want to work all the time.

But think about this, if you are going to retire, do you really want to start over in a new career like farming? Starting a small business is one thing, but these commercials have people launching major business investments when they are more likely to be complaining about their bad hips or the food poisoning on their latest cruise.

What I'm really looking forward to is when my generation gets near retirement age. The generations below mine are going to go nuts watching us take retirement to an extreme level. You'll see commercials where a skater is finally taking the next step and putting down the board. Then you'll see him opening a skate park or starting his own skate shop. You'll see old ladies partaking in roller derby just for kicks. You'll see old sky divers engaging in even more dangerous stunts because just because your life span is almost gone, doesn't mean your thrill of danger is, too. Instead of playing regular curling, seniors my age will be seen using themselves as the puck with their four buddies furiously sliding him or sweeping a path to knock out the other seniors. Instead of seeing us take trips to take pictures that no one will see, we'll take that trip so we can take stupid pictures or video of ourselves doing senseless stunts to post to You Tube.

I'm ready to start taking my extreme cruises where people my age climb the rock wall on deck, but rather slowly, which is fine. I can wait.

Lots of news: Sanjaya still alive. We get a cat. The Easter Bunny leaves an 'ipod' for Julia. Bill's still a jerk.

Sanjaya is still alive on American Idol after the vote tonight, which is infuriating my wife. She really, really hates that kid, but now there's another person in favor of him in our household

Last night, we were watching American Idol with our daughter, Julia. Normally, she doesn't watch what we watch because by the time Laura gets home when we watch our programs, Julia's already in bed. Tuesday night, Laura was home early, so we watched American Idol.

I documented how I'm firmly on board the vote for Sanjaya bandwagon. What's interesting in how popular he seems to be with little kids in an article I read. Sure enough, when Sanjaya hit the stage, Julia was fixated on him. She beamed, "He was good!" and declared, "The last guy was my favorite!" Keep in mind, she's never seen him before. I guess his smoldering, yet innocent looks eased her mind.

...

We also have just gotten a cat today. As you know, our old cat, Moe, died a few weeks ago. Well, Laura couldn't take it any longer not have a cat that loved her and frankly, I couldn't take her not having one either because she seemed to openly resent any affection our other two cats, Murphy and Suzy, gave me.

So we picked out this cat tonight. He wasn't exactly our first choice (the one my wife was wanting was already gone), but it seemed like fate because he sprinted into our private room at the humane society. The volunteer said that the cat's sheet noted that he was a shy and timid cat. You could have fooled us. From the instant he was in the room, he was purring his heart out. While not the first choice, he definitely won Laura over, so it was homeward bound for him.

It was my duty to get the cat home, which turned out to be no easy feat. I placed his cardboard carrier box in the back seat with Julia. As soon as we started towards home, the cat was meowing and clawing at the box holes like crazy. Julia did her best at calming the poor thing, but he kept clawing. He managed to claw open a hole in the box and was starting to work on an escape when Julia grabbed one of her drawing notebooks and held it against the hole.

The cat stopped clawing while Julia held the notebook. Julia remarked, "Oh my gosh. This is the weirdest day of my life!"

...

Speaking of Julia, the Easter bunny gave Julia an ipod. Well, it's not exactly an ipod. It's a Target-brand MP3 player, but it does the job.

We decided to get an MP3 player for Julia because she's been rather insistent that we listen to her music, which lately is a rotation of five songs played over and over. One of them is Queen's "Somebody to Love" that gets played on an continuous loop that drives you insane. So we got her the mp3 player to listen to. Now we get to hear her lovely singing, which makes us laugh as she mangles the lyrics to every song.

...

Bill's still a jerk. For no reason... :)

Sanjaya on American Idol. I'm part of the problem...

Yes, I'll admit it. I watch American Idol, which isn't a far stretch since about 20 to 30 million people watch it every week.

I do remember that when I started watching it, I didn't really know if I would enjoy watching it, but I did. The singing coupled with the judges comments get you involved to the point where a person like me, who can't sing very well at all, is commenting during the show that someone is 'off key' or 'flat'.

In the past, I would watch in disgust as the least talented person in the competition would remain on the show while more talented people are voted off. Part of the reason for this happening is due to a site that sprung up four years ago called Vote For the Worst. Vote For the Worst's goal every week is to get all their readers to vote for the worst person and see how long they can keep them in the competition.

Initially, I was against this because I felt that it was unfair to those that were actually trying. Plus, it was keeping people that I hated to listen to around longer in the competition. This year, I'm embracing it.

Here's why. When I first started watching American Idol, I would be a little miffed when bad singers were chosen for the competition portion on the show. I would be even more annoyed when those singers continually made it through the competition while other, more talented singers went home.

Then I started to see the real picture. You see, American Idol really isn't about finding the most talented singer. If it was, they wouldn't subject you to the awful auditions during the audition weeks. If you do the math, it's literally impossible to hear every singer that shows up at the competition. They have thousands upon thousands of singers audition. Only a handful see the judges. It gets fishy when a lot of them suck really really bad, which means they are purposely chosen to sing for the judges, knowing that they are going to suck.

Sometimes, they take marginally talented people to go to the Hollywood tryouts. Then they take those marginally talented over more talented people for the real show (when it gets wittled down to the top 24) because they are prettier, more personable, or both. Why? Because they want variety. They want the bad singers. They want those with little range like a Sinatra-like singer trying to belt out Crocodile Rock or a Diva trying to sing a country song. They want the judges to wince and criticize because it adds variety.

Now that I've fully realized and accepted this I had a prediction when the show was whittling down singers to the final 12 that performs in front of the huge audience during the live show, that Sanjaya Malakar would make it to the top 12. Sure enough, to my wife's amazement, he did.

Why was I so sure? While he sucks, he has this very over the top charm that was sure to get him votes. Being half Indian doesn't hurt either as he gets the Indian vote. Getting a block of votes from an area or a segment of the population can take you far.

Two weeks ago, I started voting. We've voted in the past for certain contestants like Taylor Hicks (what were we thinking?), but never for the worst person. I decided to vote for him because of Vote For the Worst and for Howard Stern. Both want to see Sanjaya go far, which would be hilarious.

I voted about eight times that night for Sanjaya. My wife asked with a confused look, "Why are you doing this?"

I asked someone the next day at work if they watched American Idol. She said that she had and rattled off who she thought was good.

I proudly declared, "I voted for Sanjaya eight times."

A lady next to us whipped her head around so fast I thought she was going to pull a muscle.

"He's awful!" she said with a confused look.

"I know. It's funny."

That night, the results came and Sanjaya was safe. My wife looked over at me and in no polite terms threated me if I voted for him again. Normally, I don't take kindly to threats, but since I have to live with the threatener, I'm going to stop.

Besides, he's going to go far. This year, people are really fully embracing the vote for the worst guy mentality. He didn't even make the bottom three this week. Howard Stern had lots of his listeners calling in telling about how they voted hundreds of times for Sanjaya. Even Howard himself, who normally goes to bed at 9 pm stayed up late to vote for Sanjaya, all the while giggling.

Even my brother is voting for Sanjaya.

I think the time was right for someone like Sanjaya to get a movement behind him like this. It's not that people want mediocrity. I think that people are getting tired of the same formula that is American Idol. It's shaking things up.

They created this problem by purposely picking mediocre people amongst the two or three superior people. They alse created a problem wherein they ask people to vote for their favorite performer. This can splinter votes when a person that's like a superior performer gets voted off. Then the judges act shocked as if they can't believe that America did that.

Also, they don't show the voting numbers or ranks of the performers so you can't tell how well a person is doing. They want as many people to vote in each week, which isn't always possible.

If Sanjaya goes far, and I predict he will, you might expect some changes in American Idol. While the bad singers will still get in, I wouldn't be surprised if they started being more selective or even allowed people to vote for who they think should go home. That would solve part of the vote splintering problem

More pictures of Moe

Moe was a studly kitty...

We often made reference to how our cat, Moe, was a stud. He weighed a whopping 20 pounds and was as big as one my old dogs, Snoopy, who was a rat terrier/fox terrier mix.

We got Moe and his sister, Murphy, from a farm. My wife wanted a cat bad. She wanted just one because she had always grown up with just one cat. I insisted that we get two because I didn't want her to just have one cat that loved just her. I wanted a cat, too. Besides, I argued, the cats will have each other to play with.

We picked out our two cats from the farm. One was a gray tabby cat and the other was a mostly grayish-black cat with a front of white fur with white paws. We named them Moe and Murphy. We mainly picked those names because we had seen a George Carlin skit in which he had two cats and a dog name Moe, Murphy and Verne. In this skit, Moe (his dog) tries to get it on with the male cat named Verne. We laughed so hard at that skit that we were reminded of it when it was time to choose names.

Moe’s full name was Mulder Moe. The Mulder part came from the popular show, The X-Files. We were big fans, so that’s what we thought would be cool to name our cats, so Moe was Mulder and Murphy was Scully. After a week of that, I was worried that it would sound really dated years later (and it does). Mulder and Scully never did stick.

When we picked up the cats, one thing really surprised me. They were practically the size of a full grown cat. Laura assured me that both cats were 8 weeks old. We assumed that they were going to get a lot bigger. We were right.

From the start, we knew he was going to be quite the character.

As a kitten, Moe was built with the shoulders of a bull dog. He would do a kind of strut waddle when we ran into a room. Before too long, he would get the nickname, Studly, because of the way that he would announce his presence to you. If he wanted affection from you, he’d walk over you, butt his head into your chin and plop all 20 pounds of him on you chest.

Moe quickly established himself as the dominate kitten. He would often chase his sister around the apartment. When we got a mouse toy on an elastic string that’s attached over a door, Moe went to town on it. He was so determined to get the mouse down that he, after many attempts of batting it down, grabbed it with his teeth and started walking slowly towards us. Meanwhile, the elastic was stretching and the door overhand part was bending. Before I could stop him, his grip on the elastic broke and off the mouse flew in the opposite direction. It wasn’t long after that that Moe gave up on it. He may have been an animal, but he wasn’t stupid.

Moe’s demeanor changed when, a year later, we moved to California. We had packed up the moving van with all of our stuff and the last thing to go was Moe and Murphy. They had decided to hide on top of the refrigerator. Moe was drooling, which is what cats do when they are stressed. On the way to California stuck in a truck cab, Moe hid under the seat and wailed. It was only after I reached behind the seat and touched him that he calmed down. From that point on, Moe would be very dog-like in that he seemed to develop separation anxiety.

We would be up all night with Moe wailing and it was only until he had a hand on him, that he’d be happy. Sometimes, my wife Laura, would have to sleep on the couch with her hand on him to keep him quiet. In the end, I would play with him for 30 minutes every night to wear him out.

Laura called a vet about it and she suggested we talk to one of the local colleges because it sounded like Moe was suffering from separation anxiety and she had never heard of a cat having it.

From that point on, Moe became an attack cat, the muscle of the house. If he didn’t know you or knew you didn’t like him even if you knew him, he’d hiss, jump at you or both.

We went on vacation and our friend, Jeff, was to come by and feed our cats periodically. He reported that he was terrified as our cats jumped out at him from corners, chased him downstairs and out the door. He had to bring his girlfriend back to help. “They’re just cats!” she exclaimed at him.

When we were trying to sell our old house, we kept the cats in the garage with the note: “Please don’t open the garage. Cats in here.” Of course, some people wouldn’t listen, so invariably we’d come home to messages that read, “The customer opened the garage door and let the cats out. We tried to finish the tour with them in the house, but the cats chased us from room to room. We cut the tour short and fled the house. Great attack cats!” We even had a realtor open house cancelled because the cats were let out and lunging at realtors. From that point on, Moe and Murphy were locked in a big pet carrier.

When we moved to Omaha, we had to find a baby sitter, so a co-worker of my wife’s offered her daughter. We had her come over to get acquainted with Moe and Murphy while I was there. Thinking it was all right, we left Julia and the baby sitter alone on another night. The next day, it was reported by the mother that the cats on several occasions had chased the babysitter and blocked her in the kitchen and the bathroom. All the while, Julia giggled and laughed while exclaiming, “Moe doesn’t like you! He loves me!”

Another babysitter’s father commented that we could write them off on our taxes “As horses!”

You had to be careful what you left out around Moe. If you had a drink of water on a table, it’d better be in a solid, heavy glass or hidden because usually when you weren’t looking, Moe would walk up to it, sniff it, reach up his paw and pull the glass down. He’d lap up your water that was spilled all over the table while you cursed at him and cleaned it up. He’d fake you out by not doing it for a while and then just when you relaxed, ‘DUNK!’, he’d do it again.

Because of Moe’s protective, bruising nature, we were a little concerned when Laura gave birth to our daughter, Julia. We had read from some people that they would get rid of a cat that would try to jump in a crib with their baby. I knew that wasn’t going to be an option, so we installed a screen door on Julia’s room to keep the cats out.

When we brought Julia home from the hospital, we set her down in her car seat down in front of Moe. Moe froze in his tracks with wide eyes. He then crawled forward and sniffed Julia up and down. He didn’t hiss, but he seemed a little freaked out.

I was a little worried about Moe around Julia, but Laura was sure of him. She said, “I think Moe will be her protector.”

While he never had cause to run protection, he did act like he was guarding her. While Julia crawled or played on a blanket, Moe would sit there like a sphinx in front of her. As Julia got older, she’d grab on to his fur or his ears. Sometimes, she’d climb on him. Moe would always take it without even trying to nip at her. As Julia’s adventures took to the back yard, Moe would be out there with her following her around. Some of her first words were “Moe!” or “Moe Moe!” as she’d call out to him constantly when he’d walk away.

His patience towards Julia was almost never ending. One day, Julia draped a necklace on his neck. He walked around with it all day and ended up wearing it for several days before he snagged it on a table and the beads went everywhere.

To my wife, Moe was her ‘Baby’. He had to have access next to her on the couch. If he didn’t get it, he made noises of displeasure. Then again, he made noises of displeasure for anything: if he didn’t have water, if he didn’t have food, if he wanted to be rubbed.

My wife always made alone time for Moe. At night, he’d curl up beside her and she’d stroke him for a long time. He’d always have his eyes closed with pleasure.

Then he’d get to me. He also had to have alone time with him lying on my chest. Sometimes, I’d be barely lying down and he’d saunter up my torso, nudge me in the chin with his head and plop down. I gave him what would probably be a face massage as I rubbed his chin and face while he purred in contentment…

Last week, Moe jumped up on our breakfast bar and laid there for hours. When it came time for bed time, my wife noticed that he hadn’t come up for his alone time. I went downstairs and found him eating. I grabbed him and brought upstairs to bed. He didn’t stay long. He ran out and went back to the breakfast bar. He didn’t come back.

The next night, he sat again on the breakfast bar. He wasn’t sleeping and he looked a little irritated. My wife mentioned that he didn’t look good and that we should make an appointment for him.

By Wednesday, Moe was still heading for the kitchen counter, a place he never spent time at. He sat with his paws curled in towards his body. He also was starting to smell a little as if he hadn’t been cleaning himself. I just assumed that he had a virus. I made the vet appointment for Friday morning.

Thursday night, I came home and Moe was not on the kitchen counter. He was in our guest bedroom. He was drooling. His arm was crusted with it, which led me to assume that he’d been doing this for a long time. I rushed him to the emergency vet and they noticed right away that he was extremely dehydrated.

We got the call later that night that Moe’s blood work indicated that he had chronic kidney failure. Their suggestion was to run IV on him for a full day to flush him out and see if the levels come down. Most cats don’t recover from this. I had to break the news to my wife that her favorite cat was dying.

The next morning, I had to go pick him up. Moe didn’t look happy. He looked weak and unhealthy. I had to take him home for about 30 minutes while I waited for the vet to open. He managed to jump up on the kitchen counter again and curled up in the same place he had been most of the week.

Laura went to see him at the vet. She called in tears. She said, “He doesn’t look good at all. He looks horrible.”

The next morning, we talked to the vet. He informed us that the new blood work was back and his levels were still off the charts. He wasn’t recovering. The vet did note that they had to put him in a kitty bag to get him out of his cage because he was really mad at having been there all night! We laughed at that because even in his poor health he was feisty.

We made the decision to end his life because he wasn’t going to recover, and we didn’t want his final days to be ones of discomfort. I grabbed his head and looked him in the eyes. I rubbed his cheeks another time and gave him a hug. Our daughter also said goodbye.

My wife stayed in with him when it was over. The vet came out of the room and gave me a thumbs up (which I thought was odd). We did manage to laugh at that later. I wondered aloud what sort of signal would you give that an animal had passed away? The slash to the throat?

The day before we talked with our daughter that Moe would not be coming back. I don’t think she truly understands. As far as she knows, Moe is at the vet and isn’t coming back.

When my wife talked to her about it, Julia said, “I want to keep a picture of Moe, because I don’t want to forget him.”

When I talked with her about it, Julia said, “I’m going to miss him, because he’s a stud.”

I said through tears, “I know he is Sweetie. I know he is.”