WEIRD FOOD EXPERIMENT #2: The Sadness Bowl

You may all be familiar with Patton Oswalt's routine about the KFC Famous Bowl. If not, go watch it. I'll wait.



Ever since I first heard this -- despite the fact that Patton makes it sound that anybody who would eat these are TRAGIC HUMAN BEINGS WITH NO LIVES -- I've *desperately* wanted to try what he calls a "failure pile in a sadness bowl." So tonight, finally, after literally years of anticipation, I finally had the KFC Famous Bowl.



And guess what? Despite the fact that I'm a THIRTY SEVEN YEAR OLD MAN who is eating a gigantic pile of mushed-up food from a plastic bucket, we both agreed it was pretty damn good. Except for the fact that between that and the Jollibee I am producing enough grease to lubricate an automobile manufacturing plant. And my stomach has painful, searing acid burning through its protective sac. And I still, for a second day, smell like bad chicken.

Just sayin'...

...say what you will about Sting (and you will), Outlandos D'Amour is a damn near perfect record.

Quick Silver Phial Bragblog

So last night? We cut vocals for our recording of "Mountain Boy?" And we did it LIVE, old style, everybody grouped around a microphone. Even the lead vocals, baby. And then we double tracked it. And then we TRIPLE TRACKED it. And we did it all in ONE FUCKING TAKE, and the pitch was completely perfect every time. Easy? Hell no, it sure isn't, just ask the Beach Boys.

God, I love being in this band.

Much delayed weekendblog

Ugh -- last week was STRESSFUL. Without going into sordid details, let's just say there was stuff going on in our lives that would have thrown most people for a serious god-damn loop. And yet we came out the other end, bloodied but unbowed. Hence my lack of blogging, folks -- that, and a weekend which, for the first half, was up to our usual insanely busy standards. The 'Phial played a housewarming party at this gorgeous house on Mt. Washington with an incredible stepped backyard that I woulda killed for (and they're paying less rent than we are -- as Trix says, "location, location, location!"). We slayed, of course, as we always do -- and the party was attended by Friends of Mothers of Notable Actors and at least one Argentinian pop star, which made for an intriguing blend o'folks. Earlier that day, we made a good start on some recording, so expect some actual recorded things to surface in the next month or so, if all goes well.

Sunday was, and always seems to be, Errand Day, where we run around and try to complete all the stuff that most people that don't live in Los Angeles and get to leave work at a reasonable time get done during the week. Somehow we managed and got in some quality hang-out time which, after our week of tizzy, we so desperately needed. The new Doctor Who episode is fantastic, by the way, can I get a "what-what" from my fellow Torrent downloaders? Whoo!

Oh, and LA denizens -- check out the LA Mill cafe on Silver Lake Blvd. (right down from Spaceland!) for some of the best damn food I've ever had in my life. Their version of S'Mores -- with lemon marshmallow creme, lemon grass, fresh kumkwats and delicious chocolate creme -- was the best dessert I've ever eaten (sorry, Nobu New York! You've been served.)

Enjoy yr. cheese sandwich. I'll blog about substantial things later.

Silver Phial, at long last!!

My friend Ashley Aguirre sent me these fantastic videos of a couple Silver Phial songs, so I thought I'd throw 'em up on YouTube for your edification! They at least give you some idea of what we're dealing with here.



This first one is "Mountain Boy" -- sorry, it gets cut off at the top and bottom, just a little, but it should give you some indication. This is, like, my favorite one to play because there's that bit where our harmonies just fucking TAKE OFF. Plus I get to play harpsichord. You'll see.



This second one is a cover of Johnny Rivers' awesome "Poor Side of Town," in which Patrick and Cheryl trade off leads -- I like it almost better than the original, if I do say so myself.

Yes, that's my cowboy-hatted head bobbing around in the foreground!

Wow.

Wizard Rock.

Bands named after Harry Potter stuff, playing songs -- mostly 80s songs, ferchrissake -- with entirely Harry Potter-based lyrical content. See: Draco and the Malfoys doing "99 Death Eaters" to the tune of....yup, you guessed it, "99 Red Balloons."

CLICK HERE. Be afraid.

You possibly heard it first here.

"Listen, if you and Nimoy want to stay up and party all night long, that's FINE BY ME."

...line spoken to me and Leonard Nimoy by a very angry Bill Shatner in a very vivid dream I had last night.

My response, to Nimoy, after Shatner had stormed off: "Were you planning on staying up all night long and partying?"

Nimoy: "I don't know what the hell Bill is talking about."

Shatner's angry retort came as a response to me asking him about a saying or aphorism I'd seen taped up in his dressing room earlier in the day. Without going into TOO much boring detail about the dream -- who gives a shit about other people's stupid dreams, really?? -- I was just being polite and trying to strike up conversation with the guy.

Me, to Nimoy: "Do you know what that saying was in his dressing room?"

Nimoy: "Knowing Shatner, it was probably just a picture of two people fucking."

ANALYZE. I vote Nimoy and Shatner represent my Ego and Superego. Open to other theories.



(One of the byproducts of quitting smoking is that the nicotine patch causes EXTREMELY vivid dreams. This used to freak me out, but now I kind of love it. Normally, I don't remember ANYTHING I dream about, so its actually kind of neat. Plus, I sleep like a baby. That rules. I wish I could stay on the patch forever and ever, but every time I forget to put it on -- and those who know me well know that forgetfulness is perhaps my very worst fault -- I smoke. So that doesn't work, alas. Sigh.)

Best. Show. Ever. Seriously -- I mean *ever*!

So the Silver Phial show Saturday was PHENOMENAL. I'm going on record as saying its the best show I've ever played. The songs went perfectly, the harmonies fuggin' locked, everything went unbelievably swimmingly. I'm not kidding, folks, this band is something special. I predict great things. I mean really great things. I can't wait for the chance to record something and prove it to you all, and the world at large.

The place was just full of atmosphere, so these pics from Trix' Sidekick are a little dark -- more to come from our friend Ashley.



Here's me and Trix, and...



That's the band, though you can barely see us!! Trust me, though, we're there!

(Huge LA-style SHOUT OUT to the Autumn Leaves who apparently had a terrific show in Minneapolis as well! Word back from the show is that it was magnificent!)

Sometimes B is better than A

Last night, at the always-awesome New Beverly Cinema, we saw, live and in person, the fantastic Mr. Roger Corman, the king of the B-Movies. He's responsible for so many truly great and awesomely lousy movies, its unbelievable -- as our friend Darren Roark (yay! A new Minneapolis transplant!) said last night, quite rightly, he's the only producer in the history of cinema that built a legend by quantity over quality. So many of his billion-odd films are terrible, but there are enough gems in his catalog that he's rightly hailed as a talent-spotter extraordinare.

And one hell of a director, too -- we saw The Secret Invasion, starring Mickey Rooney, Edd "Kookie" Burns (yup, of "Kookie, Lend Me Your Comb" fame), and William Campbell, whom Trekkies will remember as both the Squire of Gothos and Koloth from "The Trouble With Tribbles." Its a fantastic war picture, and as Joe Dante describes it, "The Dirty Dozen" years before that film was released.

His Q&A was charming and funny as hell -- nobody asked him, though, about my two favorite Corman projects:



"Battle Beyond The Stars," a Star Wars-sploitation film that was written by the legendary John Sayles, with art direction by James Cameron. Yes, THE James Cameron. Check out the hot dog scene -- its got wit and verve all through it, it might actually be a better film than actual Star Wars in several ways.

AND:



"The Fantastic Four" -- which remains unreleased to this day because of its legendary badness, but I'll tell ya -- as lousy as it is, it has 200% more heart than the version that eventually came out.

Next weekend: a midnight showing of "The Howling" which is my 2nd favorite werewolf pic of all time. The best? John Landis' amazing "American Werewolf In London," because of THIS WOMAN HERE:



Jenny Agutter, my favorite geek crush of ALL TIME, aka "who Trixi went as for Halloween last year."

I'm rambling. Go to the New Bev. The end.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

I'm sorry about the dearth of blog entries this week, folks. I'm hunkered down working on a couple of movie posters for a flick featuring STEVE ZAHN.

God damned STEVE ZAHN.

See, I went to high school with Steve Zahn. He was two years ahead of me and he was everything I wasn't. He was *staggeringly popular*. He was an exceptional sportsman. He was homecoming king, and not even ironically. The girls loved him, even though he acted in plays and sang in the choir. He oozed charisma. Meanwhile, MY senior year was filled with jocks calling me "drama fag" and girls doing their damndest NOT to sleep with me.

And ever since then, even though I'm sure he's a wonderful, lovely guy and I've actually had to reluctantly and begrudgingly concede that he's done some fun acting turns, I've decided I hate his guts.

Just so I can do this:



ZAHHHHHN!

To get back at him, I'm gonna photoshop him FAT.

The Mighty Silver Phial Rides Again!!

Hey, LA denizens: my band, Silver Phial, is playing another gig this Saturday night, the 19th of April!

Edit: In the immortal words of Trixi:

"The music is poetry with a twang. The voices are sweet echoes of days gone by. Silver Phial is truly something to behold, and a joy for your soul." I couldn't hope for a better endorsement than that! And if we sound that good, can you really bear to miss it?

Here's the deets. It's at:

Cafe Mariposa
1547 W. Sunset Blvd
Saturday, April 19th at 8:00 PM

That's in, like, Echo Park. I don't know set times yet, I'll post 'em when I get 'em but it's evening-ish, you know, the usual times that shows are probably. If its some kind of crazy Early Show I'll letcha know.

(Originally I was gonna fly back to Minneapolis and play a final show with the awesome AUTUMN LEAVES but for some reason the cheapest flights we could get were, like, a thousand bucks. Jesus. I don't have that kind of mad-money! But you should TOTALLY go to the MySpace page and order their latest CD which features ME on guitar and vocals!!)

Mid-weekend update

(NOTE: I'm gonna do an LA food blog soon. Promise. We've been crawling the restaurants in our area, and there's some awesome ones I feel like I should rave about for the LA readers.)

So yesterday I had this MAJOR FINANCIAL PROBLEM and then the air conditioning in our apartment DIED A DEATH meaning its like 200 degrees in here, and our original plan to make a Traditional Minnesota Dinner (hotdish, bars, ambrosia salad) for our friends Patrick and Cheryl had to be postponed because a) they would have died of heatstroke and b) I would have been all grumpy and cross and would have been no damn fun to be with.

So we figured "eh, we'll take in a movie." So we wandered over to the New Beverly Cinema, where Joe Dante is doing his AWESOME Dante's Inferno film festival. Even though the disclaimer said that the CELEBRITY INTRODUCTIONS WOULD ONLY BE ON FRIDAY, in fact, they lied -- Joe and Quentin Tarantino were there, introducing the festival. And the amazing blaxploitation flick "Truck Turner" -- we missed half of Joe's hilarious, satirical "Hollywood Boulevard" -- was introduced by John Landis!! JOHN LANDIS, people, and he seems like such a sweet, approachable guy!! -- and Jonathan Kaplan, the director of the film. If you haven't seen "Truck Turner," see it now. Isaac Hayes plays a hard-as-nails bounty hunter, and Nichelle Nichols plays a psychotic, bitchy madam ("We're all family! NOW GO OUT THERE AND SHOW 'EM WHAT YOU GOT!"). Its amazing. And if you live in LA, make sure you get down and check out the rest of "Dante's Infermo" -- the 26th is a midnight showing of "The Howling," you can't miss that, can you?

We bailed before the midnight showing of "Gremlins 2: The New Breed" (too sleepy/grumpy) and headed to Canters, and on the way we saw ***GEORGE CLINTON*** and Macy Grey. Not even sitting BY each other, just sitting outside at a restaurant enjoying the summer weather.

I'll update more if anything interesting happens today. We only got like 3 hours of sleep last night so today might consist of napping and other sedate activities. Oh, and its still 200 degrees in here.

I did it! I finally did it!!!

It's taken me years, but I finally did it!

Try Googling Jon Hunt.

NUMBER TWO, BABY!

I used to not even be in the top TEN -- hell, it used to be if you searched for "Jon Hunt" "Minneapolis" I didn't even come up on the first page.

Now I'm NUMBER TWO!!! HA! IN YOUR FACE, OTHER JON HUNTS! Um, except "British businessman Jon Hunt," I guess he still lords it over me up there at #1. But I don't make millions of dollars. I just have this goofy blog. So there!

Yes, I know I'm too excited about this. I have YOU to thank, Hatesexy readers. You guys all rule.

Panic At The Disco Turn Into Badfinger

I've gotta say, as far as crappy radio emo goes, I was kinda okay with Panic At The Disco a couple years back. 'Twasn't really anything special, the same kind of shouty stuff with goofy overlong titles like "Hey, What Kind Of Crappy Long Title Is This And What Does It Have To Do With The Fucking Song Anyway" that lotsa bands were doing (it was the "Big Brother And The Holding Company" of 2005!). But I got the feeling that Panic -- I fucking refuse to call them "PATD," thanks, there's something about acronyming them that bugs me shitless -- were somehow smarter than their peers (like label bosses Fall Out Boy, who seem like the have the shared combined intelligence of a stale cheese sandwich) and might have something better than just Emo Band O' The Moment in their future.

Sometime between then and now somebody slipped the kids in Panic a couple copies of "Sgt. Pepper." Which happens to about 90% of White College-Age Kids in America, nothing special. But once in a while, really overambitious smart people hear "Pepper" for the 1st time and go "oh, shit, that's awesome, I CAN DO THAT!" And then they try, which is always kind of awesome, and usually produces an overambitious, overlong failure of an album just like Panic's latest, "Pretty Odd" (see also: Terrence Trent D'Arby's batshit crazy "Neither Fish Nor Flesh," or Prince's "Around The World In A Day" for a couple other notable examples.)

I cannot imagine how the Emo Masses are gonna view "Pretty Odd." It's almost totally devoid of the usual emo touchstones -- the vocals are MOSTLY kind of pretty (though the lead singer still kinda yelps like an angry, aenemic Ben Folds) instead of screamy, and there's harmonies and weird string sections and odd sounds and such like you'd expect on a "Pepper" rip instead of One Really Loud Guitar and One Badly Played Bass like on every other rock record last year. It bears really no real resemblance to the usual stuff on the radio. Part of me hopes they all embrace it and it brings on a New! Exciting! Era! of crappy Sgt. Pepper ripoffs for me to be amused by, but I'm half-sure its gonna be laughed outta the park.

That said: its really pretty fucking great. I'm sure you all heard "Nine In The Afternoon" on SNL this last weekend, accompanied by a string section and featuring a Cor Anglais solo (just like "Penny Lane," get it?) and its a really tuneful, catchy sonofabitch of a single, besides being far too busy and chockful of production details, which I love. Elsewhere on the album, "She's A Handsome Woman" has a lovely melody and some nicely jagged guitar playing, "Northern Downpour" is a lovely ballad with some amazing lyrics and great singing, and "The Piano Knows Something I Dont' Know" almost sounds like it could have come off the Beach Boys' "Smile," with the mellotron filligrees and bizarre chord structure and melody and strings and stylistic shifts.

I'm just not sure if its enough Beatles to hook the Beatles fans, or enough emo to hook the emo fans, you know? *I* like it, but the "30-something-music-geek-with-a-really-open-mind" crowd isn't big enough to make a huge hit. How about you all buy it and give it a try, too, maybe we could get something happening here. I'd love to hear Fall Out Boy's ensuing ripoff "Satanic Majesties Request."

Tiki Sunday

Trix and I like kicking it old skool.



After a conversation with Max Sparber a few days back about cocktails, we tried two of note.

a) "The Vesper," as featured in "Casino Royale," the book and the movie. The recipe, from Mr. Fleming's original text:

"A dry martini," [Bond] said. "One. In a deep champagne goblet."
"Oui, monsieur."
"Just a moment. Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it's ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon peel. Got it?"
"Certainly, monsieur." The barman seemed pleased with the idea.
"Gosh, that's certainly a drink," said Leiter.
Bond laughed. "When I'm...er...concentrating," he explained, "I never have more than one drink before dinner. But I do like that one to be large and very strong and very cold and very well-made. I hate small portions of anything, particularly when they taste bad. This drink's my own invention. I'm going to patent it when I can think of a good name."
-Ian Fleming, Casino Royale

We had it with just a touch more vodka than gin both at Akbar in Silverlake and the next day at Patrick and Cheryl's house. A delicious cocktail.

b) Mai Tai's at Trader Vic's, at the Beverly Hilton. The original Trader Vic's is, alas, gone, replaced by a small poolside bar, but the Mai Tai remains ever the same, and ever fantastic.

Check out the pic: Grizzly Adams, tiki fabulous. (Pic, of course, by the fabulous Miss Trix.)

Pinky Tuscadero

The photo doesn't do it justice! It looks even cooler than this.

In lighter news...

...Trixi's hair is hot pink now!!

(I sensed an uncomfortable silence after that last post, and thought I'd fill in the blanks with something fun. It is! It's hot pink! And it looks cool as hell. I wish boys could have candy-colored hair without looking like Nick Rhodes circa-1983. But we can't. And if we even color our grey after a certain age (un certain age, apparently, which I near!) we get looked at like we're Ronald Reagan. It's not fair. (stomps up and down). Plus boys don't get cool fashions? What is THAT about? Still they make khaki pants and tassle loafers and shirts with golf logos on them, and still people buy them? GAHHHH!!!!!!!)

(See? Even my MOST INNOCUOUS POST EVER descends into angst and ennui!)

A tortured musing on regret

I'm sure you all have regrets. Right? I have a few, but none of them are for stuff I, like, *did* in my life, like getting really drunk and putting on a lampshade and acting like an ass at a party. As stupid as many of my actions in life have been, I'll stand by all of 'em, asinine or not. Hell, why not? They're all part of the tapestry of experience. You do something stupid, you wake up the next morning, you swear, "Shit, I'm never doing THAT again," and then somebody comes up to you and says "Dude, you were a RIOT at that party last night" and you think "okay, maybe I *will* do that again, somebody serve me up a Guinness." And on and on.

No, all my regrets are for stuff I did to people -- that's the only place in life I feel any lingering guilt, times I actually hurt other people with my actions. Like that one time me and Chris broke up our band Deep Shag because we were becoming too popular, and we were too stupid and young and tortured to deal with even *that* level of fame and notoriety, but then we neglected to tell the lead singer of the band (the ever-lovely Lisa Parker) out of sheer passive-aggressive fear of confrontation, and she found out from somebody else and then very rightfully didn't speak to me for the next five years. Oh, lord Jesus, did I feel guilty over that. I beat myself up until I was black, blue, and bloody -- and finally saw her at a show, got down on my knees in literal tears and apologized to her from the bottom of my heart. And she very kindly saw fit to forgive me, and as I see it, she really didn't have to at all, I was such a total irredeemable ass. And now we're friends again, but don't think I don't think about how badly I hurt her every time I see her at the grocery store. I don't think I'll ever quite forgive myself for that.

Or -- oh, this one still hurts to think about!! But heck, if I can't tell you guys, who can I tell? -- that one other time when I took a bunch of acid in high school and became totally paranoid, and convinced myself that this one girl named Shannon was out to get me and my friends, and so in a drug-induced fit (Note: DO NOT DO ACID. EVER. SERIOUSLY. You couldn't pay me enough money to ever touch the stuff anymore.) wrote "Shannon is a bitch" and other such slogans on little pieces of paper and put them up all around the yearbook room, and of course she found it and didn't speak to me again until college when -- again -- I tearfully apologized to her. I'm not sure she ever forgave me, and I know I haven't forgiven myself for that one either. That was just stupid and it hurt somebody badly. That was TWENTY YEARS AGO, too, that's how long I carry guilt around.

The worst is relationship regret, though. Can I hear a "what-what" from the gallery? Every relationship, especially ones that end, leave you thinking "if only I'd done this, or this, or this differently," and you beat yourself up and hopefully next time around you don't make those same stupid mistakes. This is called "growth" and this is what we all do. Part and parcel of life.

The relationship regret that still bugs me, though, is one particular relationship I let end wholly through my own stupid failings as a human being. All my other relationships ended like all normal relationships end -- either in an explosion of screaming or just petering out one way or another, and those are their own kind of sad but you get through 'em. This one ended, though, sheerly because I was a total moron. We got together when I was young -- nineteen -- and sealed the deal when I was still young -- twenty-three. That's young. That wasn't young for our parents, or our parents' parents, but in the modern age? That's very, very young. And when you haven't had any serious relationships prior to this (except one long-term high-school girlfriend, shout out, Suze!) that's almost alarmingly young.

To say that I was an emotional infant is being kind -- I was an emotional fetus. I was an emotional sperm-not-yet-joined-to-the egg. I was an emotional glimmer in some plumber's eye. I was so not ready for a relationship, let alone one of the magnitude I was attempting. I should have gotten out early -- there was a point when I knew I wasn't ready -- but I didn't, I just gamely kept galumphing ahead, never voicing my problems, never talking about anything, just plowing on like the moron I was.

Worse yet, I spent the entire relationship thinking "gee, what if other relationships would be more interesting?" and flirting on the edge of cheating while never actually cheating cheating, like with actual sexual intercourse, which at least would have been decisive. Oh, no, not even that level of maturity (or full-on immaturity, whatever!) did I muster. Instead, I just emotionally detached myself from the relationship to the point where I wasn't even there. Heck, I spent more time with my bandmates than with my spouse. And never once -- not even once -- did I perform the slightest bit of relationship maintenance, like, I dunno, talking about things. Or seeing a counselor. Or just actually trying. Instead, I just drowned my sorrows (or perceived sorrows) in pitchers of beer and just kept going on and on and on...

...until finally I bailed, for no good reason whatsoever other than a vague relationship ennui and the thought that I might like to "play the field." Oh, I convinced myself that I had reasons, but they were horse-hockey. Total bologna. The reason that relationship ended was purely and simply that I was not mature enough to handle a real relationship.

Since then, I've grown up, and what once was youthful bitterness has now turned into guilt and regret. Oh, sure, I grew as a result of that stuff -- my next relationship was a disaster of Pearl Harbor-esque proportions for completely other reasons (karma? Can you say karma?), but it didn't end from lack of trying, that's for sure. I took from the total failure of that First Big Relationship a lot of lessons, believe it or not. And I'm nowhere near perfect, now (heck, ask anybody! I'm well known for not being perfect!) but I'm better than I was then. I'm at least an emotional four-year-old, now, instead of a fucking zygote.

But shit, it doesn't stop me from feeling loads and loads and loads of regret and guilt, even still, even though I'm more than ten years removed from the end of that breakup.

There's probably a polemic about "learning to forgive yourself" that would apply well to this situation, but I'm not really very good at that. Suffice to say: regret sucks. Learn from your mistakes. The end.

Question for other bloggers:

Does it ever make you absolutely nauseated to know that somebody's reading your blog you hoped would never read your blog? That ever happen to you? Knowing that this person has now read details about your life that you felt perfectly comfortable revealing to friends -- hell, and strangers and fans and the fucking postman, but not *this particular person*, not in a million, billion years??

What the hell do you do? Do you stop blogging, or do you extend the literal/figurative middle finger at this person and keep on talking about your life with pride and confidence, knowing full well they're keeping a fucking checklist of shit they could possibly use as ammo against you at a later time?

I dunno, I'm at a bit of a crossroads, here. I'm tempted to just hang the shit up rather than reveal even the tiniest detail of my life to this particular person. I don't even want them to know what I had for dinner last night, you know? Let alone what I did last night or how my relationships are going or how much money I spent on this, that, or the other, or even just what I'm up to in California.

Shit. You feel oddly safe talking to a crowd of friends, strangers and well-wishers, but when somebody stumbles on your shit that you don't WANT to, you feel oddly vulnerable. Psychically raped, even, despite the fact that YOU put the information out there. Its a weird duality of blogging, isn't it?

Cat Blob

(Courtesy Diablo's mom, "blob" has now replaced "bolg" as the Misspell Of Choice -- sorry, J-Haff, "bolg" had a good run.)

After Internet Sensation (TM) Larry aka "Douchepacker" went to live with Diablo's folks (sniff -- I miss you, my little estranged son. Oh, you too, Ernie, I suppose.) I despaired that I would never again have cats who would cause the kind of internet rage that Larry did.

And then Trixi came into my life, and brought with her these two lovelies:



On the left there is Bayswater, aka "Flyswatter," aka "'Swatter," aka "Fish Boy." I call him Fish Boy because his crazy cheek tufts make him look like a half man/half fish creature who perhaps crawled up from his undersea domed city to explore the world of humans. To this end, I invented a voice for him that sounds like he's talking through a layer of bubbles, with which I speak for him thus:

"Your air-breathing ways confuse me, human! What is this 'love' you speak of?"

On the right is Pyewacket, aka "'Swacket." All that can be said about her is that she's very pretty. And also very meticulous, given that she spends TWO HOURS A NIGHT cleaning up the litter box to her exacting standards. Also, she runs around crazily at 3 AM and says this: "Row-wow-wow-wow-wow." Also, when there is no food in the dish, she coordinates with Fish Boy to create a plan to annoy us from 5 AM until we wake up whereby the two trade off jumping on Trix' back and just STANDING THERE AND STARING for ten minutes until one of us gets pissed off and swats them away.

Hopefully one of them will create a STAGGERINGLY HUGE INTERNET SENSATION THAT YOU CANNOT ESCAPE FROM like Larry did. Oh, those halcyon days.