A Clinton Presidency represents the old establishment winning yet again. A Trump Presidency represents the people throwing a giant, orange-skinned, tiny-handed middle finger at the establishment.
A Sanders Presidency would have represented the possibility of change, to me at least. Because Sanders is enough of an outsider to challenge the establishment, but also has the experience to maybe, just maybe get something done within it when necessary.
In the weeks since Marley’s death, Biscuit has been acting differently. Before, he would spend most of the day huddled quietly somewhere, but now, he paces around the house, meowing and meowing incessantly (oddly enough, just like Marley used to do). He’s much needier now, too, and actively seeks out affection from Melissa. He even rolls over on his back and lets her scratch him. This is something he never used to do.
Biscuit’s change in behavior has made us wonder if he’s sad or freaked out about Marley. Does he know what happened to him? Is that why he was howling when Marley died? When he wanders around the house now, is he looking for his brother?
That’s the kind of cat Marley was. Crotchety, moody, fickle, grumpy, emo … I’ve got an entire thesaurus of negative terms to describe his personality. That’s why he came to be known simply as #3. No name needed. Just … #3.
And here I am, incredibly bummed out that #3 is gone.
Ironic, isn’t it?
You were one crotchety little cat. And every time you wanted attention or affection from us, it had to be on your terms. But hey, we still loved you. I wonder if Mama and Biscuit will miss you, too.
As opposed to “building a butter body,” which is what it seems like we’ve been doing for the last few years …
The men’s category above is called Physique, and the women’s is called Bikini. Because for the men, it’s all about the physique. And for the women … it’s … all about … the bikini? I guess? I mean, those are $400 bikinis. With sequins on them. So … yeah, I guess it makes sense that it’s all about the bikini.
Not that I’m complaining or anything. The rules of the division mandate that the bikini bottom must cover at least 50% of the glutes. But … well, if you’ve ever been to one of these competitions, let’s just say the judges are clearly not too focused on the math.
Anyway, at least I get to save a ton of money and wear regular swim trunks. Life is so much cheaper when you’re a guy.
Kerri and I were classmates in grad school at UCSD. She was the brilliant immunologist who aced every class and earned her PhD in molecular biology in less time than it takes most people to get a bachelor’s. I was … well, let’s just say I was the exact opposite of that. (Hey, someone has to occupy the bottom end of that bell curve.)
Kerri and I became good friends, but after she graduated, she moved across the country, and we lost touch. It wasn’t until 2009 that I found out she had moved back to San Diego years before. Over the next six years, we messaged each other sporadically, and while we both talked about meeting up for a drink sometime to catch up, neither of us really made much of an effort to follow through.
This morning, my latest column for Cracked was published, about the subtle racism that I experience regularly as an Asian-American.
Not surprisingly, some people didn’t quite get the point of the column. And so, I’d like to clear a few things up. Specifically, I want to respond to the comments that I’m whiny or angry or playing the victim by writing the column in the first place. To clarify then: