It's been three attempts now of trying to get Cal to take two pills and switch to wet (diet) food in order to treat his asthma. That's six pills and half a can.

That means I've accidentally eaten about half an antibiotic, more than a few fingertips worth of cat food, and almost gave Taylor his insulin twice when I couldn't remember if I'd already (just) given him a shot. Cal is so depressed after we wrestle to get the pills into him (the antibiotic is big and I use a piller; the asthma pill is small and I have to get him to open his mouth in anger so I can toss it in) that he won't eat his food. The pills are supposed to be increasing his appetite, so I don't know what's going on, other than he might have overheard the vet tell me that Cal now weighs twenty pounds, and "all that extra weight" around his chest isn't helping his wheezing.

But he hasn't wheezed in two days. He's also barely eaten. His mood is exactly the same; no personality change. But if he doesn't start eating soon, I'm going to be very worried. Tomorrow morning I'll try the pills after I've fed him, which probably means I'll be adding "washing cat-puke covered clothes" to my to-do list.

So, yes. If you're still figuring out my Sexy Quotient, that's one cat with asthma and a weight problem, plus one cat with diabetes and arthritis, multiplied by four different medications administered twice a day, divided by one sharps container for used syringes, to the power of dork plus infinity. Squared.

Liz is a 4-time Emmy winner for her work as a writer/producer on The Ellen DeGeneres Show. Being the over-achiever that she is, Liz is now launching her own limited-run kitchen table comedy show, where she'll be keeping you abreast of the latest and greatest and nearest and queerest. It's a no-budget thrill-ride that's low on tech and high on life.

For those of you who are looking for a new song to make your booty bounce, here's the one I can't stop playing these days:

And as for me, I'm a little stressed out. It's my turn to write an episode.

But I didn't know that.

So when I walked inside to the bar to get a drink, I headed towards what looked like the bar off to the right in front of me. And just before I slammed face-first into the mirror, I actually thought to myself: "Oh, hell no. I know this bitch is not gonna just turn the corner and walk right into me pretending she doesn't see me! Are you kidding me? She--"

BAM.

You guys, the mirrors were really dark. "You need to put some fingerprints on that wall," I told the waitstaff, who watched the whole thing unfold. "Or a webcam."

"That happens every night," one said. "Often to people who work here. Have a drink."

Later that night, when I was walking through the crowd looking for someone, I realized there was an entire section of the bar I hadn't even explored... until I tried to dodge the woman rudely headed towards me, and walked face-first into that same mirror... and that same woman.

I am gifted!

I was sound asleep. Then I heard screaming. A man, screaming, "I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU!"

I bolt up in my bed and stare at the window. My heart is racing, but my brain is not quite fully awake, but Wonder Killing: No, you know that voice. You know that sound. You've heard this before. It's not real. It's not real.

It was my neighbor watching a movie on what must be as loud as his television would allow.

I sat up in bed, getting my heart rate to return to normal, trying to figure out where I recognized the screams and gunshots and shouting.

And then: a saxophone, wailing a familiar song.

I had been shocked awake by the ending of Taxi Driver. Oh, my God. It was the worst. Because I knew what I was hearing but I didn't, it felt like I was awake in a nightmare and I didn't know what I was supposed to do to stop that man from screaming that he was going to kill me. And then I had the Taxi Driver song stuck in my head. Why did he want to watch that movie in the middle of the night? Why did he need it to be so loud?

What does it take to fall asleep after that? Two Oprahs while on the couch. Oh, and AB? The chili was done around 3:30 in the morning.

Hi, Pam--

According to Wikipedia, kolache fillings include fruit and cheeses, but not sausage. The correct name for what you made this morning is Klobasnek, which are sometimes mistakenly referred to as sausage kolaches. Just thought you might want to know.

Take care,
Michael

You know, I much prefer the smarty-pants email from people I haven't met in real life, like this one, to the torrent of Jollibee hatemail (yep, still getting that) or the ones from the readers of a fetish site that I cannot find but must exist, with the story of me trying to find ski boots linked on some creepy forum somewhere because I STILL get email asking about my calves. Even today. Like, just now.

I woke up this morning and wanted sausage kolaches. Like, two kolaches. This is because you other homesick Texans have been sending me email about food I've forgotten about, and Lis sent the link to the Homesick Texan's kolache recipe.

I don't live in Texas, so I can't just run to the donut shop, and you can't make just two kolaches, so... I decided to make kolaches for the writers' room.

But I've never made kolaches before, and I worried that they wouldn't turn out to be edible, so when I went to the store to pick up mini-sausages, I also grabbed two rolls of pillsbury crescent rolls so I had the cheater's version.

And then, to dress those up, i threw some brie in some and parmesan in some others and suddenly I've got dough rising and cresent rolls baking and it takes hours and I'm almost late for work. Worse, there's no great way to transport kolaches, because I want to carry them in a paper bag to keep them crisp, but all I've got is an (unused) Albertson's bag, but I know that some of the germ-phobes (so many writers are crazy OCD germ-phobes, it's ridiculous), if they saw me carrying their food in a paper grocery bag (even though it had never been used), they'd freak out and call me disgusting and never touch these homemade things. So I wrapped some of the rolls in aluminum foil and some (the ones from scratch) I snuck in the paper bag so I wouldn't risk ruining them in case they actually turned out to be decent. (Shhhh.)

Walking to my car with a bag of kolaches gave me such a flashback to high school, on my way to an early-morning rehearsal or study session with the unhealthy promise of belly-bombing pigs-in-blankets and a cup of hot coffee.

I rolled into work and quickly removed all trace of paper bag, but: the ones in the aluminum foil had lost all crispiness, and looked sad. The ones from scratch ended up looking the best, but I think they were too doughy.

AND I forgot one of the writers doesn't eat red meat, and I had stuffed a sausage in every single one. AND one of our Texan writers, the one from Austin, is out working on her outline today, so I didn't get the benefit of someone backing up this ridiculous impulse.

But: out of three dozen kolaches, there's less than a dozen left, so I suppose my crazy-baking impulse was somewhat of a success.

It's even stranger when I tell you that originally I was supposed to make chili for the room (true), but it turned into this.

Random acts of action are rare and special. The Foundation seems to be an exceptionally lucky beneficiary. Think of all these folks who have never even been to Jamaica who were mobilized and motivated by the random action that defines Dewey (well, not exactly RANDOM action... the action was well-conceived and incredibly effective, but ACTION, not just kindness... though kindness is really nice too).

Sometime over the next two weeks, bulldozers and the crew will begin the process of demolishing the the crumbling, decrepit portion of the library. It is a long-anticipated event for hundreds of children and community members in Negril, all of who have greatly valued the library, but longed for a modernized facility that would give them access to information, literature and connectedness that are staples of global equality. Dewey's donors have acted globally on behalf of a local community far away and, as the teacher in our video states, "that is a tremendous, tremendous action." We at the Rockhouse Foundation feel exactly the same way.

One love

--
Peter B. Rose

---

[For those of you who elected to contribute automatic recurring donations, I still receive alerts when another gift heads Rockhouse's way. Thanks for making the give that keeps on giving. -- pamie]

Talib Kweli, Madlib: Liberation

The Raconteurs: Consolers of the Lonely

Lyrics Born: Everywhere at Once

Moby: Last Night

Portishead: Third

Johnny Cash: Love

Spending time with Dave and Tara this week, our conversation turned once again to our plans to Eat Through Austin -- a tour we consumed back in 2004 when Omar got married. That's the last time I've been to Austin, and I hear it's gone through some changes since then.

I know my Eat Through Austin pangs are bad when I'm craving Texadelphia or a sandwich from Thundercloud. That's not just "Wow, I wish I could eat Salt Lick today" normal Austin nostalgia. I'm craving a sandwich on Oltorf. That's got to be more about the feeling of being in Austin on a nice day, picking up a couple of sandwiches to take down by the lake, having the laziest of Sundays.

Is it too much to ask for one real Tex-Mex joint in Los Angeles? It seems every other person around here is from Texas. Why can't we all get together and demand some decent migas?

Dammit, now I'm going to end up making homemade migas and queso and guacamole and buy some Shiner and find myself immobile on the couch stuffed with deliciousness and pain, weeping guilty tears from trying to create a gastric time machine. All because it's a billion degrees outside and I can't get to Trudy's from here.

Evany is on a hilarious search for the perfect litter box.

Mary Roach: Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex

I miss you.

I didn't buy anything, so I avoided anything like the last time I went wine tasting, but that's mostly because I was starting to feel some jet lag. Next time.

Speaking of trips from LAX, AB is here for a visit, even though she was scheduled on every single flight cancelled by American Airlines. She eventually made it, and now the weather has decided to pretend it's last summer so that she'll feel more welcome. We're already sunburned.