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:
I thought it would be fun to play a little game of Can You Hum That Film Score?
The rules of the game are simple. I’m going to name off a bunch of films with notable scores, and you’re going to check off the ones you can hum from memory. Not ones where you hear it, and you go, “Oh, that’s from this-and-this movie.” No, you have to have the tune already embedded in your conscious brain. If you can’t hum it from memory, then you can’t vote for it. Simple enough, right?
The closer something looks like an actual human being, without being an actual human being, the creepier it looks. That’s what the uncanny valley refers to — this dip in our emotional response to a human likeness.