by Slo Mo
Q. Who is Slo Mo?
A. I'M Slo Mo.
A beach bumming, hammock-swinging, havoc-wreaking gal of the people. And a damn fine house-sitter, too. Who are YOU?
Q. When we looked up "still life" in the encyclopedia it showed a bunch of paintings with fruit and flowers and crap. Is that what this column is supposed to be about - fruit and flowers and crap?
You see, the beauty of the still life genre is that it communicates the luminous, transcendent qualities of apparently mundane objects, like apples in a bowl or some flowers in a vase. Just like me and Dog - on the surface, nothing's really happening in our lives. But within all that "nothingness" there's actually a lot going on. Get it? No? Well then look at it this way - we have a banana tree and a hibiscus hedge in our garden, and Dog poops in the yard. So there ya go: fruit and flowers and crap.
Q. Did you guys make any New Year's resolutions for 2001?
A. Are you kidding?
If Dog and I have anything remotely resembling a religious creed, it's that we don't make New Year's resolutions. I'm already doing a fine job of falling short of everyone's expectations without adding a list of my own, and Dog... Well, he's a dog. He likes his life just fine the way it is.
Q. You haven't written a column since Christmas. Where have you been?
A. Working my butt off.
As you may recall, Dog and I had a Wild Rescue Adventure Safari right before the holiday when we saved a half-dead stray dog, and then we took her to the animal hospital and had a Dramatic Christmas Revelation about the spirit of giving, blah blah blah, and then everything turned Hallmark and we named her Star-
Q. What the hell does that have to do with not updating your column???
A. Back off!
I convinced the animal hospital to let me pay them back for Star's vet bills by pulling night shifts as their kennel attendant. And let me just tell y'all a little something about night shifts - they SUCK! You're ready to party when everyone else is just getting out of bed, and you're just getting out of bed when everyone else is ready to party. Kind of like being a vampire, but without the fun and glamour. Plus, and this is the most important thing: there is no way to work on your tan during lunch hour when your lunch hour is at 2 a.m. Jeez. So as you can see, updating this column has been the least of my worries...
Q. When can Star come home from the hospital?
A. Next week.
And are we prepared for her? Noooo, we are not. And have I even bought an extra bowl for her kibble? Nooo, I have not. I was kinda hoping Dog would agree to share his stuff, but no such luck...
Q. What kind of dog is Dog?
A. The lazy, selfish kind.
While I've been reporting to work at 9 p.m. every night to shovel poop and clean litter boxes and fill water dishes and dodge three-legged killer poodles named Precious, Dog has been hanging out in the hospital staff lounge eating liver snaps and watching Animal Planet. Oh wait - did you mean what breed? Um, we're not sure. He's a big, hairy mystery.
Q. Why are you bothering to house-sit for your cousin if she's such a bitch?
A. Two words: free rent. Two more words: beach bungalow.
The only problem is that Kat's supposed to come home from Europe in a couple of months and then she won't need me to house-sit anymore and the party will be over and I'll have to find my own place and get a job to pay the rent, and then I'll be s-o-l. Unless she discovers that I've brought another dog into her house without her permission, in which case I'll be s-o-l in the immediate sense.
Q. So how much will you pay us not to tell Kat about the new dog?
Q. Can you tell us the meaning of life?
I've been pondering this very issue ever since the "berries" in Cap'n Crunch Crunch'n'Berries went solo on their own gig to form Cap'n Crunch Oops - Just Berries! And then Shrub won the U.S. election and all my fears were confirmed. Like, can this life possibly have any meaning or purpose so long as an abomination like Oops Just Berries is allowed to park itself in the same shelf space as Cocoa Puffs, and an abomination like George W. Bush is allowed to park himself in the same office space as Abraham Lincoln? Are these not clear signs that God has abandoned us and the universe is a cold, dead void and we're all DOOMED?!? I think so!!!!
Q. Is it true that you're Canadian?
Q. So do you speak french and say "aboot"?
Now take your stupid cultural stereotypes and get oot of here, eh?
Q. Check this out: I'm psychically connected to Keanu Reeves, as he was my twin in a previous life. We share the same karma. So anyway, I've been inexplicably drawn to your column ever since it first appeared last year, and now I know why! Your cousin's dog's name is Dog, and your new dog's name is Star. Dog + Star = Dogstar! Dogstar is the name of Keanu Reeves' rock band! YOU'RE SENDING ME A CODED MESSAGE TO COME LIVE WITH YOU! So like, give me a call and we'll hook up, okay?
A. I have no idea what just happened here.
Q. mO! U roCk!
A. I luv u 2! Frendz 4-ever!
Q. Don't you think it's time you grew up and got a career and stuff?
A. Mom, is that you?
But seriously, I'd love to grow up and get "a career and stuff" and then settle down and marry a dentist and have 2.2 kids and drive a mini-van and learn how to cook and save for retirement and have a huge mortgage and a major addiction to tranquilizers. But you know what? I'm way too busy crusading for justice as guardian of the universe to indulge in the trifling matters of mere mortals. But y'all go ahead and enjoy yourselves with your little "careers and stuff". Really. Don't mind me.
Q. Are you a devil-worshipper?
A. Not on a regular basis - 00/Oct/29. It's bad enough that I'm Canadian.
Q. ANOTHER CODED MESSAGE! KEANU REEVES IS FROM CANADA! CALL ME!
A. Who let you back in here?
Q. Are you seeing anyone? And do you restrict yourself to one gender, or are you open to new possibilities?
A. That depends.
Send me three photos and your complete medical history, and I'll get back to you...
Q. Is Dog seeing anyone? And does he restrict himself to one species, or is he open to new possibilities?
Q. Do you get paid a ton of money for writing this column?
Ooohhhh, that's a good one. I'm laughing so hard I could cry. Bit of advice, just between you and me: you know Sarah Jessica Parker's character on Sex And The City? The newspaper hack who gets paid enough to live in Manhattan in a $4,000 apartment and wear a new designer outfit every day and eat at 5-star restaurants and hand in her assignments whenever it's not too much bother between social engagements? Between you and me? That whole plot is the biggest joke ever played on young, aspiring writers. The reality is this: a $400 cold-water flat, stale bread, thrift shop clothes, and a flaming hatred of Sex And The City. It's a sad, sad truth, but someone's gotta tell it.
Q. KEANU HAS A TATTOO ON HIS BUTT THAT SAYS 'SAD TRUTH'! CALL ME!!!
A. That does it. I'm oot of here.