So... cats don't really paint?

This book is apparently a joke, which I guess is good - I'd seen it in Barnes and Noble and whatnot, but never tried to pick it up, because I was afraid it would give me that disease that makes you start a collection of porcelain unicorns.

When I was twelve or thirteen, though, I remember flipping through one of those little stable-bound books with titles like "Eighty Kajillion Million Games to Play With Your Cat" that they have at supermarket checkouts, which cited the book quite earnestly as proof of how smart cats are. I wonder if the staply-book was serious about this, or if the author was actually a very angry dog person unhappy with his/her career.

There's a piece of tape on my phone.

The past couple weeks, I keep noticing the piece of tape on the back of my phone, and kind of vaguely wondering what it's doing there. Then I put the phone away and start thinking about something else. As is only right.

I figured it out today: When I first got the phone, I put the tape on there and wrote my number on the tape, but the ink's gotten rubbed off since then. The number obviously must have disappeared from the phone the very second I finally memorized it.

Now that I think about it, I've figured this out about the tape at least once before, then forgotten about it. This all makes a very deep statement about the uselessness of revelation and the transience of memory inherent in modern life. I will write a Japanese short story about the experience.



I should write some Really Hard kanji on the tape, so that they'll be permanently transferred to my brain when the last of the ink gets rubbed off.