The Battle of Rex and Felina

We're engaged in a battle of wills with the cats. So far, the cats are winning.

I was just awakened by one of them literally rattling a can for food. He picked up an empty food tin, carried it in his mouth into the bedroom, then plopped it down on the hardwoods closest to my head. When that didn't immediately work, he swatted it to send it rattling anew. That did the trick. I got up and fed them. It was 5:11 a.m.

It's been like this for many months now, though the tin-can caper was a new one (you've watched too many movies, Rex). It's been fascinating to watch as their technique has evolved over time.

The original approach was simply for Rex, known to our friends and often by us simply as The Fat One, to caterwaul as if agonized by hunger until one of us got up. While this did obviously work, it had a high annoyance factor, as evidenced by a lot of thrown pillows, shouted curses and squirts from a water bottle kept by the bed specifically as a deterrent. (Totally ineffective, as it turned out; the cat just learned to stay out of range.)

Sometimes, Rex would mix it up by crinkling a plastic bag where I keep my laundry for delivery. A lot quieter than the whining, but just as annoying; it's got a fingernails-on-chalkboard effect. But it did do the job.

Lately, he's been using Felina, known as The Cute One, to do his dirty work. She'll come in and climb on top of one of us, usually my wife, and begin silently kneading until one of us gives in. (It was a great heartbreak when my wife recognized this kneading for the cynical ploy that it was, and not simple affection.) Rex is still the ringleader, though; you can tell because he's always waiting at the door, like a kid who's just sent his little sister in to poke Dad awake on Christmas morning under the theory that "You're just a baby. There's no way he'll get mad at you."

Why don't we just lock them out of the room? Well, we tried that, of course. But it's a small apartment, and the doors are thin. Rex's voice carries, and besides, they quickly discovered they can rattle the door in its frame, as annoying in its way as the laundry bag.

I even tried buying a battery-powered, time-delayed food dispenser at an absurd price for my wife's birthday. Which, who knows, might even have worked, if I'd been willing to decipher the Chinese instructions and risk poisoning the animals with spoiled food, should the supplied ice packs not do their job.

We asked our veterinarian what we should do. Dr. Maggie, who has long fretted about Rex's little "morbid obesity" problem, suggested tough love. "Just ignore them," she said. Whenever you surrender to their demands, you merely reinforce their negative behavior, blah blah blah.

But my wife and I are not really the tough-love type. In the end, it just seemed easier to let them have their way. And so, in the lightening pre-dawn hour, one of us faithfully gets up and spoons out a can of Mon Petit between the two of them. We put Rex's half in a dish on the floor, and Felina's on top of the fridge, where she has a fighting chance to finish it before Rex can waddle up and steal it.

We know he does this, by the way, because we can hear him denting the metal shell of the toaster oven on his way up there. As I say, Rex is a big cat.

I can imagine some sensitive souls out there thinking we are heartless for letting Rex's eating issues get out of control, but believe me, it's harder to keep an overindulgent cat on a diet than you'd think, at least if you're trying not to starve the blameless cat in the process. Countless visits to the vet, experimenting with wet and dry foods, putting up a fight for days and days before finally succumbing to exhaustion each morning. I'd say it was like being a parent, except our actual parent friends would laugh at us.

OK, so laugh. Get back to me when your babies learn how to rattle a can.

Ho ho ho

Last night, before going to bed, I enjoyed one of my traditional Christmastime rituals: the watching of "It's a Wonderful Life." Through the beauty of technology, I was able to share the experience with a newbie who had never seen it, who was watching on DVR back in the States, while I cued up my trusty DVD, all the while chatting back and forth via instant message. I even had the cam up and running, although there wasn't much to see besides me speaking along with the lines and eating kettle chips and Haagen-Dazs from the tub.

I have seen the movie more times than any other, by a considerable margin. I know I'm hardly the only person to view this as a classic, and I've probably even waxed nostalgic about it on this blog in years past. (Nothing new under the sun, is there?) Yes, it's an uplifting tale, at least if you can make it to the end. It always meant something special to me, beyond its Christmas connotations, in its emphasis on George Bailey's frustrated desire to "shake off the dust of this crummy old town and see the world." George never does, of course, but I finally am.

But even if my life and George's diverged at some point, happily, I still embrace the film's other, more fundamental message, scribbled in the leaf of Clarence the angel's old copy of Tom Sawyer: "No man is a failure who has FRIENDS." Mindful of this truth, maybe even more so now that I'm so far away from so many of those friends, and apart from my family as well, I undertook a mission I'd always wanted but never managed to pull off before: I wrote Christmas cards. Dozens of them.

Let me just say right now, I apologize for those whose addresses I didn't have, or got wrong, or who just slipped through the cracks. I didn't mean to leave anyone out. I sat under the light of my imported Oregon noble fir, or under the giant pine in Statue Square downtown, and I wrote and wrote. The previous blog post is a copy of the letter I inserted in those cards.

So if you're reading this and you got your card, I'm glad. If you didn't get one, it may yet be coming. But if nothing arrives, just know that I'm writing this for you, too. And I don't want another Christmas to go by without sending out a little cheer and appreciation for those people I care about, and those who care about me.

So raise a glass, deck a hall, do whatever it is you do this time of year, and know you've got a friend in Hong Kong this Christmas.

Better than a card

Happy holiday greetings from Hong Kong!

I’m sitting in my apartment on Thanksgiving “night,” watching the Macy’s parade live on the Internet, as it’s only a little after 10 a.m. in New York. I had to work at the newspaper tonight — toiling on holidays is sadly a familiar routine for anyone in this biz — but the company was nice enough to bring in a turkey dinner for us all. A nice gesture in these turbulent times.

It was a rocky night, too: big news out of Mumbai, and Bangkok, and as always, Iraq. But it did make me all the more thankful for the things I’ve been given in this life: safe places to grow up and to make my career; the freedom and resources to be comfortable and to pursue my dreams; and most of all, the love of good friends and family, like all of you.

I know it’s been a long time since I’ve talked with some of you, and some others I spoke to most recently under what were not the happiest of circumstances. My mother’s passing was hard on everyone who came to know her, but it was easier knowing that so many people were thinking of Beth, her guys, and me, and sending warmth, support and sympathy our way. I dearly thank everyone for those thoughts and prayers, and though I don’t say it nearly often enough, I am grateful for having all of you in my life.

Hong Kong has already begun getting ready for Christmas, with lights festooning all the high-rises downtown, Christmas muzak pumped into the subways, and trees and baubles decorating many of the shops and offices. And while it’s still getting up into the 70s in the daytime, all the locals are bundling up in their woolen caps and scarves against the “chill” of evenings that just might (but don’t) dip into the 50s. If you go by just the visuals, and ignore that the cabs are all red instead of yellow, it could be Christmas in New York.

I’ve gotten to see a lot of the world in my 20 months in Asia, from Nepal and Thailand, to Cambodia and Taiwan, then Japan and Macau, even England, France and the States. Travel is the thing I love most, and I’m fortunate to have the opportunity to do it. (And yes, I have blown through all my vacation time already, in case you were wondering.) Wherever I’ve been, I’ve been treated with courtesy and kindness, and it’s reassuring to know that despite what you sometimes read in the papers, Americans can find friendly faces around this world.

I hope that all of you are finding friendly faces wherever you are, and that you are able to make the time for the things, and people, that you love most. The holidays are a busy time, and it’s easy to get distracted by things that don’t really matter all that much. But as we gather close to one another — in spirit, if not in space — I hope we can forget the tribulations, and celebrate what does really matter: that there are people out there who care about us, some close at hand, and some far away.

Merry Christmas, everybody!

Thoughts on the recent election

Written in response to an e-mail from my cousin Mindi. (Hi, Mindi!)

The world at large is pretty much ecstatic about Obama's election. To a fairly irrational degree, in fact. This election was watched with unusual interest around the globe, and it seems everybody has a vision of America under Obama as being this whole new animal, a benevolent, peaceful, humble force for goodness and love and equality and fairness. Everybody hated Bush so much, and was so disappointed in America for re-electing him, that Obama's election is being seen as America turning a 180.

Now, it should and will be a change, no doubt about it. But expectations for Obama are so high that he really cannot help but disappoint, especially having been given such a lousy hand. The world knows that he is A) not Bush and B) black, and while these are both remarkable (and positive) qualities, he is not the Messiah, and he will still operate under serious democratic (little d) and financial constraints. He may be the most powerful person in the world, but he is not all-powerful, which is something much of the world (particularly places that are not functioning democracies) fails to appreciate.

I will admit, it is nice not having to make apologies for being an American, now that I'm living overseas. Obama will surely be vastly better than Bush, if only because Bush was so spectacularly, jaw-droppingly bad. Right now it's like everyone wants to give every American they meet a high five.

The night of his election, which was a Wednesday here because of the date line, a bunch of us from the office went to an African bar that was having an Obama victory party (happy hour all night!). Obama T-shirts and chanted Obamas from the stage, dancing, everybody happy. I cannot imagine what bleakness would have descended upon us all had he somehow managed to lose. (The influence of rich bankers and service members aside, expat America is heavily pro-Obama, a reflection of the expat's worldview being a view of, well, the world, and not just whatever suburb or small town he or she grew up in.) I am sure there are McCain supporters out here among us, but they are not quick to identify themselves. It is pretty obvious what the popular sentiment is. In media circles, the tilt is even more pronounced.

I don't want to come off cynically here, because I was deeply proud of America as the results came in, and I was watching the returns and the speeches online just everyone back home. And yeah, I teared up more than once (for McCain and Obama both, actually), because I'm a softie for lofty rhetoric that makes me feel like we're the good guys, the shining city on the hill. I really think we are, actually, which is why Bush's presidency has been so heartbreaking. We went from Le Monde proclaiming "We are all Americans" on Sept. 12, 2001, to The Daily Mirror asking "How can 59,054,087 [Americans] be so DUMB?" on Nov. 4, 2004.

But world opinion is only a small part of it. I recognize that it matters, of course, but if I truly think America is doing the right thing, the rest of the world can piss off. If no one else had been willing to go into Afghanistan, I'd have supported us going alone. It was the right thing to do, and it was our right to do it. (Unlike, say, Iraq.) We have responsibilities that China and Russia and France do not (and cannot) shoulder, and that's fine with me. I like that we elected a black man (or any minority) our highest leader, something you won't see in France in our lifetime. We walked the walk. We lived up to our ideals, and in dramatic fashion. Granted, the country had to be falling to pieces before we did it, but we did it nonetheless.

More important to me is the message we sent to ourselves. Of course, racism is not OVER, by any stretch, but this proves it's a whole lot less of an issue than some people (talking to you, Jesse J.) would have us think. Generations of blacks have been fed a steady diet of hopelessness and victimhood by their supposed leadership, and privately amongst themselves, and this is like a bucket of cold water to the face. Just because the odds are not even-steven, and may never be, does not mean it's impossible to win the game. Most of us, black, white, brown, whatever, WANT things to be fair. The poison of racism is expecting the worst of the other guy. It's an absence of good faith. It's assuming that whatever anybody says, in the end they really just want to fuck you over. And that's what Obama's election was: a triumph of good faith.

So I was proud. I was as skeptical as anyone about Obama's actual credentials, and I thought a lot of the enthusiasm for him was emotional and fuzzy and based on symbolism more than policy positions or qualifications. I still do, and that's one reason I didn't back him in the primaries (I was for Hillary, most of the way). He's clearly a skillful campaigner, a gifted orator, and a temperate and thoughtful mind. That does not mean he can govern, though all of it certainly helps. McCain is an honorable man, and he would have been a marked improvement over the status quo, but when he picked a dangerously underqualified running mate whom he barely knew, he lost the one credential that might have made me actually vote for him: his earned reputation as an independent, wise old man. Trusting that Obama was up to the job in these turbulent times might have been a gamble, but it seemed no more of a gamble than hoping that a 72-year-old man who'd had cancer four times would make it to the finish line without a small-market TV personality taking over as commander-in-chief.

It was clear we needed a change, as Bush and the Republicans had made an unholy mess of the last eight years (indeed, they are fully deserving of the years in the wilderness I suspect are in store for them). And, apart from the thinness of his resume, Obama did not have any obvious strikes against him; he just had barely been to the plate. So, I'll sign up for the symbolism and the soaring speechifying and cheer along with everybody else. I dearly hope that he proves to be a good president and is not drummed out in four years by a depressed economy and a legion of disappointed dreamers; that would be a sad postscript to a truly stirring achievement. But only time will tell.

Baiting Beijing

I hate to say it, but I'm starting to side with China on this one.

Look, the place has got problems. It's not democratic, it's not free, it's not respectful of human rights, it cozies up to bad countries, it pollutes like a mofo, yes, yes and yes. It is not Eden, but we knew all this before we gave them the damn Olympics, and heckling the torch wherever it goes is just bad taste. I understand that in free countries, protesting is a right, and one that cannot be abridged just to protect a symbol for something that, hullaballoo aside, is just not really that important. But guys, give it up. The Olympics are going to happen, and no amount of petty whining and assaulting girls in wheelchairs (God, what dumbass didn't think how THAT would play in the media?) is going to change that fact, or China. China will do what China wants, what China thinks it has to do, whether we like it or not.

China faces all kinds of challenges that other countries don't have to confront, or confronted a century ago, and in a lot of ways, they're doing a pretty good job. Put 1.2 billion people in the area of the United States, make half of them dirt poor, and see what kinds of sacrifices YOU have to make to keep the lid on. Yes, we can keep the pressure on diplomatically and person-to-person, in any of a thousand ways. But just let them have their moment. Giving them the Games, and then pissing all over it, is only making the Chinese embarrassed and angry. After all, they don't KNOW what we know about their country's deficiencies, because their media don't tell them. All they see is China-bashing, and they are reacting in an entirely predictable and even understandable way.

The Olympics have always been political, I know that, but the IDEA of the Olympics is to set differences aside, just for a few weeks, in celebration of something other than the usual bullshit that divides us. Tibet should have the right to self-determination, Sudan shouldn't be propped up, Taiwan shouldn't live in fear, and ordinary Chinese shouldn't have to go to jail for simply speaking the truth or following their beliefs. But we have about 101 weeks out of every 104 to talk about all that. You've made your point. Now just let it go.

Staging a comeback

So, I went to go and see Harry Connick Jr. the other night in Hong Kong (I'm back in the States at the moment, but I've been kicking this blog idea around for a while now). I'm a fairly casual fan, I guess you'd say -- I recognize his talents and liked his sound generally but don't own any albums, in part because I always associated him with that sort of lone-crooner-at-a-piano vibe, and I'm not often in the mood for that kind of music. Still, the live music scene in HK is pretty weak, and I got an invitation to go, so I figured, what the hell.

He really surprised me, though. He'd brought a full-on jazz band with him, and he delivered a rollicking, boogie-woogie New Orleans sort of show. Opened with "(We'll Have Big Fun) On the Bayou)" and just went up from there. Anytime you open with Hank, you have my attention.

All the Big Easy standards were included, and a lot of his musicians took a turn in the spotlight, though Harry of course remained the center of attention, no more so than when he absolutely, positively wailed in an extended solo during St. James' Infirmary. His preteen daughters, who were seated across the aisle from my party during much of the show, also got in the act, singing "London Bridge Is Falling Down" in Cantonese to their Hong Kong-born amah. The Chinese up in the cheap seats really roared at that.

Speaking of cheap seats, ours weren't. We had a good view of Harry's hands on the keyboard, at least whenever the usher was not needlessly standing up to let a wayward audience member advance past his velvet rope. I was gratified when, near the end of the show, Harry invited people to leave their assigned seats and join him up front at the stage, a development that brought sheer terror to the ushers' faces as they struggled to decide what to do. One dear companion, Elana, who was responsible for my attendance and did all the legwork, gleefully followed Harry's orders and rushed past the poor usher, who eventually just had to shrug and slink down into his folding chair. Of course, in the end, Harry encored with "It Had to Be You," which may be his signature song but is hardly the most energetic number to finally be imploring the crowd to rush the stage for.

This was basically the first and only time the audience stood, which I understand to be fairly typical of HK. This would have been fine with lone-crooner music, but with Harry and his Big Band it seemed something of a waste. I mean, I did enjoy the show, but between the crowd's demure behavior and the cavernous space of the convention center hall (which Harry joked would be better-suited to motocross), I was reminded of just how much all has to go right to make a concert really perfect and memorable. To make, for example... a Top Ten List of Live Shows, such as I'm about to give you. (No particular order.)

Billy Joel, Reunion Arena, Dallas, Texas, December 1999
Basically my only real superstar arena show, but with a guy who really can whip an adoring crowd into blissful harmony. It was right before Christmas so he threw some holiday music into the mix, but he delivered all the favorites that we could hope for, which was reassuring as he was even then vowing to devote himself to classical and leave his beloved pop behind.

Luscious Jackson, La Luna, Portland, Oregon, November 1994
A band that will always be near and dear to my heart, and a demonstration of the truism that chicks who play bass are hot. I succumb to their embrace.

George Clinton and Funkadelic, Granada Theater, Dallas, Texas, May 2006
Serious funk was had, and everything was present to make for a memorable night. Four hours standing on concrete were a small price to pay.

Moody Blues, Rose Garden, Portland, Oregon, May 1996
My buddy Alan's 21st birthday, and a thrown-together adventure where everything somehow managed to turn out just right. And the Moodies were their typical album-perfect selves, like it or not.

Rock Fest, Texas Motor Speedway, Fort Worth, Texas, June 1997
Counting Crows, No Doubt, Third Eye Blind, Paula Cole, Jewel and a bunch of other acts that were huge at the time. No indie cred to speak of, but it did attract 400,000 people, four of whom were me, my stripper friend, her ex-con boyfriend and the stripper setup for me who we all ended up ditching.

Willie Nelson's Fourth of July Picnic, Luckenbach, Texas, July 1999
The last picnic to take place in Luckenbach, and the best time I ever had hoarding beer, dodging horseshoes and befriending Bubbas. Also, "Whiskey River."

Old 97's, Gypsy Ballroom, Dallas, Texas, circa 1999
This was the hardest pick, because I've loved the Old 97's every time and place I've seen them. Could just as easily have been at Trees or the Granada, but Gypsy was first. I think this may have been my first show at Gypsy, too. It was also my first show with a brand-new girlfriend on my arm, which certainly didn't hurt.

Nashville Pussy, Trees, Dallas, Texas, circa 2000
Spandex, leopard print, unprintable lyrics and fire-breathing. So much of the latter that, ever since the Great White disaster, I look back on this event as the night I could have died.

Junior Brown, Continental Club, Austin, Texas, July 2000
Perfect example of the accidental concert. We had meant to go to the Broken Spoke but the winds were whipping like crazy and the rain was pouring sheets so we decided to go to the club across the street from our lodging, the So Close Yet So Far Out Austin Motel. And Junior Brown was playing. Kismet.

Essex Green, The Cavern, Dallas, Texas, May 2006
A band I'd never heard of, at a place I'd never seen a band, with a friend who drives a truck who was just passing through for a night. And I loved them instantly. A good show can do that.

Honorable mentions go out to They Might Be Giants at Gypsy, Smashmouth/Luscious Jackson at Bronco Bowl, Edie Brickell/Paul Simon at Fair Park Music Hall, Huey Lewis/Chicago at Smirnoff Music Centre, Heartless Bastards at Sons of Hermann Hall and the Granada, Willie's picnics in Austin and Fort Worth, Kenny Loggins at the Lane County Fair (my first show, in 1986!), and innumerable acts at Austin City Limits and South by Southwest.

So, any top shows for you folks out there?

And while I'm at it...

...a few remarks about the OTHER controversy, the one seeking to tar Obama with the crackpottery of his former pastor, the Reverend Jeremiah Wright.

I finally got around to watching Obama's speech about race on YouTube, and I thought he struck the right tone. He condemned Wright's remarks, again, and defended his association with the man in a way that I thought rang true. (Getting millions of people to hear him talk about how important his Christian faith is to him is, if I'm to be overly cynical, a clever bonus, but that's beside the point.)

I don't particularly think that he should have felt compelled to go to such great lengths to defuse the situation; it's just not fair to hold a person accountable for every single thing that one of his close friends has ever said, no matter how outrageous. I've got relatives who've said some stuff to make me cringe, too, and I'm not about to disown them. I think we can all relate to that. But he did take the opportunity to say something meaningful, and he did so in an eloquent and constructive manner. Above all he pointed out that both sides of the race divide have concerns and grievances, and even if they're not evenly balanced, there's no point in denying that they exist and that they matter.

And his prescription is right, too. Fix the schools, fix health care, fix the economy, fix the tax structure. That is where we start. The fairer the system is, the more the gaps will narrow on their own. I think there are ways to achieve this without continuing to argue in circles on race. It's not that racism is dead, or that all the barriers to achievement are gone -- we all know that's not the case. It's just that you can only get so far by looking strictly through a racial prism. We all have to make an effort here to see both sides -- but we also all have to make an effort to stop seeing sides at all.

The only thing that bugged me about the speech was his attempt to insinuate that Ferraro was calling his candidacy some form of "affirmative action." Affirmative action, as we all learned in school, is the government telling the people what to do: whom to hire, whom to enroll, whom to do business with. Maybe, if I'm to take the more favorable view, making us behave better and more justly than we would have if left to our own devices. But nobody's "making" anybody vote for Obama. He's the front-runner because America wants him to be. We're there. We're ready.

That's my whole point.