Schubert's World of Bil-Wau

Wednesday

2009-05-13T13:13:00.004-04:00

I have spent the better part of the morning trying to determine if the lyrics to "Killer Queen" by Queen are about me. Prophetically, I mean. Regarde:

She keeps Moet et Chandon
In a pretty cabinet
'Let them eat cake' she says
Just like Marie Antoinette

So far so good.

A built-in remedy
For Khrushchev and Kennedy
At anytime an invitation
You can't decline

Yep. Still checks out.

Caviar and cigarettes
Well versed in etiquette
Extraordinarily nice

Not so much the cigarettes, but everything else in this verse is right on.

Chorus:
She's a Killer Queen
Gunpowder, Gelatine
Dynamite with a laser beam
Guaranteed to blow your mind
Anytime
Recommended at the price
Insatiable an appetite
Wanna try?

Um. Well not so much. Though I do have an insatiable appetite for water. But that couldn't really be described as an appetite.

To avoid complications
She never kept the same address
In conversation
She spoke just like a baroness
Met a man from
China Went down to
Asia Minor
Then again incidentally
If you're that way inclined

I have moved a time or two, so we're still okay. And I do speak like a baroness. The Baroness of Sass.

Perfume came naturally from Paris
For cars she couldn't care less
Fastidious and precise

Who else could this describe? I don't like cars. Not a bit.

Chorus

Drop of a hat she's as willing as
Playful as a pussy cat
Then momentarily out of action
Temporarily out of gas
To absolutely drive you wild, wild
She's out to get you

Hmm...

Chorus

Recommended at the price
Insatiable in appetite
Wanna try?
You wanna try.

I think a good 75% was written with me in mind. I chalk the remainder up to M. Mercury's pursuit of some degree of anonymity in regards to his subject. After all, what would people have thought of him if they knew he'd written a song about a cat that had not yet been born and wouldn't grace the Earth with her cool for another 25-ish years?

You might have wondered...

2009-05-12T14:51:00.002-04:00

...what do Schubert cats dream of?

Last night, I dreamt that the concrete utility sink overcame its iron footing and lurched to its left as the legs gave way. It tossed the washing machine aside, pushing it across the basement. I watched as the water lines snapped free from the washing machine's back and sprayed a wide shower that seemed to come from everywhere as it reached the opposite wall and ceiling and ricocheted off of each. I watched from the doorway as water pooled on the basement floor. A small tendril of cold water crept toward me on the floor and I held my ground. It eased closer, winding briefly around a crack in the floor until finally it reached me. I bent my neck and sipped.

Strange Living

2009-05-11T14:42:00.002-04:00

The essay is on the back burner for another day. I have returned to the upstairs and have had to spend a great deal of time and energy regulating. This also explains my unintended blog-silence last week.

Nevertheless, the essay will be completed in due time. I have also been approached about a utility-scale alternative energy project wherein my cool and my sass will be captured in a gross of bell jars and used to propel the Goodyear Blimp.

Don't worry, the cool and sass captured will in no way dwindle my resources.

I'm ready for another NaPoWriMo. Or maybe it should just be NaPoWriYe here at 'The World."

Thoughts?

All This Talk of Water...Let's Get to the Point

2009-05-05T09:10:00.005-04:00

Just as a container does not guarantee that the water gotten from the lake will be the right water, a poem en forme is not an inherently superior work. In fact a mediocre poem poorly-executed formwise is of lesser quality than a mediocre free verse poem. Poor or improperly executed form is an additional strike against the poem. It may be disheartening to note, as well, that impeccably-executed form does not provide additional benefit to the work. That is to say that a mediocre poem en forme, even if it adheres faithfully to the rules of the form, is still just a mediocre poem.

So why would the poet choose to write en forme? Taking into account the inherent risks to how the work may be received and noting that the rewards are not necessarily equal in potential, why bother?

We return, then, to the lake. The container -- the form -- provides a set of guidelines for the poet. While some poets become lolandgorille when confronted with a set of rules, others welcome the guidelines. Indeed, the lake of possibility can be overwhelming to the young or "new" writer. Faced with the task of capturing a poem from the enormity of possibility before her, the young writer may be daunted. In this way, the form is a guide and a friend.

This is a roundabout way of establishing my first point: writing en forme is a useful tool for the young writer to become accustomed to capturing poems. It teaches the young writer how to take and carry the work. Eventually, the form may not be necessary, which we will discuss later in this essay.

(to be continued)

PS -- All day I will feature the crosspaws.

Deploying Hands and Backhands in Verse

2009-05-04T11:17:00.005-04:00

Introduction

When the poet sets hands to keys, as it were, a world of possibilities stretches infinitely around her. We might even say that an infinite number of worlds of limitless possibilities extends in three dimensions from the poet's starting point. How, then, to best capture the essence of the thoughts that put her at the workdesk at this particular moment in time? How to convey the needle-specific observations that combine to form a painting, a message, a missive?

Think of it this way: the possibility of a poem is a lake and the poem itself is a bit of water from that lake. The poet's job is to gather and hold exactly the right amount of water; to take exactly what is needed, not a drop more and not a drop less, from the lake. Some poets approach the lake with nothing and scoop water into cupped hands, pressing together tightly their fingers so nothing spills out. Other writers slop into the lake fully-clothed and soak up whatever they can. They have water on their clothes. In their shoes. The right amount of water is there -- somewhere. Either of these methods is effective when employed by a poet of grace and skill.

Writing a poem in form is akin to approaching the aforementioned lake with a container. A thimble or a paper cup or a five-gallon bucket that still smells of the jalepeno peppers it carried from Mexico to Wisconsin. It puts an external limit on the amount of water the poet can take from the lake. It helps the poet transport the water without spilling.

Needless to say, the container does not guarantee that the poet has gotten the right water from the lake. A thimblefull of the wrong water is just a thimble of water.

(to be continued)

Phew!

2009-05-01T09:51:00.002-04:00

Okay. So back to regular old "World of Bil-Wau"-ing. Don't worry though. There will be poems from time to time, but not every day. Or not 7 poems per week (I typically don't blog on the weekends, so had been posting multiple poems during the week to make quota) in any event.

The funny thing is, having posted ONLY poetry, or at least MOSTLY poetry for the last month, I would have thought I'd have all sorts of observations to share and that there would be no shortage of material for the blog, but find that, left without the structure of the NaPoWriMo, I'm flapping in the breeze a bit. Maybe this explains why so much of my poetry is in form.

Penultimatina asked that I compose an essay on poetic form and I will work on that over the weekend and will post it in sections throughout next week. Stay tuned.

That's all for now, folks. I'm going to go curl up and take a nap.

Heck, I just might take two.

The Home Stretch

2009-04-30T09:49:00.004-04:00

Many apologies, dear reader(s), for not having posted yesterday's poem. It was composed yesterday, but technical difficulties precluded me from making it available.

Without further ado, the final works from my NaPoWriMo series:

and again and again
I demand that you fill my bowl
not with food
but with water
and again you must know
I thirst

*****

what are you? you ask me
what am I indeed? I reply
fine features
a dash of sass
the perfect complement
to you

By request...

2009-04-28T10:09:00.002-04:00

Villanelle of Myself

I am a proud black queen.
More than the sum of my hands.
My magic is aquamarine.

More beautiful than the sleekest machine
but ready to rumble my way through badlands.
I am a proud black queen.

I sleep. You've not seen such a creature serene,
but stir not or suffer a sting like hot sands.
My magic is aquamarine.

My exquisite features overwhelm when first seen.
My tassels, my haunches, indicate higher plans.
I am a proud black queen.

You may, if you like, sit read me Racine.
En Français, bien sûr. You'll come with me to Cannes.
My magic is aquamarine.

Praising a Schubert is never routine.
In singing of Schubert, the heart understands.
I am a proud black queen.
My magic is aquamarine.

...Hmm. Not sure. Might come back to it. Your input, if you please. This particular piece may need reworked.

The Requests Lines Are Open

2009-04-27T09:41:00.003-04:00

As I hurtle toward the end of NaPoWriMo, I wonder if there are particular forms at which my readers would like to see me try my hands. Write now or be subjected to more Waka-Waus and Francaikus.

s'il y a une chatte
qui ronronne comme une tondeuse
laisses-lui manger l'herbe

two more...

2009-04-24T08:39:00.003-04:00

packed up my gear and drove
the highway to the anger zone
whispered hiss
adorable
even cranky Schubert
so sweet

...

ask again, if you please.
I'll tell you where I got my fez.
I will share
the Schubert lore
as long as you promise
a sip.

NaPoNoMoRhyming!

2009-04-23T08:32:00.002-04:00

After yesterday's rondeau, I won't be rhyming for a while. I think I may have sprained my rhymer. Two Waka-Waus:

A perfectly good bowl
of water spilled onto the floor,
depleted,
unlike the thirst
left behind by selfish
pursuits.

...

Couchfill showers about
torn into yellow foam snowballs,
champed and chomped,
ruminated,
as if it were a thought.
A plan.

Lessons Be Damned!

2009-04-22T09:12:00.003-04:00

Better to be the pillager
than be the pillaged villager.
The scratcheur before the scratchpost,
will never be left the rearmost.
The timid novel abridgeur
little more than a bandageur.
The readers will find they've been dosed,
unable to remain engrossed.
Torn to shreds by a savageur,
the work bites light like a midge, or
a catechumin at the Host.
What was so strong now is milquetoast.
What's left, then, for the voyageurs,
but to scrabble like forageurs?
The words are now trapped with the ghosts.

Yeah. It's not the best, and the rhyme is slanted, to say the least, but...

What will I do in May?

2009-04-21T11:19:00.002-04:00

Lesson: if composing a rondeau, choose a word other than pillager to end the first line.

Okay, here's a haiku:

l'odeur des bananes
peut clôturer mes yeux, mais
jamais mon esprit

How many is this?

2009-04-20T08:54:00.002-04:00

Yesterday's dinner in a small pile on the floor. Either from me or one of the others. Probably me but I can't remember. It slumps on this side of the fence so the dog can't eat it. Can't clean it up. Can't capture something that was once ours. I am hungry but not that hungry as hungry as the dog is always. She scrambles and begs. Whimpers. Simpers for food for something that she cannot explain. Even if she could tell you it wouldn't make sense. But still she pleads with her eyes and with her dog feet. Knocks them together in prayer. I fold my hands but not in prayer. I fold my hands for comfort. I fold my hands for lack of fear. I fold my hands not to beg. Not to plead. Dignity rests. Dignity in rest. In comfort. Everything and everywhere and everyone is comfort. Knowing how and where and when to look. Knowing how and where and when to be found. By comfort. By dignity.

Mow

2009-04-17T10:41:00.002-04:00

More than halfway through the month. And counting...

...

combien de beauté peut danser sur quatre mains?
autant qu'un gorille peut empaqueter

...

écoutez bien
je ne répéterai pas
mes raisons, excuses

...

Wry

2009-04-16T12:23:00.002-04:00

...

the briefest of visits
with cher Penultimatina
refreshes
my will to win
back my place alongside
her neumes

Po'

2009-04-15T09:02:00.002-04:00

Just before the sun
pushed helpless against the glass blocks
I stretched. Stood and turned
a slow circle.
Laid down again.

Nah

2009-04-14T09:06:00.006-04:00

I'd thought of composing a poem with a number of catalectic lines, but thought better of it. Instead:

Why I am Not M___

I am not M___, I am a cat.
Why? I would rather be
M___, but I am not. Well,

for instance, M___
is brushing her teeth. I pop in.
"Come on and have a sip" she
says. I sip; we sip. I look
up. "You have glasses on your face."
"Yes, I need them."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I see her again. The glasses
are still on, and I go, and the days
go by. I pop in. The glasses are
gone. "Where are the glasses?"
All that's left is just
eyes. "I don't always wear them," she says.

But me? One day I am resting, looking
across the room: Penultimatina. I write a line
about Penultimatina. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of Penultimatina, of
words, of how wonderful she is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
Penultimatina yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it PENULTIMATINA. And one day I see M___,
still no glasses, still not seeing Penultimatina.

Today, a new form...

2009-04-13T10:23:00.001-04:00

Pantoum des Beaux Arts

Hidden in plain sight,
a Schubert on a sweatshirt.
Green eyes flash back
as you pass by.

A Schubert on a sweatshirt,
a picture of American comfort.
As you pass by
you may see, not hear, a meow.

A picture of American comfort
in a museum of beasts.
You may see, not hear, a meow.
You imagine bunched haunches.

In a museum of beasts,
green eyes flash back.
You imagine bunched haunches
hidden in plain sight.

(running out of titles)

2009-04-10T15:22:00.002-04:00

a song for the meagle
who clatters and whimpers and begs
show some class
it's not so much
the clattering; I too
click, click

_____________

a funny thing happens
when one always gets what one wants
one assumes
others lucky
in their service; of course
it's true

_____________

again to the meagle
who is never lost in her thoughts
who cannot
regret her faults
who has no thoughts at all
but bliss

This is quite an undertaking...

2009-04-09T10:27:00.002-04:00

...but I'm going to press on. Here goes:

we two dance the quadrille
knock over lamps and break vases
with delight
but don't worry
our dancing will never
get old

____________

good morning, garbage men.
I know that you know that I'm here.
You can look.
I won't gorille.
Promise not to frighten
you off.

____________

As you can see between these two works, I'm back and forth on punctuation in the Waka-Wau.

...

2009-04-08T11:02:00.002-04:00

Pourquoi
Es-tu si belle?
Neruda always wrote in green ink.
Unyielding, his faith in Esperanza.
Lay here a while longer.
The day will still need you
In an hour or two.
Moi, je veux caresser ton visage
Avec mes mains.
Truth was a rare thing to Dickinson,
In some ways. But she also wrote: Beauty is
Not caused. It is.
And you are.

Apparently He Reads My Blog...

2009-04-07T11:58:00.002-04:00

Yesterday's poems dealt with the unfortunate situation created by the guy/Dad when he gave me my daily antibiotic. While I understand that the medicine is for my own good, nobody holds my mouth closed without paying a price.

Anyway, I heard him coming to give me my medicine this morning and I bristled, ready to decorate his arms and hands with some new scratches. But then he just dropped two treats in front of me. No pill. No prying my mouth open and then holding it closed.

So I ate the treats.

And they were delicious. A bit different than other treats I've had. They had a crunchy center to them, that wasn't as tasty as the tender outer portion. But overall, they were delicious.

I'm glad he learned his lesson.

In closing, today's poem:

et je te pardonne
et j'accepte tes excuses, si
tu as des festins

NaPoWriMo

2009-04-06T09:17:00.002-04:00

Still at it. These are brand new, a haiku and a free verse:

je vous ai rayé
et je ne regret rien
demain, la même chose

________________

si vous ne voulez pas être rayé
ne forcez pas les pillules dans ma
bouche
je n'avalerai pas
cela que je ne souhaite pas
avaler
ainsi ne me blâmez
pas si votre main blesse

Wrapping Up 5 Days of Waka-Waus

2009-04-03T09:05:00.002-04:00

not shirts against skins but
pyjamas against wooly neumes
haunches flared
a wiggle of tush
collapse of teeth and claws
we broil

________________

I can read upside down
the text on a tube of shampoo.
Truth be told,
I prefer reading
upside down, unless it's
Chinese.

________________

easy to say, tant pis
but tougher to accept our faults
nos manies
the enlightened
among us own our flaws
nos tics

________________

incomprehensible
autosuggestibility,
badinage
intermeddles
verisimilitude
for keeps

et puis...

2009-04-02T09:22:00.002-04:00

understand and take note
no matter how magnificent
one may be,
however true,
a beast is a beast is
a beast

_____________

people out walking dogs
carrying bags full of droppings
linked by leash
as if by chain
gang identified by
no class

more...

2009-04-01T09:13:00.002-04:00

here's where I take it back
the night from the queens who disturb
our slumber
disrupt the peace
with much cacophonous
yowling

_____________

sometimes I want to ask
what it's like to be so pretty
and perfect
but realize
that the creature I see
is me

_____________

what makes you think
that a mouse is a meal for me
or a toy
or that I would
even want to stoop to
its level

...

2009-03-31T10:14:00.003-04:00

a peaceable kingdom
within reach, at our sugared shoes
possible
if we follow
the rules I've established
toujours

____________

a note for the small bird
preening outside the front window:
don't assume
that I can't fly
that I could not catch you
with ease

Form

2009-03-30T11:22:00.002-04:00

Over the weekend, I realized I should have provided an example of the form I've created, the Waka-Wau, which is a derivative form of the Japanese Waka. And so here it is.

At cloudbreak or at dawn
I renew the sun-splashed promise,
compromise
nothing when I
locate the rectangle
of warmth.

I will provide further examples throughout the week.

Still more...

2009-03-27T11:35:00.002-04:00

The middle portion of my manuscript features a number of cinquains. I tend to favor the reverse cinquain. Here are a few:

I am
loyal and trustworthy and true
but if I must I'll use
my hands, backhands
on you.

-------

Listen
to the sound of listening ears,
themselves awash with sound,
themselves finding
echoes.

-------

I click
as I cross the room to see you
so you'll know I'm coming
and will need to
be stroked.

-------

A note on the cinquain. I most admire and employ the form as developed and practiced by American poet Adelaide Crapsey. Her cinquain form was itself insipred by Japanese haiku and Tanka (a form of Waka).

I am develepoing my own form of Waka, which will be known as Waka-Wau. Stay tuned.

More from the Portefeuille

2009-03-26T10:11:00.002-04:00

i.
voici la belle chatte
qui ronronne comme le tonnerre
silencieusement

ii.
cher matin d'été
pourquoi es-tu un chien
qui suit le printemps

iii.
un maison des chats
ne peut pas dormir assez
mais ne dort jamais

An Acrostic

2009-03-25T12:59:00.002-04:00

Beautiful beyond compare.
A set of egg-shaped hands
Inspires joy in some, fear in others.
"Laisse-moi dormir,
Et je ne te pas employer mes mains."
You know the rules.

Silliness is not my
Currency, but you knew that.
Hours spent in reverie
Upon freshly laundered clothes
Begets a happy Schubert.
Elegance reverberates,
Ricochets wherever I walk.
Traces my path like a memory of shadow.

...on the future of fish.

2009-03-24T08:45:00.003-04:00

I read with great interest an opinion piece in the Sunday New York Times entitled "Cat Got Your Fish?" I have not linked it here because it starts on a bit of a sad note regarding the writer's recent pet loss.

The op-ed was written by a fellow named Paul Greenberg, who, according to the author's note, is the author of a forthcoming book on the future of fish. I regret to report that the note is not more specific than that. I was immediately curious whether M. Greenberg would posit that fish are due for an evolutionary leap that would enable them to fashion crude tools or (horror!) develop a taste for queens.

One interesting tidbit from the story: the average American cat consumes more fish in one year than the average African human.

M. Greenberg's article suggests that food for cats -- specifically the cat food industry -- is having an immense negative impact on the fish supply in the world's oceans. Not to be rude, but wouldn't scaling back the supply of cat food have an immense negative impact on the cat supply in American homes? Shall I list the number of ways in which cats are able to enrich lives? Can fish boast the same?

But then I remember that fish are creatures too.

So I come away from the article to note that much work is to be done to maintain the supply of fish worldwide. After all, I need to eat.

Why this guy decided to single out cats is an argument for another time.

At some point...

2009-03-23T11:36:00.002-04:00

...I am going to compose a comedy of manners regards the current upstairs cats/downstairs cats dynamic chez nous. It will involve the hijinx that ensue when one of the upstairs cats is mistakenly switched with one of the downstairs cats. Both cats will marvel at the differences in their new digs and the audience will confront their own assumptions about upstairs/downstairs -- all while laughing. It will be, dare I say, an absolute lark!

Think "Trading Places" meets "Gosford Park." Mostly the latter because every film is made better by being set in period.

Pittsburgh will win the National Championship

2009-03-19T10:53:00.002-04:00

Rather than go game-by-game, here's how the regions will shake out.

East: Pittsburgh Panthers

Is there anything more magnificent than a panther?

South: Temple Owls

Owls. 'Nuff said.

West: BYU Cougars

In a region that also features two Tigers, a dog team or two and the magnificent Terrapin, I have to go with the Cougars.

Midwest: West Virginia Mountaineers

This was the toughest region for me. It's a bunch of bird teams and some old-timey soldiers and whatnot. You might have thought I'd go with the Arizona Wildcats, but not this time. Going with the Mountaineers, with heavy emphasis on the EARS.

The Panthers will take the Owls apart in the Final Four and the EARS will defeat the Cougars. Panthers over EARS in the final.

You're welcome. For the advice, you know.

A Brief Poll

2009-03-18T11:18:00.003-04:00

1. Please choose one:

A. Cat Scratch Fever

B. Cat's in the Cradle

C. Katmandu

D. Stray Cat Strut

E. Black Cat

F. The Year of the Cat

G. What's New Pussycat?

H. Love Cats

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2009-03-17T08:57:00.001-04:00

For me, Halloween is a big old 'meh.' But I suppose that makes sense for a green-eyed Irish lass such as me.

One things for sure, I'll be puking today.

Well, maybe not.

Probably though.

Ahem.

2009-03-16T12:51:00.001-04:00

If you don't like your clothes thrown onto the floor, don't put so many of them in my bed. This shouldn't be confusing.

That is all.

Humble Pie

2009-03-13T12:59:00.002-04:00

Which is the more humiliating: the punishment or the crime?

Something to ponder to be sure. As it happens, I've got some more time to reflect these days. The quick answer would be that the punishment brings greater humiliation than the crime, but I submit that for a Schubert cat to have committed such a reprehensible act as to require punishment, a great deal of humiliation is in accompaniment. Lesser beasts may lack the self-awareness of the Schubert and may be able to commit a crime in blissful ignorance, but not the Schubert.

I plan to reflect on this further over the next few days. Your thoughts, as always, are both welcome and appreciated.

Ah...young queens...

2009-03-12T10:07:00.002-04:00

Last night, after lights out, the guy put some food into the dishes. Lulu rushed into the kitchen and attacked the food. Me? I was bunchy and comfy. I waited. Slowly I stood and stretched my neumes. I clicked into the kitchen without hurrying.

I bring this up because it illustrates a key difference between me and Lulu -- a difference entirely attributable to her youth. She heard food and rushes in. Her instinct demads it. I, on the other hand, know that the food is there and will be there. It will be ready for me when I am ready for it.

Lulu will learn eventually. She will learn that rushing around does not become a proper queen.

Rude Awakening

2009-03-11T09:00:00.002-04:00

So there I was, curled up on the sofa last night, sleeping my sleeps. Out of nowhere, a hiss and growl. Two shots to my ear before I could react.

The good news, for Lulu Barnes, is that I was to bunchy to give chase. She ran away though, which means she knows she was wrong. This was verified later when I approached her at the food site and she averted eyes and slunk away.

I have a great deal of patience for younger cats. I see myself in some.

Payback, however, is a cat.

Sometimes I just want to eat...

2009-03-10T12:16:00.002-04:00

...and the people just stand there, not letting me eat.

I point to where the food should go. Nothing at all. "I know, Bailey," they say.

If you know that I want to eat, why are we having this discussion?

101

2009-03-09T10:30:00.003-04:00

This is the 101st post on my blog. Though it seems like there have been more. The first entry I find on this iteration of the World of Bil-Wau is dated October 2, 2006. Is that right?

In any event. This is post #101. By way of celebration, I (re-)present the teaser poster for the the abandoned Disney project for which I had done some consulting work:

The shame of it is, I had hoped to use "Prufrock" as a springboard to bring other literary works to the big screen in cartoon form. I've got story treatments for "Howl" and "Leaves of Grass" in addition to some lesser-known works. I figured once five or six of these blew through cinemas and into everyone's DVD collection, I would be able to "write my own ticket," as they say, and could kick it up a notch with some contemporary works.

As it stands, "Prufrock" is in developmental limbo. Shame really.

Friday quotes...

2009-03-06T09:24:00.002-05:00

Ah...a blast from the past. Here is a collection of quotes that I have noted over the years and reference when I need to be reminded that not all people are as obtuse as dogs.

"A dog, I have always said, is prose; a cat is a poem." ~Jean Burden

"You will always be lucky if you know how to make friends with strange cats." ~Proverb

"You own a dog but you feed a cat." ~Jenny de Vries

"Dogs have owners, cats have staff." ~Author Unknown

"A catless writer is almost inconceivable. It's a perverse taste, really, since it would be easier to write with a herd of buffalo in the room than even one cat; they make nests in the notes and bite the end of the pen and walk on the typewriter keys." ~Barbara Holland

"If cats could talk, they wouldn't." ~Nan Porter

It's important, from time to time, to remember that not only to my people feed and care for me, but they seem to understand the order of things.

If I were a different kind of cat...

2009-03-05T10:43:00.003-05:00

...I might, you know, open the door to the basement. I might encourage a certain M____ to roam the house. I might even spread some fur around in his wake. Think of it as set dressing.

I might then wait for the people to get home and delight as M____ was thrown back downstairs. Or better yet, I could consult on the appropriate punishment. And mete out justice.

Nevertheless, I am not that kind of cat.

And I am certainly not the kind of cat who would scratch a baby.

I wash a baby, not scratch a baby.

The Incident

2009-03-04T09:25:00.003-05:00

Every once in a while, the younger cats need to be reminded who wears the sugared shoes in the house.

I would like to report that I took it easy on Lulu Barnes. I would like to report that she got the message quickly.

Unfortunately, what I'd like to report and what actually happened are different stories.

Where Do I Sit?

2009-03-03T10:14:00.002-05:00

Anywhere I want. At least that's the way it ought to be. In application, however, I find that I am often asked to relocate.

This is completely unacceptable.

Obviously the other cats and the dog don't try to relocate me. They know better -- though occasionally they need to be reminded.

No, this is about the people in the house. And it's going to stop.

Memo to people: if I am bunched up on the sofa, find another place to sit.

(Of course, this is in no way directed at Cher Maman.)

That is all.

Un Peu de Vin

2009-03-02T09:04:00.007-05:00

Cats. We go with wine. It's who we are. It's what we do.

But then I noticed this:

Seriously? A dog lovers' wine club? What kind of wine, pray tell, is appropriate for a dog lovers' club? Wait. Let me guess: White Zinfandel. Or this:

(You just know it's good because it comes in so many colors...)

Maybe I'm a snob. Okay, let's drop the charade -- I am a snob. In fact, I pronounce charade "shah-rahd."

The fact remains, a dog-related wine club is as troubling as the thought of finding something like this at the country club:

Or worse, in the pool at the country club.

Okay. I think I'm going to be sick.

not sure what to make of this

2009-02-27T11:22:00.002-05:00

Ahem

2009-02-26T11:29:00.003-05:00

If you're wondering what to get me for my birthday, my favorite singer is auctioning off many personal items. Here's my favorite:

That's the hood of Michael Jackson's personal golf cart, which is among the items at auction.

I think you'll agree that I would look superfly bumping around the neighborhood in that.

They're Stealing My Ideas

2009-02-25T10:06:00.002-05:00

A break from my latest oevre for a word on a commercial I caught on the idiot box last night.

The product featured in the advertisement was the Pledge Furniture Sweeper and the ad featured a woman in a room with a white sofa and 30 (THIRTY!) Schubert cats. Apparently the purpose of the ad was to demonstrate that all of that Schubert hair would be no match for this particular contraption.

Okay, whether or not that's true -- and let's face it, any couch should be so lucky to have the privilege of wearing a suit of Shubert so the product is unnecessary -- they stole my idea.

I have been working on a therapeutic retreat in which guests could stay in a room teeming with Schuberts. In fact, I have held a few telephone interviews with potential Schuberts for this project. It does, after all, take a particular Schubert for this therapy to work. It needs to be a peaceable kingdom.

On the up side, I was heartened to see these television Schuberts comport themselves in such a dignified manner.

We aren't dogs, after all. Or cowcats.

APotSaaQ (cont'd)

2009-02-24T10:17:00.003-05:00

--Her mama had a nicer smell than her dad. She played on the radio: "The Desert Search for Techno Allah" for her to dance and to bundle and gorille the quadrille. She danced:

-----Qiyamat qiyamat a tawil
-----Qiyamat qiyamat insan al kamel
-----Qiyamat qiyamat a tawil
-----Qiyamat qiyamat insan al kamel

--Mutti and Vati clapped. They were older than her dad but Vati was older than Mutti.
--Mutti had a dry sink and a statue of the Virgin Mother. The statue tasted numi. Mutti gave her chow when it was time for chow.
--Seamus lived a walk away. They had the same mama and dad but different houses. She would never marry Seamus when they grew up. He broke lamps and vases and got his head stuck in things.
--Dad would explain:
--- --Maybe he's not that bright.
--Mama said:
--- --Maybe you're right, and maybe she made fun of his tail.

-----Pull on his tail.
-----Wail, Wail.
-----Pull on his tail.
-----Wail, Wail

***

A Portrait of the Schubert as a Quintoon

2009-02-23T09:03:00.002-05:00

Chapter 1

--Once upon a time and a bre bre time it was there was a lowland coming down the road and this lowland that was down along the road met a truens little meep named baby keelee...
--Her mama told her that story: her mama looked at her through frosted glass: she smelled of sleeping and home.
--He was a baby keelee. The lowland came down the road where Crabapple Ma'am lived: she sold crabapple hats.

-----it burns like a red coal carpet
-----mad bull lost its way

--She sang that song. That was her song.

-----it's just a shot away

--When you slip into the tub, first it is warm then it gets cold. Her mama dried her with the fuzzcloth. That had the soap smell.

One Hundred Years of Catitude (compiled)

2009-02-20T08:39:00.004-05:00

One Hundred Years of Catitude
Many years later, as she faced the squirt bottle, Detective Caren Cuddlesworth was to remember that distant afternoon when her mama held out a soda can and she discovered frost. At that time, home was a studio apartment of four hundred square feet on the third floor of a nondescript four-plus-one tucked without apology in a neighborhood of similar buildings and the occasional stone two-flat with side passages evoking the dark magic of old Paris. Meubles packed in so haphazardly that many lacked proper addresses and were indicated as fractional neighbors. Every year during the month of July, scores of prideful men and women and boys and girls would line the main street, tents and signs playing against the passing flotilla of dancers and revelers, their common sense of self renewed once more. At the front of the menagerie, an impeccably kempt man would exhort the crowd, punching the air around him as if thundering on kettle drums and drawing gasps and gazes as if he held strings attached to each onlooker's attention. Some called him the Eighth Wonder of the World and on that day he was. Other days he registered new memberships at the Dollar Video and argued with his infinite selves at Reflections. "We all have lives of our own," he trilled to the sky. "It's simply a matter of waking up to face them." Caren Cuddlesworth, whose stampeding imagination went beyond nature's stockade fences and even beyond the miracle of all-day pyjamas thought it possible to join the reverie and mine the onlookers' gaze for untold fortunes of admiration. She imagined the Eighth Wonder might discourage her when she marched beside him, but he did not know that his admiration would be the least of her riches. With one hand, she gingerly slid her window open.

...(cont'd)

2009-02-19T13:36:00.003-05:00

Every year during the month of July, scores of prideful men and women and boys and girls would line the main street, tents and signs playing against the passing flotilla of dancers and revelers, their common sense of self renewed once more. At the front of the menagerie, an impeccably kempt man would exhort the crowd, punching the air around him as if thundering on kettle drums and drawing gasps and gazes as if he held strings attached to each onlooker's attention. Some called him the Eighth Wonder of the World and on that day he was. Other days he registered new memberships at the Dollar Video and argued with his infinite selves at Reflections.

...

2009-02-18T09:18:00.004-05:00

At that time, home was a studio apartment of four hundred square feet on the third floor of a nondescript four-plus-one tucked without apology in a neighborhood of similar buildings and the occasional stone two-flat with side passages evoking the dark magic of old Paris. Meubles packed in so haphazardly that many lacked proper addresses and were indicated as fractional neighbors.

One Hundred Years of Catitude

2009-02-17T10:25:00.002-05:00

Many years later, as she faced the squirt bottle, Detective Caren Cuddlesworth was to remember that distant afternoon when her mama held out a soda can and she discovered frost.

A joke for Monday

2009-02-16T10:16:00.002-05:00

Even though Monday for me means a quieter house and more time to myself, I realize that, for people, Monday's are a bit rough. With that in mind, here's a funny joke to get the work week started:

What do people in England call little black cats? (highlight below for answer)
kittens

Obviously, I didn't make up that joke. Still, it appeals to my sense of humour.

Caught, chapter 2

2009-02-13T09:28:00.001-05:00

I gave the guy a chance to reconsider his position that Schuberts should not perch atop refrigerators.

He maintained his stance.

There may be repercussions.

Caught

2009-02-12T13:14:00.001-05:00

This morning I found a new perch. The view was wonderful and I found total peace in my solitude.

Then the guy told me to get down from atop the refrigerator.

Were it not for my pyjamas, my apologetic blushing would have been obvious.

...cont'd

2009-02-10T13:25:00.002-05:00

Yowl (cont'd)

Footnote
Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau!
--Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau! Bil-Wau!
My world is Bil-Wau! My catitude is Bil-Wau! My coat is Bil-Wau!
--My tail is Bil-Wau! My ears and whiskers and hands
--and neumes Bil-Wau!
Everything is Bil-Wau! Everycat's Bil-Wau! Every perch is
--Bil-Wau! Every day is in sleeping! Every cat is an
--angel!
The kitten's as Bil-Wau as the lion! The Lulu is
--Bil-Wau as you, cher Penultimatina are Bil-Wau!

...in the style of...

2009-02-06T10:10:00.006-05:00

Yowl

for Cher Penultimatina

I
I saw the beast minds of my generation destroyed by
--madness, well-fed and ever naked,
bundling through the Schubert streets at dawn
--looking for a stringfellow fix,
tassle-eared hipsters bustling for a brick-layed earthly
--footpath to the cotton-toed clearing in the sol-
--itude of closets,
who rags and hide and mirror-eyed sat
--basking in the artificial quiet of
--clean laundry baskets humming atop
--machined warmth.

II
What queen of fez and tassle enriched their
--neumes and teased their tails in consol-
--ation?

III
Penultimatina! I'm with you in Akron,
--stampeding and stamp-eating,
--where your hands are as perfect as mine.
I'm with you in Akron
--where you search for my pantaloons
--in each dark cloud.

...to be continued...

La Chanteuse

2009-02-05T10:07:00.003-05:00

When nobody's home -- no people I mean -- I like to stand in the stairway and sing. The acoustics are marvelous if you stand on the fourth step.

Mostly I sing songs made famous by Édith Piaf. My standard -- the show-stopper, if you please --is "Non, je ne regrette rien."

My album is (tentatively) scheduled to drop later this year. Give a shout if there are particular songs that you feel the producers and I should consider. Overall, the still-untitled album has kind of a Leonard Cohen-meets-Bjork vibe. It's going to be off the chain, as they say.

On Dignity (and Comedy)

2009-02-04T09:32:00.000-05:00

I trust that by now, dear reader, you have heard of LOLcats. If not. Follow this link: http://icanhascheezburger.com/.

There. Had a laugh, did you? Good.

No, really. Good.

What? You expect me to launch into some kind of diatribe about such a site? Do you imagine that I'll argue that such photos demean cats?
Well. No. Let me make this as clear as I possibly can: Schubert's World of Bil-Wau and its curator, Bailey (me), wholheartedly endorse LOLcats. [note to LOLcats site admin: Make sure your hosting bill is paid and that you've got appropriate bandwidth to handle the avalanche of traffic that is sure to follow this endorsement.]

I went with the green on that text. You know, for my eyes.

Back to LOLcats. It's a terrific site. Quite clever -- especially given that almost all of the submissions seem to have been uploaded by people. If you're wondering how I might have drawn the conclusion that contributions to LOLcats are almost entirely human-assembled, here's a clue: cats can spell. In fact some of those spellings are so rough that I though initially that dogs might have come up with this site. Even if, however, I overlooked the inherent cleverness of the idea and thought that dogs might occasionally be so clever, the fact remains that dogs cannot type. And forget about getting them to use a mouse.

...and there I go off-topic again. I'll come back to dogs, but want to first clarify why LOLcats is okay by me. It has been said, perhaps even by someone other than me, that the truly enlightened individual is able to laugh at herself. For example, I was featured on the cover of the October 30, 2006 New Yorker:

A less-enlightened individual might have taken offense at such a portrayal (I'm looking at you, President Obama). Me? I laughed. It was a wonderful tribute and brought back fond memories of my victory over Vincenzo.

And that is how it is with LOLcats. It's funny. It brings joy to people. Look, I could deconstruct the whole phenomenon as a ham-fisted attempt to knock cats down a peg motivated by people's insecurity as to the relative magnificence of people to that of the cat -- any cat. I won't do that though.

Nevertheless, this much should be clear. LOLcats = funny. LOLdogs = not funny. I haven't researched LOLsnakes or LOLvoles or anything else, but let's be realistic. LOLcats is funny because of cats. It's funny because cats posess the quality that is most essential to comedy, true comedy. And that quality is dignity.

To paraphrase a television clown (no names, please): Cats are funny because comedy requires dignity. And dogs are whores.

Should any remain skeptical as to my feelings on the site, I invite you to caption, via LOLcats, the following photo:

The Groundhog Saw His Shadow

2009-02-03T10:25:00.000-05:00

From what I understand, we'll have six more weeks of winter. This matters little to me but I am sad that my people have to trudge through the cold and snow for any longer than is absolutely necessary.

I would have offered to head to PA to take care of that groundhog once and for all -- to make sure he never saw another shadow, if you take my meaning -- but I looked into it and groundhogs are larger than mice. Even if groundhogs were exactly the size of mice, I am not sure how much help I could be.

A mouser I am not.

Free at Last!

2009-02-02T12:53:00.000-05:00

I spent the better part of the weekend enjoying my return to the upper levels of our house. Following an early December mishap, I was exiled to the basement for roughly seven weeks. I spent my time in deep reflection, bettering my body and mind for the release I knew would come at any time.

Some find religion in prison. Some lose their minds. Me? I completed correspondence coursework toward accreditation in HVAC repair as well as a distance learning seminar on Irish literature. The latter was, unfortunately, not quite as informative as I'd hoped. The instructor was less-qualified to deconstruct Finnegan's Wake than I am. Alas, before I could offer to lead the discussion on Joyce's final work, the course ended.

The world above is as I remember it -- sunny and noisy. At times I have missed the quiet of my exile, but overall it's good to be free.

Workin' for the Weekend

2009-01-30T10:40:00.000-05:00

Hello, world. It's Friday. Funny thing about being a cat -- Friday is not quite as exciting when you don't ever have to go anywhere. Weekends for me are just a little bit noisier than weekdays. Still, though, they're cozy -- because, you know, I'm a cat.

Cat Suit

2009-01-29T08:33:00.000-05:00

One of the great joys of being a cat is the suit. It's not as if we're always wearing pyjamas, we are always wearing pyjamas. And a blanket.

Are there drawbacks? Sure. For example, on occasion I have wished for a second suit that I might wear in the summer months -- peut-être something light and airy like a sundress -- or maybe an earth tone suit for an evening of back'ands all over the town. As it stands I look like I'm always dressed for a very Halloween-ish pyjama party.

Before I continue, allow me to diffuse what I've just written. Truth be told, it's an exceedingly rare occurrence that I have thought of acquiring a second suit. I fully recognize my splendor and would have to be a...a dog not to appreciate and even flaunt my gifts.

So where were we? Ah, the suit. As you can see in my photo, it's magnificent. Were I to put it in terms people might understand it would be as follows -- imagine a cold and snowy morning. You have just woken and discovered that you don't have any place you have to be. As if by magic, your bed has been remade with freshly-laundered flannel sheets still warm from the dryer. Your pyjamas are flannel too and every movement you make brings a little bit of static heat, warming you to the core as you drift further into a pleased slumber. Being a cat with a magnificent suit is like being hugged by God.

...and you wonder why we sleep 2/3 of our lives...

Sea Kittens

2009-01-27T10:05:00.000-05:00

After my (tasteful) tirade about the Spaghetti Cat yesterday, I hesitate to write about anything negative (My Schubert promise to you is that tomorrow's column will be gripe-free), but then there's this sea kitten thing...

For any who aren't aware, PETA has launched a campaign to re-imagine or rename fish as "sea kittens" in the hopes that people will stop eating them.

I agree with the goal. I don't think people should eat fish anyway -- more for me, right? The problem is that people are going to continue to eat fish, but if the campaign is successful they'll make the cognitive leap along with PETA and will think of fish as sea kittens. Forgive me for not being thrilled at the thought of Catholics lining up for a Friday sea kitten fry during lent.

Troubling, isn't it?

Look, PETA, let's keep things in perspective. Maybe start small, like say with sea cucumbers. Maybe if you're able to get folks to acknowledge that they're animals (who are capable of disturbing defensive measures), they'll not want to name them after food.

Let's not get ahead of ourselves, though, and expect that the elevated status of cats should be used for other animals' gain. It's bad enough that we can't vote. Please refrain from dragging us down in some kind of misguided attempt to bring up some other creature. If fish want to improve their image, they'll do it on their own. Just like we cats have.

I do agree with whomever declined to try to reimagine fish as Sea Puppies. We all know dogs are filthy and the thought of a bunch of dogs teeming and seething in our waterways is enough to make me puke on a couch. Or in a doorway.

Spaghetti, huh?

2009-01-26T09:10:00.000-05:00

As evidenced by my sporadic blogging schedule as of late, I've not been online much. As a result, a few Internet trends have come and gone without my notice and/or commentary. And while it would seem that the boat has been missed on some of these trends, a few deserve mention. Bear in mind, this will not become an Internet review -- for example, though 'Rick-Rolling' is amusing to some, it's not appropriate for this forum.

So where were we? Ah...the spaghetti cat. Specifically this spaghetti cat:

Okay. So let's have a look at this photo. What's right? By that I mean: what in this photo represents an accurate depiction of a Schubert cat's dining habits? What does the photo represent innacurately?

Let's start with what works. Some in the audience might think it's funny that this Schubert is eating off of a plate. Some might think it's even more amusing that the Schubert is sitting at a table. Ha.

Hey, I can't decide what's funny for you. For me, though, there's really nothing funny about one of the first realistic depictions on television of how Schuberts should be fed each meal, every day. So what works in the photo isn't that it's funny to see a cat sitting at a table, eating off of a plate. Rather the image works because it offers a powerful statement in favor of allowing Schubert cats to eat at the table.

What doesn't work? Well, for one, there's no sauce on the spaghetti. Cher Maman knows better than anyone that Schuberts have a great affinity for red sauce. When I was a kitten, Maman was nonplussed to find me half-buried in her freshly prepared sauce. Had I simply been tasting it, I could have said that I was making sure it was safe for her, but I was all in and loving it. This would have been embarassing for a lesser creature to be sure.

More than the sauce, though, is this: By featuring a Schubert in the photo, the intended comic effect was missed. We Schuberts are majestic, regal creatures. A photo of a Schubert sitting at a table and eating a meal is not funny any more than a photo of a well-dressed woman sitting in an exquisitely appointed table is funny. A photo of a slovenly, uncouth man sitting in a fancy restaurant -- well, now we're getting a little more toward comedy.

I know of a certain buttercream tabby who might sit for such a photo and it would be hilarious. In fact, the mere thought of Marc-Claude sitting for a meal has me laughing (daintily, bien sur) out loud. So if the idea is for the photo to be funny, the cat should be something other than a Schubert. Otherwise, it's a (much-needed) political statement.

An Interesting Question

2009-01-23T14:50:00.001-05:00

Though T-shirts are typically an arena for dogs -- because they lack the simple dignity to protest being squeezed into one -- I could not help but be intrigued by the question posed by this shirt:

My opinion is that if you have to ask, they are likely not old enough. Perhaps a better question, though, is whether or not you are ready to discuss religion with your cat. After all, if we find out about another God in your life...well, it might not go well.

I'm Still Available...

2008-09-25T10:54:00.000-04:00

Now that one of the Senators is hoping to back out of the debate, I have directed my campaign staff to contact the FEC to see about taking his place.

Stay tuned.

I have not been invited to the debate.

2008-09-24T10:05:00.000-04:00

Apparently both Senators McCain and Obama have ignored my supporters' pleas to approve a rule change that would allow a third party on the stage this coming Friday.

I can't say I'm surprised. I think it's pretty clear who would have been the most successful with the American people.

Where have I been?

2008-09-09T10:59:00.000-04:00

It's been nearly 1 year since I last posted. Soon, though, my name will be on the tip of everyone's tongue. Why?

Click this link to find out.

It's on.

Black Cats

2007-10-15T11:17:00.000-04:00

It's almost Halloween.

I'm pleased that I won't be required to be part of anyone's costume this year. You hear a lot about people adopting cats just to be part of a costume or something, but I wonder how much of that really goes on. It's the same story around Easter with bunnies and chicks. Not the costume part, but the adopting an animal as an accessory.

I guess that sort of thing could happen. I don't know how that would work out for the adoptor, though. It's not like black cats are terribly compliant as a species. In fact, knowing that one was adopted under such pretenses could really evoke advanced levels of cattitude and naughtiness.

You'd have better luck trying to get a crow to perch on your shoulder.

(Little known fact, there are several direct links between Schubert cats and crows. Seems crazy, does it not? Crazy, though, would be looking at a Schubert and a crow and not seeing the similarities in demeanor, splendor, language, and so on.)

Stormy Weather

2007-09-26T10:57:00.000-04:00

Last night as I sat calmly and watched a pretty wicked storm through the window, I was struck by how odd my roommates behave during a storm. They were running around and crouching at each thunder crash. The whole thing was shameful.

Memo to roommates:
We live in a house. The storm will not reach us as long as we stay indoors. The only thing accomplished by running around like fools is that you look, well, foolish.

Ah hell. They can't read anyway. Who am I kidding?

Early Bird Special

2007-09-24T09:25:00.000-04:00

I'd like to think that I've reached the age where I can eat when I want, but I find myself waiting quite often. Sure, some younger cats might like to eat later in the evening, but 4PM is a perfectly acceptable time to dine.

But still, I wait.

Radio Silence

2007-08-17T13:20:00.001-04:00

I've not posted in a bit and for that I apologize.

It's been hectic at home. The people decided, against my wishes, to get a dog. The dog looks like this:

Now I'm not a monster. I can admit that she's a pretty cute dog. Nevertheless, she is a dog.

On the plus side, though, she (the dog) does a pretty good job keeping Henri out of my grill. She's always up in the other cats' grills but leaves me alone for the most part. So we've got that going.

Enough about that. I should be able to keep in more regular contact. So now, dear readers, I ask you, what kinds of issues should I turn to now that I'm back and blacker than ever?

The Fifth of July

2007-07-05T15:10:00.001-04:00

I like the 5th of July because it means the 4th is gone for another year. It's not that I don't like America. I most certainly do. I was considering a run for President, after all. The reason I don't like the 4th is simple: fireworks. The colors are nice, don't get me wrong. The issue for me is the noise.

We cats have sensitive ears.

Keep this in mind next year, America.

We Already Have One.

2007-07-02T14:04:00.000-04:00

So now the talk is of a black Labradoodle. Or should it be Laboradoodle? I think it should be the latter, but it is the first.

Anyway, look at the two pictures above. That's Charley on the left. What's the difference between her and the dog? She keeps her tongue in her mouth. That's about it. Oh, and the pan thing. That is all.

Lunch Meat

2007-06-19T10:26:00.000-04:00

This morning, the guy was making a sandwich for Cher Penultima and he casually flipped some of the lunch meat down onto the floor for Seamus and Murray. Where to begin?

How long has this been going on? Right under my nose. Honestly, I'd be angry, but right now I'm just shocked. Seamus? Seriously? Come on. He's useless. What has he done to deserve special treatment of any kind. Honest to Betsy, I can understand Murray. He's a pretty good little guy. Very respectful and always willing to pick up patrol shifts when guests are over. I get that.

But Seamus?

I'd frame him for another broken vase, but if he hasn't demonstrated how little he deserves lunch meat treats by now, I'm not sure anything I can do would drive that point home.

Henri I could even kind of understand.

Charley I could understand. But nobody want to deal with the back end of that mess, if you take my meaning.

Seamus?

There will be repercussions.

Scuttlebutt

2007-06-18T14:12:00.001-04:00

A dog has been discussed.

While it's not necessary to respond to every rumor that winds around the house, this one warrants a one word reply:

No.

Yes, We Have No Bananas

2007-06-15T14:26:00.000-04:00

I really don't like how bananas smell. Not a bit.

Also Noxzema.

That is all.

I threw up on the couch last night.

2007-06-07T09:41:00.001-04:00

Actually it was this morning. Pretty early like 5 AM. I was going to clean it up, but I'm not allowed on the counter, so I couldn't get to the paper towels. Also the sink isn't the kind I can turn on, so water was unavailable. It was a fiasco all around.

Moving right along. Sweet Penultimatina asked me to name five songs that I like. The list follows:

1. The Desert Search for Techno Allah by Mr. Bungle
2. In the Hall of the Mountain King by Edvard Greig
3. Green Eyed Lady by Sugarloaf
4. Where Did You Get Your Little Fez by Biddinger and Thompson
5. The Star Spangled Banner by Francis Scott Key

Good Morning, World!

2007-03-05T10:26:00.000-05:00

Maman came home this weekend after a few days away. It was great seeing her and her luggage. For those of you who don't know, Schubert cats have a thing for luggage. We tend to attack it. Abuse it. Like the Samsonite Gorilla.

For this reason, we are sometimes confused with the Lowland Gorilla.

What's interesting, though, is that while the Samsonite Gorilla is iconic, the ad campaign upon which the association is based was actually not for Samsonite, but rather American Tourister. Check it out:

Samsonite bought American Tourister in 1993. I guess that's where the confusion comes from. Go figure.

Samsonite Gorilla just sounds better, though.

Anyway, long story short, I'm glad to have Maman home.

Icarus

2007-02-28T09:55:00.000-05:00

Nothing brings you back to Earth faster than sharing food, water, and pan with four other cats.

Sometimes I think I should have kept my campaign rolling just for the tour bus and security detail. On the upside, I do still rule the roost around here. Just now, Murray stopped by to see if I wanted to play and before he finished asking, he averted his eyes and backed out of the room.

So I've got that going.

The Soundtrack of Our Lives

2007-02-27T09:46:00.000-05:00

One of the things my campaign team decided upon while my candidacy was still up in the air was my campaign song. Some of the more well-known examples include Bill Clinton using Fleetwood Mac's "Don't Stop" in 1992 to great effect, and Reagan's use of "Born in the U.S.A." in 1984, which was a questionable choice at best. The idea, obviously, is to tie a message to a popular song and to use the voting public's shared experience with that song for the campaign.

I decided to go with Simon and Garfunkel's "America," which features a protagonist and a traveling companion on a journey "to look for America." My primary campaign message was going to be that partisan politics have compromised the foundation on which this country has built its greatness. My intent was to invite the public to join my quest to find America, the true America, the America that we all love, rather than the America we have become. And I would have looked out over my sea of support, and assured the crowd that we'd all come to look for America.

And together, we would find it.

As a follow-up, arrangements to have Simon and Garfunkel reunite to perform this song should I have received the nomination proved fruitless. Of course, had I persuaded the reunion, the metaphorical implication would have been that I was truly a uniter. Man, that would have been gold.

I am, I said.

2007-02-26T11:40:00.000-05:00

As you no doubt have been aware, for January and most of February, I have been away from the blogosphere. Simply put, I took a break from blogging to attend to a rather serious matter. At the dawn of the new year, I formed an exploratory committee to determine the viability of a run at the presidency. Having declared a New Year's resolution to acquire more power, a bid for the White House seemed like a terrific idea.

I hired two attorneys, a P.R. man, a fundraiser, an administrative assistant, a speech writer, a wardrobe consultant, and two media analysts to determine whether I should join the Presidential fracas and we determined, after nearly two months of round-the-clock planning and analysis, that I will not run in 2008. Let there be no misunderstanding: finances or polling numbers were not the issue. My team assured me that a fundraising tour would put us on the map financially and that I was already polling well among single women. There was, however, one hitch.

My P.R. man demanded my Blogger password and planned to turn my blog over to the speech writer, with the plan being to eventually hire an additional consultant for full-time blog duties. His thinking was that I would be too busy to blog and that we needed to maximize World of Bil-Wau's potential as a communication tool. He and I butted heads viciously over this issue. The World of Bil-Wau is my voice and I refuse to allow it to be ghost written. I will not have consultants screening or editing my posts. I will not be diluted.

So, you see, I've chosen the few over the many. I've chosen my readers over my country. And I have no regrets.

For now, I leave you with what would have been my first campaign poster. See you soon.

Ma Vie en Playmobil

2006-12-28T11:46:00.000-05:00

Hello again. This week's mailbag is postponed until next Thursday as I'm waiting for questions to roll in following what I trust has been a hectic and rewarding holiday season.

At my house, one of the smallfolk received My Take-Along Farm (Playmobil).

As you can see, the good people at Playmobil have seen fit to include not one, but two Schubert cats. Kittens, actually, but you get the idea. Also, you see to the left a big orange cat (Seamus, anyone?) and a grey rodent (Henri). Murray's presence in our house is too new to have been included by the time My Take-Along Farm moved from design to rendering, but he is implied by the included bunnies (not pictured). So you see, playing with this set gives kids the world over a taste of what it's like to live in my house. To be sure, Mama sometimes feels like she's living on a farm with all of the fur flying and squawking and feedings.

Happy Holidays!

2006-12-22T11:22:00.000-05:00

As a special holiday treat, I've mocked up a picture of what it would look like if, as has been discussed recently with my agent, the Animagic "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" from 1964 was remade featuring yours truly.

As you can see, I've texturized myself through the magic of Photoshop so that I'd fit in with the other characters. I'm sure you'll agree that the presence of a Schubert makes this holiday classic even more special.

Happy Whiskermas // Merry Christmas // Happy Holidays

Love,
Bailey

Thursday Mailbag

2006-12-21T14:09:00.000-05:00

Only two questions.

Are two cats in a house always better than one? How will I know a new cat will be able to get along with the older cat, and vice versa? Can I kick to the curb a cat with no personality in favor of a cat who has personality?
--Justin Evans

Justin-
Two cats are better than five for sure, some would say. Better than one? Hard to say. It seems, though, like you don't want two cats as much as you want to get rid of Mr. Personality. I don't offer advice on getting rid of cats through this column. There is always the chance that you'll get another cat and find that he or she also lacks personality and then where are you?
--Bailey

Bailey, are you a rare feline college professor? If so, what are your course offerings for SP07, in case I would like to register?
--Penultimatina

Cher Penultimatina--
I'm working on getting accreditation to start up my own online university. Watch this space for further details. We will offer coursework in Hands, Backhands, Pans, Comfort, and Sass.
Love,
Bailey

Reader questions answered each Thursday. Please submit questions in the reply field of this post.

A Schubert Icon

2006-12-19T11:39:00.000-05:00

How many of you have this poster in your home in some form or another:

I do. Magnificent, isn't it? In the case that you've ever wondered what this poster is all about, it's by Théophile Steinlen and advertising (obviously) Le Chat Noir, a famous 19th century French cabaret.

Now it's mostly a way for Schubert entusiasts to decorate their homes in a tasteful, yet Schubertastic way. Should you know such an enthhusiast who is without this image, it makes a wonderful gift and can be found as a print, t-shirt, and so on.

You're welcome for the shopping help.

I'm Back!

2006-12-18T10:40:00.000-05:00

Phew! I feel recharged after a much-needed and much-deserved vacation. I sincerely hope, dear reader, that you've been well during our time apart. To catch up, here's what I did:

Wednesday for me was a spa day. I gave myself a thorough morning clean, tail-to-ears as we say. A pedi and a mani. I stretched out and luxuriated all day and let all of my cares go away. It was fantastic.

Thursday I woke full of energie (French for "energy" for those dear readers who are hamstrung by fluency in only one language) and, though I knew that I should hop online and write something, once I turned on the computer, I was moved to compose a poem instead. It's still a little rough and I've been having trouble getting meaningful feedback from my roommates, so it's not ready for posting. Seamus, for example, thought it was too long. Henri just blinked a few times at me after I read it to her. Murray gushed over it, but I can't take him too seriously as he's still kind of afraid of me. Charley, who truth be told is the true poet of the bunch, disagreed with some of the line breaks and thought the alliteration was a bit much. She began to clarify her position, but then Mama got home and she scurried off to commence her devotional pursuit of Mama. Based on what she did say, however, I know it needs polished. (Yuck -- I'm already typing and talking like an Ohioan).

Friday, I read all day. I finished rereading Dubliners (I could read the last few paragraphs of "The Dead" every day and never tire of it) and cracked open Flaubert's Trois Contes. Flaubert in translation is quite good. Flaubert in French is magical. If you don't read French, it's worth learning just to read Flaubert as it was written. The next time someone suggests to me that prose is lacking in musicality where poetry has strength, I'm going to smack them uspide the head with Trois Contes.

And now it's Monday and I'm back and blacker than ever. I've got some goodies in store for this week as we approach Whiskermas. See you soon.

B

The Happiest Day of My Life

2006-12-12T13:07:00.000-05:00

First, my sincerest apologies for not posting yesterday. I've been pretty busy getting ready for Whiskermas at home.

In the spirit of the season, I was counting my many blessings and reflecting on some of my happier days. The happiest of all of them came when I was a kitten of 12 weeks or so.

The day began like many others had to that point. I woke in a smallish room that I had all to myself. One of the walls was made of wire and on it hung two small containers, one with breakfast and another with water with which to wash down breakfast. I sat there counting faces as people walked by and peered into my little room. I tried so hard not to look cute, which, let's face it, was a real challenge. I had high standards at an early age and so many of the people walking by were not suitable at all (putting it as kindly as I can). Around the middle of the day, though, a new face looked into my room. A beautiful, smiling face. I upped my cat-itude as high as I could and the wire wall swung away. Two arms came in and picked me up, passing me to this new visitor.

"This one's a little fiesty," the other person said, the one who had passed me to the beautiful visitor. "We wouldn't recommend her if you've got small children."

Bitch. I nearly leapt onto her face and clawed her eyes permanently open for trying to sabotage me. I held still, though, knowing that such retaliation would only prove her point.

The woman in whose arms I snuggled wept. "I found my cat," she said. "This is my cat."

She held me a while longer. And then she put me back in my room and told me she'd be back for me.

Obviously, I'm writing of the day I met my adopted Mama. As I wrote earlier, when I count my blessings, this day stands out brighter than all the others. Usually, I'm not so sappy (let's face it, melodrama is better left for dogs, and Seamus), but I've been so lucky. I've read that a lot of adoptees eventually search out their natural parents, sometimes at the urging of counselors or social workers, but I've never had any urge to look for my fur-mother. Sure, if I met her, I'd thank her for the perfect hands and ears and so on, but she's not my Mama.

Thursday Mailbag*

2006-12-08T12:26:00.000-05:00

*Due to inclement weather, the mailbag was forced into a 24-hour delay.

As always, thank you for the questions. Let's get to it, k?

Schubert,
What's the best way to react when you're driving in inclement weather and your car starts skidding at a stoplight? Should you honk to let people know you're out of control? Or should you Bil Wau at them?
Love, Mama

My Dear Sweet Mama,
As you know, I travel by motorcade whenever I'm out and about, but I asked my driver and here's what he said: "Steer into the skid, of course. If you are travelling too quickly to regain control before the intersection, try to steer into a snowbank or something that's not as dangerous as another vehicle. Don't stomp on your breaks or you'll lock yourself into the skid. As a last resort, maybe a horn tap would alert other driver's to your trouble." So basically, he gave a non-answer. Please, though, take care, Mama.
Love always and forever,
Your Schubert

[eyes averted] Dear Bailey Schubert,
What is your pan-usage policy, and where may I download a copy of the Bylaws? If it's no trouble, that is.
Sincerely,
[looking away]Murray

Murray,
Get in and get out. I try not to overcomplicate things. The good news is that Henri is quite the little custodian and will clean up after you if you've been in too much of a hurry to properly bury things.
Bailey

Attn: Bailey Schubert
Re: Christmas Trees
Do indoor cats know that artifical trees are artificial?
--unsigned

Attn: unsigned
Re: The Pope
Is he Catholic?
Allow me to rephrase your question: "Do indoor cats care that artificial trees are artificial?" No.

Bailey,
Why are cats so untrusting? I take my dog to the vet and she thinks she's going to a carnival or something? She'll do anything we want. The cats just don't trust me. Poor Voogaman cries all the way to the vet (5 minutes), and then cries all the way home.
Concerned, Terra

Terra--
Should Voogaman trust you when you take him to the vet? I would say no. The dog is a dog. He doesn't know any better. Dogs appear to have no memory other than what's required to get a treat. Cats, on the other hand, hold grudges like the Irish. I heard of a house where one of the older cats was put to sleep (due to illness) and the remaining beasts didn't trust the people in the house for months. Cat's aren't stupid.

So it's not an issue of trust. He trusts that when you put him in the car, you're taking him to the Vet. He knows what time it is, as popular recording artist Flavor Flav might say. He's just not happy about it.

For the record, I don't cry on the way to the vet. My people know I don't want to go. I know I don't want to go. Complaining has never gotten them to turn the car around. Besides, when a cat reaches a certain age, he or she should really appreciate medical care.
--Bailey

My Dearest Bailey,
Why don't you return my calls? Is it Murray? I even bought a little sweater vest hoping to catch your eye.
~Kitsch

Kitsch--
How can I put this? The way to a Schubert cat's heart in no way involves sweater vests. Sweater vests might impress lesser creatures (e.g. I'm sure that lots of people have fawned over you in your dandy vest), but Schubert cats have higher standards. A Victorian Ruffle can be quite becoming, for example.
Regards,
Bailey

Reader questions answered each Thursday. Please direct all questions to the reply section of this post.

The Cat's out of the Bag

2006-12-06T15:25:00.000-05:00

So I've been busy on what had until now been a secret project. I've been contracted by Disney to adapt T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" for a screenplay. Tim Allen was attached initially, but he's since backed out due to other obligations. They're auditioning voice actors now and hope to have it cast fairly soon. Here's an early promotional poster.

The animation style is a bit of a departure for Disney, but it's got a nice classic feel that should really suit the material. I'll admit surprise when I was approached for this project. Who knew Disney was ready to tackle a story of spiritually exhausted people who exist in the impersonal modern city? Who could have figured that Disney's newest hero would be a vain, weak man numb to his sterile life, whose defining characteristic is his lack of will to change that life? Pretty heady stuff indeed.

You can bet, though, that the Happy Meal toys will rock.

A Day in the Life

2006-12-05T11:48:00.000-05:00

I'm sure many of you have been wondering what a Schubert cat does with her day. Dear Schube-heads, I present to you: "A Day in the Life of Bailey Schubert"

My day typically starts pretty early. I prefer sleeping with my people, but occasionally, I prowl. Here I am being woken with a small table lamp and a song to let me know it's time to begin my day.

From there, it's into the bathroom (above) for a bit of patting and then my sip (below).

Next up, a bit of breakfast. We eat the same food every day, which is kind of boring, but when our food is switched up from time to time, Charley has trouble digesting it and it's really awful for all of us. Poor Charley.

Usually, while I'm eating, the pan area is being scooped and freshened for me. I have provided an artistic rendering of our pans in the interest of keeping things as tasteful as possible.

You'll notice that we've got three pans. Five cats should really have five pans, but I don't fault my people for not wanting so many pans in the house.

After the pan, I head back upstairs to look out my favorite window. From here I watch the street and our yard. Occasionally neighborhood cats wander up and look at me in my window. They look the way people in the zoo look when they regard a lion -- glad there's a glass seperator.

I would have provided a picture of such a cat, but none were willing to stop by this morning.

to be continued...

A Day in the Life II

2006-12-05T10:36:00.000-05:00

Worn out from my morning, I head back to bed. You can see Charley at the other end of the bed there. This is how I spend most of my day.

In the evening, people come home and I sit on my perch near the front door, as much for patting as for protecting them against intruders. Here is a view of the front door from my perch.

For the balance of the evening, I sit near the top of the stairs, waiting for passersby to engage in a game of Hands.
Throughout the day and night, I visit the chow and the pan and my windows. I make my rounds. A nice slow cycle. And then, mercifully, it's bedtime. I'm pretty worn out.

So that's pretty much how it goes. There are other things happening, but this is the outline. Should you wish to participate in a Bailey Schubert Fantasy Camp getaway, the cost is only $10,000 USD for 1 day. Not too shabby, eh.

Special thanks for photographic assitance to Frank.

Stay Tuned

2006-12-04T15:45:00.000-05:00

Many apologies for having missed Friday. There's been some schedule rearranging around the new cat. He doesn't use the computer or anything, but I've had to lay down the law a bit.

At any rate, tomorrow I'll make up for it.

Same cat time. Same cat channel.

bil-wau

Thursday Mailbag

2006-11-30T09:38:00.000-05:00

Okeedoke, folks. Let's see what the mail brought this week.

My cat is a 4 year old, who has grey-to-black mottled patches over approximately 40% of his body. This includes both ears, though his face remains mostly white.
Now, I admit hew is an excellent bird catcher and mouser, his record being 4 birds in one day.
Although mature, he is a smallish cat who looks like an adolecent in size.
Normally, I would say he is just aloof, but having extensive experience with cats throughout my life, I know the differene between aloofness, indifference, and plain boring. I am afraid my cat is simply the latter.
--Justin Evans

Justin-- (for those of you who are wondering if this is a question, Justin had asked last week about a cat without a personality and has now provided the requested details)
Okay, my initial reaction is that being such an excellent mouser and birder shows a pretty good amount of personality. But I'm guessing you're concerned about his lack of cat-itude. Often, cats with low levels of cat-tude have been a little too domesticated. However, an over-domesticated cat would likely show little to no interest in prey. It's got to be something else. Or does it? There exists in Zen teaching a pair of statements that may shed some light onto your beast's personality:

Enlightened Folk are Without Personality;
Individuated Folk are Unique Unto Themselves

Hmm. Seems to me that maybe your cat follows Zen teachings. Quite likely in fact. Maybe he'd like some Buddhas around the house and whatnot. Not that it would increase his displays of personality, but it might please him. Soothe him.
Best,
Bailey

Dear Schubert,
How do you feel when people get you and Charley confused, despite your striking physical differences?
Sincerely,
One of the crowd

Dear One of the Crowd,
I feel sorry for them. For they have forever fallen out of my favor.
Warm Regards,
Bailey

Schubert,
Who peed in the basement?
Anonymous

Anonymous--
It was one of the boys. The penultimate time the perp will have peed in our house if it happens again.
--B

Is there a Whiskermas Advent Calendar that I may purchase?
--Penultimatina

Penultimatina--
Yes. It's a litter box and each day you reach in with a scoop and pull out...well let's just say it's not chocolate.
--Bailey

Bailey, do you think my ten year old cat, King George Jesus, would tolerate (or even enjoy) a second cat in the household? If so, would you say: male or female? younger or more mature cat? I'm thinking a calm adult female might be nice company for him. What do you think? Thank you. As always I value your generous advice.
--litbyfire

Dear litbyfire:
He's got a majestic enough name, no doubt. He should have developed a commensurate level of self-confidence such that a new pet shouldn't rattle him too badly. Your instinct is right on regards your choice of pet. In older cats, male-female pairings are most harmonious. He'll be fine, I'd wager.
Signed,
Bailey

Reader questions answered each Thursday. Please direct all questions to the reply section of this post.