Good Company
by Your Diva, Robin Pastorio-Newman
Larry is a little black cat bent on stealing your soul, but don't turn your back on poached salmon in his presence either. Should you, in the course of eating your tasty and aromatic dinner, have occasion to scamper from the table you might return to find someone other than Goldilocks sampling the fare. Larry prefers whatever you're eating to his supper, and whatever he steals is the most delicious of morsels. This morning, he fished an empty cat food can out of the recycling and licked it clean, bypassing the full bowl of food on the floor.
When you're sleeping, Larry wants to play. He's contrary and curious, and because Larry has feline leukemia and keeping a few meager pounds on his tiny frame may prolong his life, we indulge his whims. Not the one about playing while we sleep, though, a demand which arrives in the form of a suddenly much larger little black cat digging claws into one's chest and making midnight bugling noises.
But mostly, we indulge. Sometimes it's tough to tell who's in charge here.
Suppose you have reasons to invest that at first seem like rewarding the bully but on second thought work on the same principles as organized crime. Suppose once upon a time you were idealistic, and only wanted to invest in companies that shared your philosophies about how to make money, no matter how craven those ideals. Maybe you've changed your mind, and companies greener than you now appeal to your investment sensibilities. Maybe you've changed your mind, and you've decided the companies that lie to you and steal your otherwise discretionary income, are making money hand over fist, and you've had enough, and you watch The Sopranos, and you want your cut off the top, so you call up your brother-in-law in the industry, and demand he figure out how to kill these companies single-handedly or make him invest your fistfuls of cash so you reap their blood-money profits and make them support your in your old age. Is this, like many confusing elements of modern life, so wrong?
In the midst of this week's ubiquitous Nirvana news, the authors of Love & Death: the Murder of Kurt Cobain peddled their tired, tired, tired hypothesis that Courtney killed Kurt. Reasonable questions to ask oneself:
In previous Altrok columns, we've addressed the issue. When investigative journalists (read: conspiracy theory weenies) unleash their cant on unsuspecting and incredulous morning show hosts while we spit our coffee, we should think rational thoughts like, "They will do anything to link their names to their fallen hero, including blacken the name of their hero's beloved. These fellas have Mommy Problems."
In other Kurt News, Kurt Loder, who's recently practiced being the strong, silent type, points out that Courtney is the larger than life rock star of this stingy here-and-now, the rock star we long for but ... wouldn't really want to be too near. This bittersweet valentine touches near - but not on - Loder's vague suspicion that our rock star is on the path to supernova. Right or wrong on the plot twist, it's a poignant, unexpected bit of writing from Loder.
Let's shamelessly plug our sisters' (and their Mom's) new store Through the Moongate. The name's based on a book of songs their grandfather wrote during his upbringing in China, where his parents were missionaries. If you're counting, that's four generations square-dancing around this title, which offers the reader no hint that this store is full of pretty pretty handmade gifty things you should give people so they "oooh" and "aaaah" and think you're cooler than you were ten minutes before. There's nothing wrong with that.
©2004 Robin Pastorio-Newman