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Rosie Sorenson's new book, They Had Me at Meow:
Tails of Love from the Homeless Cats of Buster Hollow won the 2009 Muse Medallion Award from the International
Cat Writers' Association. Meow also won the Best Pet Book Award for 2010 from
the San Francisco Bay Area Independent Publisher Association. It can be ordered from Rosie's website, www.theyhadmeatmeow.com. In addition to increasing awareness about feral cats, Rosie intends to raise funds from the
sale of her book for non-profit organizations providing care for them. Rosie's stories
about her thirteen years of caring for a colony of smart, funny homeless cats and their accompanying photos will warm your
heart. Rosie's work has been published in the Los Angeles Times, the Chicago
Tribune the San Francisco Chronicle, the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, the Contra Costa Times,
the Progressive Populist, the Berkeley Daily Planet, Mobius and in Iowa Writes
(curated by the Iowa Review Magazine).
She is also a monthly humor columnist for
the Foolish Times. Her essays have been broadcast on KQED-FM in San Francisco as part of its "Perspectives" series.
Rosie received the station's "Listener Favorite" award for 2006.
In addition, Rosie received
an Honorable Mention in the Erma Bombeck International Writing Competition for 2007. You can check out Rosie's Facebook Fan Page by clicking here: DamnGoodWriters is happy to present the following: 1. Oprah Failure 2.0
2. When You Wish Upon Onstar3. Noah, Twitter and Me
Oprah Failure 2.0
Well, the truth is finally out. My
life is of no interest to Oprah. I know this because I periodically check her website to see what types
of guests and topics she’s looking for just in case I might be eligible to make an appearance. So
far, not so good. Makes me feel like a pork chop at a vegan convention. Here’s
Oprah’s recent wish list for which I do not qualify: 1) “Do you need to lose 100 pounds or more?”
Nope. If I lost that much weight I’d pretty much disappear. I have
my older brother, Robert, to thank for my staying slim all these years. When I was sixteen I begged
him to snag me a date with one of his friends. He declined. When I asked him what I
needed to do to get a guy to like me, he said this: “Well, Rosie, whatever you do, don’t get
fat. Guys hate fat chicks!” That was it. Short and sweet, a message burned into
my brain for all time. He now swears that he never said that, but I know what I heard, and it has scared
me into slimness all these years.
2)
“Do you have an embarrassing medical problem?” Oh, God. I hope not and if I did, I sure
as heck wouldn’t go on national TV to talk about it. 3) “Are You a Karaoke Queen?” I wouldn’t
be caught dead in a Karaoke bar.
4)
“Need Help Throwing a Dinner Party or Birthday Bash?” I’ve given exactly one birthday
party in the past 10 years – and that was hosted at a friend’s house. I gave up my dining room for Steve’s
office when he moved in ten years ago. 5) “Calling all Overweight Moms” As I said, I’m
not overweight and I’ve never been a Mom – except to 35 homeless cats that I feed every day - do you suppose I
could interest Oprah in that?
6)
“Does Your Mom Need a Makeover?” Probably not; she’s been dead for
many years. 7) “Have
You Ever Had Sex With a Family Member?” Not that I can remember. 7) “Are You the Worlds’ Biggest Garage Sale Queen?"
I would be if I had a garage to keep all my stuff in. 8) “Trying to Find Your Personal Style?” Found it
already: t-shirts and sweat pants. Anybody got a problem with that? 9) “Aha Moment After the Whitney Interview?” Yeah,
just say “no” to loser boyfriends and bad drugs. Ah, Whitney, Whitney, what were you thinking?
10) “Dating
Disaster.” Now we’re talking my kind of show except that an hour is not nearly long enough,
and I don’t think I’d like to admit my part in those disasters. 11) “Want to Know About Your DNA?” Not
even. Everyone’s got a crazy Uncle Clyde, but the world doesn’t need to know that I might have
been the recipient of some of his DNA.
12)
“Do You Want to Break Up with Your Doctor?” I already did that two years ago after he
had ignored my complaints of insomnia for 5 years; then, I found out I had sleep apnea. Bye, bye.
13)
“Have You Always Wanted a Breast Reduction?” Are you kidding? 14) “NY Area Only: Are you worried about
your fingernails?” I don’t have that kind of time. 15) “Want to Know if Your Home is Aging You?”
No, because then I’d have to shoot it. 16) “Have a Unique Dance Routine to Teach Dr. Oz?” I
can do a mean funky chicken, but I’m not sure that would play well on TV. After
reading Oprah’s wish list for prospective guests, I felt bad that I didn’t fit in. Apparently,
I’ve missed out on many cultural boats. I’ve never been fat, never been married to a drug addict,
never slept with a family member, not much of an exhibitionist. I know this
sounds pathetic, but the worst that can probably be said of me is that I have a mad crush on Mickey Rourke. So,
when Oprah does a show on “Women Who Love Mickey Too Much,” I’m there.
When You Wish Upon OnStar
Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but
I plan never to purchase a vehicle from General Motors with OnStar. Touted as a system to protect drivers
by means of its many security features, OnStar seems more like A Big Snoop, than A Big Helper. Oh,
sure, the company will tell you that they can’t/don’t listen in on conversations taking place in the car, that
the driver has to press a red or blue button in order to communicate with the OnStar representative, but, in the same breath,
they acknowledge that if faced with a subpoena, well, then, my friend, you can pretty much kiss all your privacy rights good-bye.
OnStar can order your car to stop running.
The Visalia, California police were alerted to this handy feature when a car thief made the mistake of hijacking a Chevrolet
Tahoe. The police were worried that they would be drawn into the sort of car chase that inevitably ends up on “Cops,”
but thanks to OnStar, an electronic command was sent to disable the gas pedal, and the thief was caught, literally out of
gas.
What could be so wrong with that? Well, for one thing, just think what might happen if
your disgruntled ex-spouse worked for OnStar, and had the means to track your every movement and listen in on your every private
conversation? If that doesn’t chill your biscuits, then you should have someone check your pulse
for flat-lining. What if a burglar-turned-computer-hacker
disabled your car on a lonely road, robbed you, or worse yet, murdered you? No one would be the wiser.
Now that I think of it, OnStar is the perfect tool for a lazy hit-man. No more having to tail you in rush-hour traffic
while praying that you stop soon on some deserted street. He can just sit back, relax, monitor your movements
on the GPS, and then when he has you where he wants you, push the disabling button on your car. I’ll
bet Lee Child is working right now to incorporate this ploy into his next best-selling Jack Reacher thriller. Although
I don’t approve of this intrusive technology, I figure that as long as it exists, I might as well get my very own OnStar
device, one that would let the gas out of the gasbags of whichever particular politician I find offensive. Just
let me point the device at the TV, press the button and whoosh! Down he goes! While we’re at it, how about adapting it into a device I could have used yesterday
to disable the car of a nasty woman driver who flipped me the bird right after I honked at her for wandering into my lane.
I could have turned off her engine, sped around her car and flipped her right back before she knew what was going down.
I could also have stopped a rambunctious teenager (aka, soon-to-be-organ-donor) on a motorcycle who insisted upon weaving
in and out of traffic on I-80. Let that be a lesson to you, son. Point
and disable. I’m beginning to like this more and more. I could point it at the
IRS building. Don’t even think about auditing one R. Sorenson. I could point it at my mortgage
banker, give me a 2% mortgage or I’ll vaporize you. I could point it at the neighbor whose dog terrorizes me
every day. Sorry about your master, Fido.
Perhaps it is, after all, time to wish upon Onstar.
Noah, Twitter and Me
Last month, I succumbed and signed up for Twitter. I
had sworn that I was going to be the last person on the planet to join this crazy 140-character-driven-communications Whatever,
but I like trying new things. I have to admit, though, that I’m having trouble
with the question, “What are you doing?” That’s the opening teaser presented by Twitter
which must be answered in no more than 140 characters (not words). Is this a trick existential question
on the order of “Who am I,” which requires a deeply thought out philosophical answer and which, if I’m not
careful, I could get wrong? Or, does anyone really care what I’m actually “doing right
now”? In any case, my impulse is to write “none of your business,” but that would probably
not garner much of a “following.” I’ve come to learn that attracting a following is the entire point.
Just like back in high school (as everything so often is), I get to compare my following to that
of others, and so far, my following is pitiful. It may stay that way, too, if I don’t jazz up my
tweets.
Thus far, I have written: Tweet One: I’m eating some dark chocolate and drinking some green tea and
missing my beloved cat who died on Feb. 9. Tweet Two: Just had dinner and wonder what the heck am I doing on Twiter
and who cares anyway? Tweet
Three: Well, that was a big duh, spelling Twitter as Twiter, sorry about that… I’m from a generation that values privacy; so, this new world of divulging every little
thing about one’s mundane life is rather unsettling. After
I plunged in with my pathetic tweets, things got creepy. I received an unexpected email telling me in the
subject line that Mario Colarumbo was following me. Oh, great! Now I’ve attracted a stalker!
I don’t know what I expected (well, nothing frankly,) but who is this Mario person, and why is he following me?
Then, it happened again and again, more followers. I eventually calmed
down, checked them out and since they seemed like reasonable and interesting non-stalkers, I began to follow them, too. Well, now I’m hooked, and I can’t wait to be followed.
When I check on my email and there are no “following-you-on-Twitter” messages, my spirits sink.
Must get better material!At some point
during my initiation into all things Twitter, I began to wonder what would Noah have tweeted if he’d had Twitter back
in the day.
My apologies to Mr. Noah, but I imagine
his tweets would have gone something like this:
THE YEAR: 2349 BCE, NOAH’S TWITTER NAME: Cannotswim
FOLLOWING: One
FOLLOWERS: 732
Tweet
One: Kinda worried about this Ark thing…You think he’d be concerned that I
don’t know from cubits… Tweet
Two: Ezekiel is cheesed off. He got red in the face when he heard. He
yelled, “Dad always loved you best.” I didn’t ask for this, you know… Tweet Three: I wanted to nix the snakes, but He wouldn’t
let me. Just once, I wish he’d let me manage my own Ark.
DAY
ELEVEN OF THE FLOOD. FOLLOWING: One. FOLLOWERS: 349
Tweet Four: Getting
pretty gosh darned noisy in here – can’t sleep…and the smell! Whew…
Tweet
Five: Shem and Ham are OK with the “no procreation” edict, but Japheth has issues…Hope
his mother can knock some sense into him.
DAY TWENTY-NINE OF THE FLOOD. FOLLOWING: One.
FOLLOWERS: 227
Tweet Six: Don’t know how
much more of this pouring rain I can take. Haven’t heard from Ezekiel in awhile, probably won’t
speak to me again. Tweet
Seven: Sprang a leak. Fortunately, had plenty of elephant dung to patch the hole.
DAY THIRTY-SEVEN OF THE FLOOD. FOLLOWING:
One. FOLLOWERS: 0
Tweet Eight:
He said it’ll soon be over. Can’t happen too soon if you ask me. Japheth
still unhappy. Mother no help. Tweet Nine: I guess everyone’s pretty mad at me – no tweets in days. Can’t
wait to get a cuppa and talk to someone face to face. Never again do I want to hear the question, “What
are you doing?” ….
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