Good afternoon. It is I Gigi the parti poodle here and I am snowbound. All the world is a winter wonderland and I find myself staring out the window and barking at the occasional brave but foolish pedestrian or in some cases snowmobile that happens to zip past my window. Worst of all I have no escape from that dratted Maltese who parks himself on top of a heat vent and treats the whole experience as if he were attending a Swedish spa. It’s most disconcerting. What is truly dreadful is if one goes outside under the roof are these horrifically long and sharp icicles that could melt down enough to do some nasty damage if one were to walk under them at the wrong time. I would not even wish such an occurrence on the Maltese. That said I am keeping myself warm and forgoing my walks for the time being and engaging in such exercise as trotting about from room to room and cornering the Maltese and forcing him to engage in a bout of celebrity death match. Otherwise, I am diligently writing away and now present to you the fifteenth chapter of my story Alanna the Piranha. Njuta! And Happy New Year!

Alanna the Piranha

by

Gigi the Parti Poodle

Day the Fifteenth

After the whole fiasco in the library yesterday, I ended up leaving the medical facility rather quickly. It was raining and I decided to catch a bus instead of walking back. I made the mistake of sitting in the middle where this woman across the aisle kept staring at me. I thought she was going to get up and do something crazy. I noticed there her purse had something moving in it. After a moment the furry head of a guinea pig peeked out. It yawned bearing its tiny front teeth. She noticed me looking at her rodent and put her finger to her lips and winked. Then she started laughing bizarrely. I got up and moved to the vacant seat behind the driver and stayed there till I got off at the library, hopped in my car and drove home.

When I returned to my room, I took the bunny out of the lunchbox, put her back on her dog bed, and checked on the piranha. The piranha was not visible in the tank despite the water’s crystal-clear clarity. I looked all over for her, but I could not spot her. I’m getting tired of her little hiding trick. It’s annoying. I figure I’ll check on her later.

Suddenly, it dawns on me I must be creepier looking than I first suspected. If those Chads noticed me watching the Stacys, albeit not with malicious intent, I must stand out. A heavy cloud of depression looms over me. I’m just that repulsive. If I was more of a Chad or even a quasi-Chad no one would even think my watching those girls was nefarious. If you’re attractive your actions are accepted. And if you’re not attractive your actions are discouraged. Hardly seems fair, doesn’t it? But the world sees things from the outside far more frequently than the inside.

I head upstairs and make myself a mocha. I even spray some whip cream on it and rip open a bag of mini chocolate chips my mom has up in the cupboard and sprinkle them on top. I head back downstairs to my room. After the first sip I realize how much I needed the caffeine. A temptation to go on completelyworthlessdude.com washes over me as I stare at my computer screen. But I resist and instead, I head back upstairs to Stacy’s room. My mom and dad went out to lunch and won’t be back for another hour. I probably shouldn’t be in my sister’s room, but I like sitting on her bed sometimes, closing my eyes and imagining it’s my pretend girlfriend’s apartment or something.

As I sip my coffee, I hear a sound. My eyes open and I listen. It sounds like it’s coming from Stacy’s walk-in closet. I set down the coffee on Stacy’s cherrywood dresser and investigate. When I reach the closet door I say, “Stacy?”

The sound stops. For some strange reason I can detect the faintest smell of fish. I turn the knob, open the door, and look inside not daring to enter. I peek around the corner. “Stacy?” I say again. No reply. I take a step inside. Yes, I’m sure of it. It smells like fish. “What the heck is she doing with fish in her closet?” I step in further taking in the meticulousness with which she stores her belongings. All the clothes are color coordinated like a perfect rainbow across the bar and all her handbags are lined up in the same colorful pattern on the shelf above. Shoes are done in the same array on the racks below.

Something brushes my leg. I turn and look at the full-length mirror on the back of the door. A flash of something and then a scampering across the hardwood floors. I whip around and attempt to follow…whatever it is. If there was a rat in Stacy’s closet, she’s going to freak out big time.

I hurry out into the hall and rush down the stairs. I hear small feet moving towards the kitchen. I swing around the dining room on route to the refrigerator. “I’m screwed,” I say as I continue to follow the odd sound as it scurries into the living room. I round the corner, heading left past the stove and out to the sofa and chairs. The scampering sound abruptly stops.

I search around the entertainment center desperate to find the little pest. I bravely lift the flaps under the recliner and tip back the couch seats and search underneath. Nothing but a See’s candy bar wrapper and a lost Kinder Egg toy are to be found. I wish my parents had listened to me and set up a surveillance system around the house so I can locate the little newb. I run back into the kitchen and crawl around on my hands and knees continuing my quest. I even search the drawers and inside the dishwasher. I knock over the garbage can and rummage through it. Nothing. Nill. Zilch.

Aggravated, I clean up the mess and tromp down the stairs to my room. The bunny is still snuggled up in its tiny dog bed. I look in the piranha tank. That scaley little kumquat is still hiding in its castle out of sight. I’m removing that thing from the tank tomorrow. In the meantime, I sprinkle more food across the water.

MY BOOKS

You can check out my books Chicane and the five installments in my Musicology book series Musicology: Volume One, Baby!, Musicology: Volume Two, Kid!, Musicology: Volume Three, Twist!, Musicology: Volume Four, Sweetie! and Musicology: The Epiquad on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback editions. You can also check out Musicology’s web site at www.musicologyrocks.com and vote for who you think will win Musicology!!!

STREAM OF THE WEEK: ONE HOUR PHOTO (2002)-HBO Max

Many fans of Robin Williams consider him to be a comic genius. I think he is an even better dramatic actor. In one of his finest performances, he plays Sy aka Sy the Photo Guy or more aptly Seymore Parrish, a very cleverly chosen name by the talented writer director Mark Romanek. Romanek’s work here is wonderfully Kubrickian with its cool blues and whites and painfully warm tans. He has crafted a meticulous multi-layered film that requires repeat viewings.

Sy is likely a genius and highly intuitive. He can catch the slightest thing out of place whether its three tones of blue wrongly calibrated on the developing machine or a random face that seems strangely familiar. But Sy is trapped in a world that does not appreciate genius. It appreciates the mediocre and mundane and in fact punishes anyone who dares to pull back the curtain and reveal the ugly reality beneath. Sy has no friends or close relatives and has become over the years enamored of what he thinks is the perfect family. The mother, Nina Yorkin (Connie Nielson) has come in for several years with her insightful son Jacob (Dylan Smith) dropping off pictures at the photo center in the SavMart store. Sy’s whole world lights up every time they drop off pictures. He even goes against store policy printing them more expensive print packages and even giving Jacob a free camera for his birthday. But Sy’s boss Bill Owens (the fantastic Gary Cole who deserves a juicy lead role of his own) is on to him. Then one day a customer drops off some pictures that Sy finds sinister, and he sets out on a mission to set things right.