The tail continues

She’s back & she’s no longer nameless: by popular acclamation the Bronx Zoo’s cobra is to be known as Mia.

As in Missing In Action.

  

But, according to the snake’s Twitter feed, “my true name is Mrs. Justin Bieber.”

& you know this is a cobra with a mind of her own.

Bone appétit!

We may not be in the dog days, but I still think we could use some dog-gone amusement. & some Danish wag has created a YouTube video that absolutely serves up a meal of grins.

Not the classiest establishment—the waitress doesn’t seem to know that you serve from the LEFT or that you don’t take away over the back of your patron. But in the circumstances I’m willing to overlook that, because the combination of the canine facial expressions & the hands (which remind me a lot of the Muppets’ Swedish chef, now that I think of it) keeping the muzzles out of the dishes is really hysterical.

I did worry a bit about those fork tines going into the maws, but I’m thinking there were a lot of rehearsals before this video shoot wrapped to get everything right.

Death and ...

At 1010 yesterday morning I finally express-mailed my tax information to my accountant. 

I don’t know what it is about the words “tax” and “data” conjoined that turns my brain cells into overcooked oats, but this year was the worst. I’d intended to have all the materials to the CPA by the end of February. I know that he'll have to file notice of extension, but there's nothing I can do about that at this point, given that I haven't been gifted with the Knowledge of Turning Back Time. (& if I did, I assure I'd use it for plenty of other things than getting my tax returns filed early.)

Oh, well—now to put all the raw data—utility bills, mortgage statements, credit card receipts, check registers, etc.—into labeled envelopes & then stuffed into a carton.

Filing for this year’s taxes will come round all too soon on the calendar.

Music to my ears

Here’s an interesting apparent contradiction: you’ve probably heard of the Mozart Effect, the theory that listening to Mozart’s music increases spatial/temporal reasoning capabilities. & the popular extrapolation of that idea to enceinte yuppies aiming classical music at their gen-whatever offspring in utero in hopes of (eventually) getting the spawn into Harvard Business School.

So you’d think that classical music would be generally deemed to be A Good Thing, improving intellect as well as tone in its environs.

And yet police in Portland, Ore., are using the classics to cut down on crime at light rail stations. They’re broadcasting over the PA systems operas, chamber music, symphonies & the like to literally drive away the potential perps who gather around public transit stations pretty much all over the country.

I have to admit that I wouldn’t stick around if BART suddenly spouted Tannhäuser at Embarcadero. & a wind quintet would prompt me to pick up the pace at the exit.

But in general I’d not have thought that Bizet or Copeland would be used to the same end as US troops driving Manuel Noriega out of the Papal Nuncio’s residence by blasting it with hard rock.

But I guess I would be wrong.

TLP 3

March may have been as funny as a bagful of sedated pythons on their way to Dubai, but it was really, really bad for TLP. You know—trying to make sense out of my life.

February went pretty well—I was diligent about most of my tasks & especially pleased with the work I did on improving my health.

But March roared in & I completely lost the plot. I don’t know when I’ve felt so sludgy & drag-ass, which interfered with a number of my tasks. I kept track of my exercise & meals for about three days & then just quit.

Also—you may recall that I made the statement that I needed to have all my tax information to my accountant by the beginning of the month or “I’m going to be one sorry, sorry person”? Well, I’m about to send my accountant enough data for him to file an extension, because I didn’t get round to putting stuff together until last week, when I discovered I’m missing three 1099 forms that will add about $120 worth of interest income to my 2010 total. Though the amount is negligible, the IRS & my CPA are real sticklers for having the official documents.

&, trust me, my degree of sorryness is about as immense as you could find.

Part of my slide into the slough of despond may be chemically induced; my sleep specialist MD (what—you don’t have one?) had added a new medicine into the mix in late February & about two weeks later I hit the skids. We’ve rethought that & moved in another direction, which I’ve been taking for a couple of weeks, so I’m hoping that’ll help.

Anyhow, it’s April now, & all I can do is climb back into that damned saddle again. & hope that the other kids on the merry-go-round don’t laugh at me as I cling to the pole.