Sinister: Get a tiger on your shoulder

[PKHINTZ]

	Yesterday morning I gave in--to the subversive cuteness of those Beanie
Babies stuffed animals.  You can hold one of their soft, floppy bodies in the
palm of your hand, but the animals scream, "Buy, buy, buy!" in a cacophonous
chorus from the shelves of stores.  So, I bought; I bought a tiger.  I named
him Stuart David, in honour of, um, Stuart David.  My Stuart D. sits on my
shoulder and is being trained to speak.  (The cats do keep me company in the
castle, but do not hold conversations well).  His first words were said in the
spirit of his namesake:  "Stuffed animals are for poofs."  I was so delighted
to hear him speak I ignored his sentiment.  In a week or two I will give him a
pen, for him to write me my own Ink Polaroids; my Stuart is not allowed to
have a "special box".  Stuart D. is now sitting on the computer monitor,
waiting to pounce upon me if I type anything without the proper amount of
irony, sarcasm, and general ill humour.  "Unmitigated adoration is for poofs,"
my Stuart D. told me.  (I am able to write this now because he is taking a wee
nap.)  

	Saturday morning.  I opened the window blinds to see the heavens falling from
the sky, in the guise of snowflakes, covering the ugliness and despair of the
working week I have just left behind me.  I laid in bed, sipping tea, watching
the snow descend so delicately.  I thought of living moments.  Myself
observing the snow.  The quickly pulsing beat at the end of "You Made Me
Forget My Dreams".  The mighty yelp before the instruments race towards the
ending of the radio session of "Lazy Line Painter Jane".  The boom of the
drums during the chorus of "Photo Jenny".  Oh, and so much more.  Life is not
necessarily meant to be epic, in the grand sense of the word, but perhaps
epic, in the beauty of every day.

	My Stuart D. once said, "Beauty is for poofs".  Ah, Stuart D., you have a lot
to learn.

			Living and loving
					Matthew 
	
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.    We're all happy bunnies humming happy bunny tunes.  Aren't we?
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