If You Prick Me, Do I Not Squeak?

So I've decided to try my paw at acting. I know, exciting, isn't it? This past Sunday's Arts and Entertainment section stated that there are open tryouts for Merchant of Venice. My heart tells me I'd be an awesome Shylock. Ideally, I'd try out for Romeo, but he didn't make it into that play. Must have been the poison he took in that other play.

Now there are a few different ways to get into the roll. I asked TaTa which he preferred, and he was a big fan of method acting. He told me that's what Dustin Hoffman did in Marathon Man. On the other hand, Lawrence Olivier (Larry to his friends) poo-pooed this method and said, "That's why they call it acting, my good man." Yeah, he cracks me up a lot too. You should catch his 1972 interview on The Dick Cavett Show. Classic.

Anyway, now I just need a way to get to the auditions. TaTa offered to give me a lift, but there's no river or fjord on the way. For my monologue I'm torn between Willy Loman's beautiful yet heartbreaking soliloquy before killing himself in Death of a Salesman or singing the theme song from Pound Puppies. Admit it, that was one cute cartoon.

A Little More Off The Top, Please

What have I done? Every time I look in the mirror, that's what I ask myself. At the time I thought it was a good idea. No, not just a good idea - a great idea. Come on now, all you ladies out there. After even just a few weeks, you're sick of your haircut too, aren't you? Well just think how someone feels who's had the same shaggy hairdo since day one. I needed a new me.

I can't even really say hairdo though, can I? I mean, technically speaking, I have fur. So it just kinda grows and falls out. But that's depressing. If I were an old hamster, I'd accept it, but not when my skin is so taught and glowing. TaTa has it lucky with just scales to worry about. But how does the dude not get chilly? Yeah, I get the whole warm blooded/cold blooded thing, but then wouldn't he just be perpetually cold? Maybe it's the kind of thing where if you're cold all the time you don't even notice it after a while. Why did this occur to me? Well, because I couldn't very well cut my own hair, could I? So I handed the scissors over to my pal Edward Fishyhands. Man, that water is cold.

Maybe the problem wasn't that he's a bad stylist, just that he had to lean his body against one blade while using his fins to grasp the other blade, pulling the two together. And it's all done above water - where he can't breathe! If you think it sounds complicated, you should see him actually doing it. I swear, he's the David Blaine of fish. I'm going to give it a couple of weeks and see how it grows out. In the meantime, I'll just use lots of product. Now where did I put that mega hold gel?

Is It Hot In Here Or Is It Just You?

Yep, another week goes by in Albany, and you know what that means. Mother Nature flips the switch from "Muggy and Oppressive" to "Arctic and Frostbite Inducing." But I jest... somewhat. True, I've only been on this earth for a few months, but I've already made note of one thing; there are only two seasons in this town.

When it comes down to the season we're facing (I call it "Fallinter"), it's actually not that bad. It's been Hades-like for so long, that it makes me feel good to snuggle into my reindeer sweater, throw another couple of twigs on the fire and ask TaTa if he'd like another mini-marshmallow in his mini-cocoa. But then something strange happens in a few months. I recall March of 2008 as if it were yesterday... I was rolling in some leaves and watching my breath billow away as I sang See Me, Feel Me by The Who when all of a sudden my sweatshirt was sticking to me, there was a haze in the air and middle aged neighbors were in Daisy Dukes and black socks. Did someone spike my water bottle? It was suddenly July.

Thank goodness I'm a hamster and not a dog. I spend most of my time inside enjoying God's greatest gift to man - air conditioning. My owners despise the heat as much as I do, so it means snuggling under a washcloth and trying to keep my nose warm... which is tough since I have a wet nose and all.

Pinwheel of the Valkries

I know, it's been a while, hasn't it? I'd tell you I was abducted by aliens and probed in ways that you'd never believe in a million hamster years, but that would be a lie. What if I told you a major top-secret government experiment had me at Area 51 for the past week? Nah, that's a lie too. In truth, someone slipped me what is commonly called a Mickey Finn.

Don't ask me where it came from or when I ate it. Near as I can figure it was mixed amongst my yummy food pellets and wheat germ. After lunch last Wednesday, I vaguely remember one of the kids picking me up, but it was kinda in slow motion. At the time I thought it was just a slow kid, but now I think it might have been the vile drug. As a result, this past week has been a blur of tangerine trees and marmalade skies. On the one hand it was kinda cool. There was one day when I thought I could stop time. Then the next day I was sure, and I mean sure, that I had x-ray vision. You'd think that would be cool, but not if I could see all the way to your liver.

When I came to yesterday, the sky moved from a purple haze to sailor's delight. I blinked twice to get my bearings. For a split second I thought I saw TaTa calling me to a great light. I blinked twice again and it turned out to just be one of the kids picking his nose. Drugs are bad.

School Daze

Ah, that first day of school. All of the new khakis, the fresh haircuts, the runny noses. The downside to this fresh new start? The car ride to school almost made me cover my wood shavings in half-digested lettuce. Oh man, can't they develop some kind of seat belt for living organisms other than people? They did it for really short people, why can't they do it for really buff hamsters? But I digress.

By snack time I pretty much had the whole class figured out - who was going to be the stuffy princess, who would never help clean up, who would be the tattler - you know the drill. A nice group of kids... except for this one. He just kept eyeballing me. It not only freaked me out, it also kind of reminded me of when they have documentaries on serial killers. Remember how they always talk about the fact that they started off killing mice and cats. You know, he's the "quiet" kid. I just hope the teacher doesn't leave me alone in the room with him.

My goodbye to TaTa for the fall was short - he's not big on long goodbyes. I can't say I blame him. But at least he had the water in his bowl to mask his tears. I should be the one really crying anyway. I'm not going to be able to catch up on Young and the Restless until like December 19th. Man, I sure hope Victoria's baby doesn't belong to Rex.

Leave The Light On

Did you hear that? Over by the window. I think it's hungry...

Sorry, I've been a little on edge ever since watching Re-Animator the other night. It looked like a lot of fun when, before the opening credits, this doctor's eyes bugged out of his head, but by the time the dude re-animated his girlfriend's cat I kept looking behind me in case the Bogeyman was watching too. It's too bad because I used to like scary movies.

When I was fresh out of my embryonic sack (and I'll wager TaTa was no more than a guppy) I can remember being thrilled as sleep-away camp girls ran from slashers and burn victims chased dreamy schoolkids. Those days are done. Nowadays I can't watch Rachel Ray anymore because every time she opens that oven I just know something's gonna pull her right into it.

I don't think TaTa gets as freaked out as I do only because I don't get the impression he can hear the dialogue very well from underwater. Try it sometime. The next time you're in the pool, warn a friend who just dove under that there's a guy in a hockey mask about to remove your other friend's left kidney with an old spoon. All you'll get when he resurfaces it a complaint about the chlorine content.

Oh, My Head

Shhh... not so loud. It hurts to even type. My tank keeps spinning when I close my eyes. Why didn't I say no to that last Mojito? I'll tell you why. TaTa makes a mean Mojito, that's why. And after four in a row, I wasn't asking too many questions.

It's all our owner's fault. If they hadn't left the liquor cabinet open with a copy of The Happy Hiccup Bartender's Guide wide open, then this never would have happened. And besides, I was just the accomplice. I only provided materials to TaTa and he's the one who held the shaker. I was no more than Igor to his Dr. Frankenbooze. Maybe it was the laughs. Maybe it was the danger of getting caught. Maybe it was the fact that a fish was mixing Goldschlager cocktails. Who knows? Was it a good time though? Oh yeah, baby.

After TaTa kicked it up a notch, we abandoned the Tom Collins mix and headed straight for a few Harvey Wallbangers. Those got old pretty fast, so we chilled in front of the TV with a few beers - you know, to help rehydrate. Then it was onto Mojitoland, population: us. I don't remember much after that except when I sang Macho Man.

Now I just need to figure out how to fill the bottles back up to the Sharpie line with TaTa's tank water.