Gone Fishin'.

Be back in a bit!

Summer lethargy.

Taking a break for a couple of days. Come back real soon!

Chicago!

Hi guys, sorry I haven't posted lately, but I was vacationing in lovely Chicago - home of the generous definition of "pizza" and the unholy marriage between hot dogs and celery salt. I'd post pictures but left my camera at home. Suffice it to say, there were buildings and nice neighborhoods and the occasional park. Anyway, updates to recommence.

Rusty, we love you.

Dear friends,

Rusty went peacefully yesterday at 5 pm. He had just turned 4 ½ years old.

The first time we met Rusty, we knew he was special. Jen knew it first: we went to a breeder on the Lower East Side to pick out a cat from a new litter. I had my eyes set on a slightly older, spunky bluish-grey boy with wild eyes who looked like he was on a constant catnip high. A family had taken him in and promptly returned him for being a handful.

While I was amusingly considering names for him (he looked like a Sammy or Psychobutt), Jen noticed a little red fluffy guy with a big pink nose who was trying to nurse from his mom. He was a little too old for that; the mom had already weaned off his siblings. To drive the point home, she sharply pushed his face away with her hind leg. He looked up at Jen with watery eyes and a hurt expression. Jen fell in love.

Born on September 5, 2005, that year’s Labor Day, the new litter of kittens was given trade union-related names. The original name of this little fluffy red guy was Jimmy Hoffa. Jen wisely renamed him Rusty. (My suggestion for “Doktor Otto von Fluffybutt” got overruled.)

Immediately, there was a connection. When it was time four weeks later to pick him up, the breeder told me I should hurry – Rusty was sitting on the carrier, staring at the door. He was ready for his new home.

While people give us credit for his friendly, mellow, and happy demeanor, I have to admit he was like that from the beginning. Expecting him to hide in fear or uncertainty, I was shocked when he strutted out of his carrier and calmly checked out his new digs. He used his new litterbox with no prodding or direction, then jumped on my lap as if we were old friends, and then slept in his cat tree, knowing it was for him. Rusty required no training, and in fact, he ended up training us to accommodate his amazing energy, playfulness, affection, and curiosity.

There are so many stories that illustrate what a special and unique creature he was. He always had to be in the same room as Jen and me. If he was asleep in one room and we moved to another, he’d sense it, get up, and move closer to us. He had a different position for everyone’s lap – stretched out across my belly and chest with his nose in my armpit; squished up along Jen’s side; straight down our friend Lou’s legs with his butt in Lou’s face; sprawled across our friend Rhea’s feet.

He had a special bond with humans, more so than with other animals. At dinner parties, he had to join in, sitting in his favorite chair when our chairs were in a circle, looking at people as they talked, and eating when we ate. When a friend or neighbor would leave, he’d stare at the door, hoping they’d come back. He didn’t meow much but had big, expressive, intelligent eyes and you always knew what he was thinking. Likewise, he’d pay close attention to people as they spoke to try to understand them.

Rusty didn’t mind being picked up or hugged or kissed. He loved bellyrubs and would roll around on his back like a puppy. He greeted us at the door, begging for bellyrubs. In the morning, he waited patiently for us outside our door – not for breakfast, but for a morning cuddle on our laps.

He was a long-bodied, long-haired tabby who could perform amazing acts of acrobatics. Chasing after a feather on a wand, he could do a 6-foot-high triple Lutz. Bouncing a mouse toy high off the hallway wall, he would jump close to the ceiling, propel himself off one wall onto another one, finishing off with a backflip. He had amazing accuracy and reflexes. A common game was “Rusty Baseball”: he would sit in his favorite chair and I’d toss a mouse toy toward him. Instead of catching it, he’d whack it right back at me with incredible aim and velocity, always making perfect contact no matter how bad my throw.

He loved his toys. If he spotted a mouse toy being scooted across the floor, his eyes would get big and bright, his body close to the ground and tense. Tossing the mouse, he was a heat-seeking missile. He loved this round toy that had an inset ball that spun around. It was continuously novel for him - if we spun it, even years later, he would stop whatever he was doing to stalk it out. When he wasn’t playful, he’d sometimes stroll by it and give it a forceful whack, just to show it who’s boss.

No matter how much we played and how wild he got, he never bit or clawed. He was always extremely careful about his claws, even though I was sometimes negligent in trimming them. Not that he minded – he liked having his paws massaged.

He loved his various perches and high areas so he could survey everyone and everything from that vantage point. Ironically, brilliant as he was, he could never figure out his cat bed and would sleep under it. He was silly and sometimes would stick his tongue out or sleep in ergonomically impossible positions.

In many ways he embodied “cat-ness,” but there were some cat-like things he never did. He didn’t go after shoelaces or strings (except for the tails on mouse toys). He didn’t bump heads or “make biscuits” or rub his body against legs or furniture. It seemed he never felt the need to mark his territory. He respectfully maneuvered around our clutter and was careful not to knock anything over. For a long time as a kitten, he cooed like a pigeon instead of purred.

He was never greedy with food, grazing when hungry and stopping when sated (one of the few things we didn’t have in common!). He preferred eating socially and would wait until Jen and I were having dinner. If we left the vicinity while he was chowing down, he would stop and follow us. Many evenings were spent sitting on the floor next to his food dish.

Rusty never complained, held a grudge, or showed resentment. Instead of giving us the cold shoulder upon returning from a lengthy trip, he treated us as if we never left. He splashed around happily during baths. As much as he hated medicine and pills, he never blamed us for such unpleasantries.

When he got sick and had to be taken to the vet often, Rusty never put up a fight or cried. He went into his carrier with only gentle direction. He was so calm and curious that he won the hearts of every doctor, technician, and staff member. His biggest worry was deciding whose marriage proposal to accept from the female staff.

Rusty was diagnosed with aggressive, high-grade lymphoma in October. There was no reason or trigger – it was simply bad luck. There was hope that we had caught it early and the chemotherapy would succeed. That seemed to be the case, thanks to Rusty -- he treated the cancer like one of his mousies and battled it valiantly. He quickly went into remission and had a few great months where he was spoiled rotten and was showered with love.

The cancer relapsed and Rusty quickly lost weight. We tried again with a different chemo and Rusty was bravely hanging on without complaint. But we could clearly see that he was uncomfortable and his best days were behind him. He loved us and everyone he has ever met and was fighting to stay here with us. He was such an amazing boy, though, that he deserved to be in peace and not struggle any more. Throughout his treatment, Rusty was extraordinarily brave and noble. I am so proud of him and I wish I could be more like him.

I’ve been saying goodbye to him the past five months, but I was never done saying goodbye to him. I don’t know if I ever will be. He went peacefully on my lap with Jen and me petting him. In one second, he was sleeping; in two seconds, he was gone.

He was such a huge part of our lives and there is an irreplaceable vacuum now. If feels like there are black holes in our apartment, in every space that he would occupy. I see his afterimage in the corners of my eyes and it’ll be awhile before I no longer carefully open a door or watch where I step to avoid his tail. He was never a very vocal cat, but the apartment has never been so quiet.

If you’ve met Rusty, you knew what a remarkable, funny, loving guy he was. If you never met him, I hope I imparted an approximate if incomplete sketch of him. Volumes could be written about him.

If you have pets, take them in for regular check-ups, even if they seem fine. Enjoy every day with them – they deserve our fullest attention. Listen to them if they want to play or cuddle or eat or want to be walked. Animals ask us for the simplest things from us and it makes them the happiest to know we care about them. They will love you forever.

Many animals struggle before they find loving homes. Many need to be rescued and rehabilitated from cruelty, violence, and pain. To honor Rusty’s memory, please consider a donation to Animal Haven (animalhavenshelter.org) or the ASPCA (aspca.org).

People have said that Rusty was lucky to have us; the opposite is truer. It was the greatest gift to have spent these years with such an amazing and sweet little boy. Rusty, we love you and appreciate you. You will always be in our thoughts.

PS – View our slideshow tribute here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/28820146@N05/sets/72157623640106890

Love, Adam and Jen

My resolutions for 2010.

I believe what Marty McFly said about accomplishing whatever we put our minds to. Though I guess it helps to have a genius inventor for a friend and access to plutonium.

With that in mind, here are my resolutions for 2010, which I believe are not only possible but easily attainable, in part because I don’t need to better myself in any way.

2010 Resolutions

1. Meet that world-traveling silly dance guy.

2. Seduce him and force him to settle down after many years of silly dancing. He will therefore grow to resent me and will ultimately return to dancing, a slow, bitter dance that will make the children of the world cry and flee in terror.

3. Following the success of Transformers, pitch a live-action Snorks film and cast myself as Tooter Shellby, a tooting Snork gone mad by the sea.

4. Win an Academy Award for my riveting portrayal of Tooter Shellby, crazy Snork.

5. Design a tampon specifically for emo bands.

6. Volunteer my time for a good cause. LOL!

7. Finally catch that elusive, slippery, slippery elm, used in so many of my medicated teas.

8. Write a bestselling book on how the true secrets of Jesus’ life can be revealed in the painting “Dogs Playing Poker.”

9. Write a hilarious joke book on all the things that are funny about peace, love, and understanding.

10. Become the first Jew to get intestinal cramps… ON THE MOON!

(Note: This originally appeared on ReadJunk.com)

Coozer on the DL.

If you were wondering why there haven't been posts of late, it's because there hasn't been any news and everything is normal throughout the world.

Nah, I broke my wrist. It's put a real dent in everything from my blogging life to my sex life. I'll try to post one-handed when I can, but I'll be back in action, 110%, no foolin', by the time of our country's annual turkey massacre. See you then! gobble gobble

Sorry!

Hi guys, I'm sorry for the sparse updates the past few days. Hit a busy spell, but luckily things are looking boring again! And clearly there's been no other news besides the Michael Jackson Corpsewatch.

Stay tuned for a ton of updates. In the meantime, here's a picture of my cat wearing a tie.

Apologies...

Hi Coozer-Philes,

I'm sorry for not posting much in the past week. I was in Florida visiting my Gramps and checking out some sites in Miami (pics to follow -- someday...).

Plus it's been pretty quiet out there in the world. Stimulus package, blah blah blah.

Anyway, now back to posting. Thanks for your patience!

Love,
AC

Adam Coozer's 2009 Resolutions.

In 2009, I resolve to:

1. Become thin, sexy, and rich so that people have a legitimate reason to hate me.

2. Help the Beastie Boys stop when they can't, won't, or don't.

3. Have something named after me in the DSM-V.

4. Finish my screenplay for Indiana Jones & the 11 Secret Herbs and Spices.

5. Create a rock so heavy that God can't lift it.

6. Never, EVER go to where the wild things are.

7. Some nicknames are given. Others are earned. "Pickles" is one I must earn.

8. Try to stop mentioning Gary Carter whenever I'm on #8 of a list.

9. Work out my Snarf issues with a licensed therapist.

10. Convince media-savvy blog readers that Coozer Files is totally worth bookmarking. snarf snarf

FYI.

The Panama travelogue will be continued in a few days. In LA now for meetings and away from my pics. But I'll post some news during boring parts of the meeting! w00t!

Coozer Files WILL BE BACK!

Central America calls. And when Central America calls, Adam Coozer answers. Unless they want hurricane relief funds. Then I don't pick up.

Point is, I'm gonna get me some Yellow Fever. And I don't mean that in a creepy otaku way. I mean that I'm probably going to actually contract Yellow Fever.

Anyway, while I'm tromping through the rainforests and avoiding red poison dart frogs, please take this time to read through every Coozer File, leaving comments on each and every one.

Wait - I have an even better idea! Use the comments on THIS File to post news links and other items that interest you. Then everyone can check the comments in this entry and it'll be like we're still updating while I'm away, only you're doing all the work! It's win-win!!

To sweeten the pot, whoever posts the most interesting news items and commentary gets the rest of my malaria pills. I heard they give you horrible psychotropic nightmares! *thumbs up*

The photos I should've taken.

If I owned a camera and had photography skills, these would be the pics I would've taken. These pics are of Salar de Uyuni, the "salt lake" in Bolivia, and I was in the Salt Flats in Salta, Argentina, but the feeling of being alone on a neverending surreal, alien moonscape was the same.

From their travelogue:

"...We finally reached the salt flats. Imagine being surrounded by endless white salt covered by a few inches of water. Without any reference points the sky meets the salt and creates an odd illusion that objects in the flats are flying. I had never seen anything like it...

I'm going to vomit.

My gas is so noxious tonight. It's so utterly foul, my cat threw up.

Here is what I ate today. Please post a comment on what you think is the culprit. It may save my life.

6 cups of coffee.

Fried and broiled tofu with a dipping sauce of Japanese bbq sauce and raw egg. (My cooking)

A soft brie with rosemary crackers.

Rigatoni with eggplant and ricotta. (My wife's cooking)

Two bottles of wine.

Please help.

Special 200th Post Extravaganza!!

200 posts in under a month. I think I've hit a new record for boredom and spare time.

So what do you think about this place and these posts? Your kind of thing? Do you dig the political stuff, the offbeat news, the science-y things? The close watch on our future zombie masters? The scrumptious recipes I was gonna post but never did? Talk to me, O silent Coozer-Philes!!

On drinking alone Pt. II.

In marketing theory, each person has four identities that are never fully integrated. In fact, they are all incongruent, and attempting to assimilate them is extremely stressful if not impossible:

1. How you view yourself.
2. How you would like to view yourself.
3. How others view you.
4. How you would like others to view you.

The exercise, though, is less about self-actualization but how to manipulate people to buy your product and become loyal to a brand. But I often think about these four ideals.

And thinking about it, it becomes clear that identity is hard to pin down.

On drinking alone on a beautiful Sunday.

I stayed in today, all day, thinking I would review some CDs and books for ReadJunk, as well as clean the apartment thoroughly, because I'm a firm believer that a cluttered home means a cluttered life. Unfortunately, my apartment is always non-clean (I don't want to say "unclean" - sounds too religious) and extremely, hopelessly cluttered.

After a half-hearted effort in putting three dozen unread magazines (Game Informer, EGM, Wine Spectator, Bon Appetit) into a singular pile, I decided the best way to clear up some surface space was to get all these bottles off my living room floor. These annoying bottles are/were filled with rum of varying quality.

I am extremely drunk now, not even 2 pm. I'm drunk enough to speak freely, but still have my wherewithal to type and be able to spell "wherewithal" without having to retype it more than five times.

So here are my big thoughts about being drunk on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, alone in my apartment and figuring out what to do with my day/life:

1. Will Ferrell is actually a good actor - and even quite endearing - but only when he plays the straight man, such as in "Stranger Than Fiction" or to a lesser degree "Melinda and Melinda". If you decide to watch Stranger Than Fiction - and you should - watch it drunk.

2. Nothing infuriates me more than on the rare occasion that I can't get my butt my clean, no matter how much I wipe. I don't mean this to be scatalogically edgy or infantiley funny. Sometimes, it seems like my butt will always have poop in it. It sounds silly, but the frustration is as real and serious as a heart attack. After some deep-butt excavation, I'm wondering if maybe certain areas of my butt are very hairy, harboring fecal matter in hard-t0-reach places, not unlike Osama bin Laden in Pakistani mountain crevices. And after smashing my fist down on my bathroom sink and swearing at the gods, it occurred to me - what if I'm just totally OCD in my butt cleanliness and other people don't care as much? Maybe due to some weird childhood trauma, I believe the norm is to have a completely white toilet paper swath, while other people just give up once blood appears. If you could leave a comment on the matter, I'd greatly appreciate it. You can leave a comment anonymously, you know.

3. After that last outburst, I really want to drink some more and forget I wrote that. I'll add more Deep Thoughts later, unless I sober up.

Kinky.

Tomorrow (Sat) might be another slow day on Coozer Files. The first third of the day is all about the blintzes. Then - FREE KINKY SHOW! Ohmygosh.

Kinky is a great dance/punk/pop/Spanish rock band from Mexico that rocks mi gringo culo estupido. They're playing a free show at Central Park's Summerstage. If you're a New Yorker, there is no reason why you shouldn't be there, unless of course you're my evil doppelganger and we must never meet. (I know you're out there.)

After Kinky, my friend Dan the Canadian Cowboy is coming into town! How awesome is Dan? Let me count the ways: 1) He walks around with a cowboy hat. 2) He earnestly plays slightly dated novelty pop songs like "Milkshake" and "Toxic" ON BANJO! 3) He is traveling 14 hours on a Canadian Greyhound, where the odds of him being dismembered and his corpse defiled are staggeringly high. Especially if he whips out his banjo and plays that Feist iPhone song.

Anyway, if you need a Coozer fix, stop by ReadJunk.com for more news and fun stuff. Join the forum on RJ and make some friends! Or just go to CuteOverload. I know you want to. The Coozer Files and ReadJunk might be great, but there's no way we can compete against teh kittehs.

NY Press are witches!

I don't normally check my horoscope, but this is scarily dead-on.

Taurus (April 20-May 20)
What started out looking like a lot of fun has turned out to be a total drag. You weren’t led to this place by false pretenses, per se, but you may as well have been, because what you saw is not what you got. In other words, the glimpse you got beforehand understandably caused you to make assumptions that were far from accurate. Sometimes that can lead to pleasant surprises, but in this case, it didn’t. That mostly lets you off the hook. I wouldn’t just walk away from this without a word, but I would walk away. Offer an honest, non-bitchy explanation about what you’re up to, then take your leave.

I think it's time to become a full-time stay-at-home dad for my cat.