Soundtrack of My Life

A.A. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,

I hope you are well and wearing an easy smile.

What songs would make up your Soundtrack of My Life (so far)?

Thank you as always."

Hi, A.A..

I want to apologize for the delay in answering your question. I knew this would be a sort of epic answer and wanted to give it the proper, full attention it deserves, so it took a little while. But here goes.

I think a lot of people know by now that music has played a very important role in my life, with different styles carrying more importance at different times than others. But let's start with the early stuff and move to the later, shall we?

One of my earliest music associations (beyond my mom bringing her guitar into my preschool classroom and playing for us) still has to do with my mom. I remember dancing to Sultans of Swing in the living room with my mom one New Year's Eve, I think it was. One of the first ones when I was allowed to stay up late enough to enjoy New Year's Eve. This was also my first exposure to East Coast Swing dancing, which translated into my love of lindy hop much later on. Which, of course, leads us to Love Me or Leave Me, which may be my favorite song to dance to ever. And the greatest piano solo ever. Though I once saw a claymation short done to My Baby Just Cares for Me that made me totally fall in love with dance and music and Aardman Animations and made me wish I had a baby who just cared for me.

There are a million other swing songs that should probably get a mention in here - Mr. Pinstripe Suit because I loved Big Bad Voodoo Daddy and saw them on my 21st birthday and they all took pictures with me and signed a dollar bill for me which was later stolen and Dirk was so lovely remembering that I made a total asshole out of myself the first time I saw them live, and because it was in anticipation of that concert that I taught the boy I was in love with at the time how to dance so I could make him go with me; Buzz Buzz Buzz by the Mighty Blue Kings because of all the arguments that boy and I had about who was the better neo swing band; Sing Sing Sing because my next dance partner would always try to time our entrance into the jam so that our sailor kicks hit the music at exactly the right point (which is why I don't do sailor kicks anymore); Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen because of the neo swing movement's obsession with Swing Kids until we all figured out the dancing in that movie is not what we should be emulating on the dance floor (though it's still a fun tune to dance to and gosh darn it, Robert Sean Leonard is hot); Fly Me to the Moon, especially as sung by Blossom Dearie because that's what I got engaged to, though just about anything by Blossom Dearie is dreamy - I Won't Dance, I'm Hip, Blossom's Blues, Rhode Island is Famous For You is the one my dance partner and I were going to choreograph a routine to, you get the idea; and of course It Ain't What You Do for the shim sham and all of the amazing times and locations wherein I did the sham sham - the benefit for a dancer with cancer (which then led to a pie in the face), Frankie's memorial, various exchanges, etc. (and I know that clip is not of It Ain't What You Do, but I though the Frankie memorial was more important to link to, for everything that man brought to the world of dance); and Get Your Girl #1 by Vargas Swing because I had such a crush on Dawn Webber and they gave me free socks at one of their shows. I think it's safe to say that swing/lindy/jazz type music has played a big part in my life and will always hold good memories for me, but perhaps it's time to move on to the next genre? Otherwise, we'll be here all day.

There have been some random, scattered tunes that were playing at just the right moment in my life to leave such an impression that I sometimes I can't listen to them anymore. I remember sobbing in my car on my way from my dad's house to my mom's house in high school listening to the chorus of Regret by New Order because life was just too much and I can barely listen to the song now. Stay, Insanity, Mary, and Dead Man's Party by Oingo Boingo have all held special significance for me at one point or another - wanting the boy to stay, keeping me company on a lonely family vacation, the story of my life, and needing to dance so badly at my first rock and roll concert ever that I'm sure I injured my friend upon whose shoulders I was sitting. And by extension, Sally's Song from The Nightmare Before Christmas because I made that costume one year and rocked it, and asked my friend to teach me the song so I would be prepared just in case anyone asked me to sing it. Which no one did. Shit, let's throw in Useless, Water, and Change, too. I found Boingo (or Boingo found me) when I really needed them and I will always love Danny Elfman for that very reason.

Speaking of finding artists at exactly the right time, Bob Dylan. I have to put It Ain't Me Babe on this list because it's my theme song and I love to cover it. But yeah, found him exactly when I need him and I love the gravelly voice. It soothes my heart.

Crap, this is getting long and wordy. I'm going to be brief and random for a bit. Sorry about that.

I found Moby one summer and he kind of changed my life. I still fantasize about putting together a huge dance routine to Run On that combines lindy, charleston, hip hop and other crap. I've been to three or four Moby shows and they are incredible. I can't not dance to Go when it comes on and when he plays it at his shows, I have to jump. The entire time.

(I would like also like to do a similar dance style mash up performance thing to Come On Now by the John Butler Trio. One Way Road is also rather brilliant.)

And while we're on kind of techno type stuff, I have to mention Sander Kleinenberg, who played the best techno show I have ever seen at RedNo Five in Chicago. I have no idea what the records were he was spinning - some of them were white labels - but sweet jebus, that man can blow the roof off of a club. And he's really nice to look at, too. Really nice. Watching him spin that night was when I learned that if you bop your head backward on the downbeat instead of forward, it sits in the music better. Like starting a cha-cha on the two.

Right about now is when I feel like I should mention (for those of you who don't know) that I also write music. I usually attribute this to a couple of people - the guy who is the current face of the USPS "If it fits, it ships" campaign, another college friend, and Liz Phair. The first Liz Phair song I heard that I identified with her was Polyester Bride, and this was also the first song of hers I learned to cover. But then I went back and heard Flower and remembered hearing it at college parties, so I guess technically, that was my first exposure to Liz Phair. There was a time when I hung out on the Liz Phair message boards quite a bit, and I ended up writing a "clean" version of the song that included the phrase "You can be my personal Yoda." I was kind of proud of that. I think my favorite Liz song, though, is The Divorce Song. I was proud when I learned how to play that one, too, and practicing one of the little chord blips is what eventually led to my own song Astoria Park. That, and hanging out in Astoria Park one day. Which is a favorite of my friend in Texas who I met on the Liz Phair message boards.

But once I started writing my own music, it took a little while before I was comfortable playing it for other people. My song Allowed was sort of a gateway song for me in that respect - it gave me the confidence to play out in front of people because this fellow swing dancer guy friend of mine liked it. And it is actually about my infatuation with another swing dance instructor. I guess it all comes back to swing dancing, doesn't it?

But the fact that I was now playing my own music led me to an open mic in New York City one night where I met another bald musician I would become infatuated with. He played his song Gaslight (Oh Tomorrow) and the crush started, so of course I had to find the rest of his music. Shepherd makes me weep every time. And his song Indiana is what my song Nothing More is in response to, which is only really worth noting because Nothing More is the only love song I've ever written.

Love songs. I was in New York almost a year ago, feeling rather rotten about my station in life, and I had a bit of time to kill on my own before heading to the airport, so I took a vegan blueberry muffin into Central Park and sat on a bench to eat it while listening to my iPod. In These Arms came on and I had one of those moments wherein the world is so full of beauty that you are humbled and grateful for the brief time you have to participate in it and all you can really do is cry. I keep meaning to thank Glen Hansard/Marketa Irglova/The Frames for that, and for some of their other songs like People All Get Ready, Say it to Me Now, and When Your Mind's Made Up. Actually, I just keep meaning to thank Glen Hansard for his existence. (For her own part, Marketa Irglova is adorable, too. Met her after a show in Chicago and she was delightful and so normal but has this amazing energy I don't find in a lot of other women.)

I have had the opportunity to thank Mike Doughty for his music - he personally keeps his Facebook page and responds to fans. Your Misfortune soothes my soul when it's really hurting. It's kind of funny to me that I love Mike Doughty now because I went through this brief trip-hop period wherein I was introduced to Soul Coughing and then didn't really think about them again until Looking at the World From the Bottom of a Well came on the radio. I've now seen him play live two or three times and own five or six records? I also met a guy who said he was friends with the girl about whom Unsingable Name was written.

But I did come back around to Mike Doughty, in large part due to WXRT, the best radio station in Chicago. This station also introduced me to Mumford and Sons, by way of Little Lion Man. Their whole first album is amazing. The Cave and Awake My Soul are a couple more that are always in my playlists. Though I still think he looks wrong for that voice. I wanted him to be this sort of shriveled, withered man who tanned and smoked too much as a kid.

WXRT was also the first radio station to play one of my songs - Hamburg. I got my tattoo that day, too.

I feel like I should mention that growing up, I listened to a lot of Billy Joel and ABBA, for whatever that is worth. I should probably say that the first 45rpm record I bought for myself was I Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany, largely so I can show that my taste in music has improved significantly as I've gotten older. My brother wouldn't let me play that record when he was around, so I said he couldn't play Patience by Guns 'n Roses. My physical appearance has led me to a certain affinity for Baby Got Back, and my relationship status kind of makes me like Single Ladies, though I don't think it was the best video ever made. That title goes to Take On Me. The first songs my mom taught me to play on the guitar were Scarlet Ribbons and The Boxer, which led to a particularly funny moment during a show when someone dropped a tray of dishes in the kitchen at the exact right moment in the chorus. When I was in Spain, my favorite songs to hear at our favorite club were Sister Golden Hair and Mr. Jones by the Counting Crows.

And I have a sort of love-hate relationship with Beethoven's Ode to Joy because of A Clockwork Orange and Immortal Beloved. In one, it is so beautiful; in the other, it is horrifying. Such is the power of music.

Baba O'Riley has to be on there, although most stuff by The Who and Led Zepplin just remind me of the SNES game F-Zero, because I used to watch my brother play that game for hours while we listened to classic rock in his room. He had the warmest room in the house, and Christmas lights around his ceiling, so it was fun. Good times with classic rock and video games.

Sweet jebus, this is long. I think the most important thing one can take away from this is that if someone were to actually create a soundtrack of my life, there would most certainly be something on there that everyone likes, and it wouldn't leave you in one place for too long before taking you on some new emotional journey or back to some beloved memory of your own.

But I do want to throw up one more link here, to a song that I can only listen to sometimes, but in many ways, it best encapsulates where I feel I am in my life right now. Thanks, Colin.

Thank you, A.A. for your question! Keep 'em coming guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com

Stubble

T.E. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,

The current crop of male actors and country music stars all seem to be sporting a three or four day stubble. Yet they rock it. They ooze "hipster chic".

On the other hand, if I didn't shave for a few days I would simply appear homeless. Why?"

I have one word for you, T.E. - "stylists."

I don't know if you remember back in the '80s when piranha pants became popular, but it was a similar thing. The guys in Def Leppard were able to afford the $300 shredded jeans where some poor worker in a sweat shop spent hours making sure every rip and every tear was evenly spaced, perfectly shredded. There was (I almost hate to say it) a sort of art form involved in perfectly distressing a pair of jeans so you could look like a rock star who didn't care about your appearance. Of course, those of us who couldn't afford the $300 jeans thought, "Hey, I can do that myself with a pair of scissors!" Except mostly, we just ended up looking dumb. Because we didn't have the eye for symmetrical distressing! And we didn't know when to stop.

Same thing applies to scruff. See, all those scruffy movie stars have someone to tell them when the scruff is too long, when it's not as filled in on one side as the other, and when it is time to get rid of the stuff creeping up towards their eyeballs. And that person is called a stylist. The stylist not only tells the star what shade of brown leather jacket goes best with his fuzz, but she has all kinds of tools for shaping, sculpting, and filling in and problem areas. She will remind the star to shave his neck. She will stay on him about oral hygiene so that his teeth are perfect and blindingly white for maximum glistening through the bristles. In short, it is her job to make sure his stubble is perfectly trimmed and conditioned for maximum sexiness. Literally. That's what she gets paid for.

I'm guessing you, on the other hand, don't have a full-person's-annual-salary-and-health-benefits-worth of disposable income lying around with which to pay a stylist - most of us "normal" people don't. And that is okay. But it means that when you were trying to sculpt your stubble, you may have had the electric razor on "2" for one side of your face and "1" for the other. Or that scar on your chin from when you fell out of a tree when you were nine and had to get six stitches that just doesn't grow hair will shine through like a neon sign saying, "I'm too poor to have my own personal makeup artist fix this for me!" And you know what? That's okay. Because you are real. And real is sexy in its own right.

If you're really worried about it, though, ask around amongst your female friends to see if they dig the stubble look on you. If not, you might want to stick with a regular shaving routine until such time as you can afford a stylist.

Thank you, T.E. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com

Belly Dancing

H.B. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,

So my new girlfriend takes these bellydance classes and they have a performance coming up that's called a 'hafla.' I've been to one before, and she kept asking me all of these questions about the other dancers: "Did you notice when the one woman shimmied so hard her boobs almost fell out? Did you notice the beading on the butts? The appliques? Aren't the fifteen year-old's hip drops amazing? What did you think of the chest work?" etc. How do I answer these questions in such a way that it sounds like I paid attention without making it sound like I paid TOO MUCH attention? And is it better for me to act like I'm being dragged to the event or do you think it's ok to show my enthusiasm for the dancing?

H. B."

Kudos on landing a chick who belly dances, dude. Well done.

I have to say, first of all, that chances are when your girlfriend asks you those kinds of questions, she's chatting about the show the same way anyone would after seeing any kind of show. Or she's fishing. One of the two. It can be hard to tell because women are sneaky.

But I can help you, with simple suggestions on how to answer such questions in a polite "I was watching the show" kind of way without venturing into "I had to take an extra ten minutes in the men's room at intermission" kind of a way.

For example, when she asks, "Did you notice when the one woman shimmied so hard her boobs almost fell out?" you can reply, "Thank goodness they didn't!" Just make sure to make it sound sincere - any sarcasm here could be the end of your relationship. As could expounding on the subject, thus turning yourself into the bumbling idiot in every romantic comedy movie ever made.

When she asks, "Did you notice the beading on the butts? The appliques?" simply reply, "No. I was listening to the music and didn't really notice." This will show you were paying attention to the show, but not oogling the other dancers.

When she asks, "Aren't the fifteen year-old's hip drops amazing?" it is okay to just let that question sink to the bottom of the conversation, never to be found again, not even by those guys who found the Titanic. There is no good answer to that question, so it's probably best to become violently ill, or have your mouth full to something that you can either spray at her when she asks (in an attempt to speak with your mouth full - if it looks like a spit-take, she'll get suspicious), or that you can "choke on" because you "swallowed wrong." In any case, a swift change of subject is the best response.

And finally, when she asks, "What did you think of the chest work?" tell her that hers was amazing and give her a quick kiss.

If you are dating a woman who belly dances, she gets it. She knows it is a type of performance and it is to be viewed as an art form, so she would probably appreciate it if you showed some sort of enthusiasm about going to see her show. Specifically, going to see her in her show. The other performers are blurs of color and jingles that just make her look that much better.

Got it?

Thank you, H.B. for your question! Keep 'em coming guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com

"The Devil Wears Prada" - SPOILERS

L.W. asks,"Hey,

If you haven't seen the movie 'The Devil Wears Prada', then please don't read this question. I only recently saw the movie myself and enjoyed it more than I thought I would, so if you haven't seen it but plan to in the future, please stop reading now.

Dear Miss Kitty,

As Stephen Hawking once said, "the male mind is a weak tool," -- especially when it comes to understanding women. I am a guy who has somehow found myself in the middle of an argument with an old female friend and could sorely use some of your sage advice. It all began innocently enough when I finally got around to watching the film 'The Devil Wears Prada.' I enjoyed it more than I thought I would, especially the hero's journey the lead character undergoes armed only with her youthful 'courage and pluck.' What I failed to understand is why the film ends with this character getting back together with her lame boyfriend. Perhaps I failed to understand why he refused to emotionally support her for a single year working a job that would have provided her with a resume that would allow her to land any future job she chose. Instead of viewing her 'apprenticeship' as one would medical school or law school, her boyfriend and their 'friends' are shown to ridicule and undermine her at every opportunity (except when she discovers lingerie). His 'non-apology apology' at the conclusion of the film coupled with the fact that the most supportive action he ever took was feeding her leftover cheese makes it difficult for me to suspend my disbelief that this smart, charming, beautiful, hard-working woman would beg him to take her back.

So, I thought I had missed something and emailed a female friend for her take on the film. Her response:

'I have indeed seen Devil wears Prada. We used to joke about it a lot at my old job since we basically worked for the same woman. I do find it interesting that you've focused your attention on the side plot of this romance. And I don't recall her ever being subservient to him. I think the message of the story is about leading a life you chose, and that is by definition feminism. I don't think there is anything wrong with a nice boy who will cook you dinner when you've had a bad day. It's a lot better than what most gals have. She didn't stay with him because she had to and she checked out some other merchandise.

But then again, I left my high profile job for one where the money is less, but the respect is far greater. And I gave up searching for a powerful partner filled with money and excitement for a boy who listens to me, buys me ice cream and walks my dog at 4 am.'

I am now utterly confused. Is the boyfriend character in the film really a great guy and I'm just not seeing it? And why is my friend now angry with me?

L.W."

Hey, L.W. I had not previously seen the movie, but as I have promised to answer every question that is asked, I went to the video store, forked over $3.23, and watched the thing. I hadn't watched it previously because it didn't look like the kind of movie I would enjoy. And I was right.

I will say that Meryl Streep was brilliant as her character, but then, she's Meryl Friggin' Streep. And Stanley Tucci was lovely, as always, but then, he's Stanley Friggin' Tucci. So please keep in mind that nothing I say in the rest of this post is intended as a reflection on either of them. I thought they were great.

In general, though, I thought the film was crap. Sorry, the script was crap. Or maybe they just performed it crappily. Or maybe I just don't have a strong enough sense of disbelief to think that there is a world wherein this woman is considered fat and ugly. Oh no! They put a frumpy sweater on her and teased the bottom inch and a half of her hair! She's hideous! Yeah, not buyin' it. And I know that the modeling/fashion industry is really hard on the collective female self image, but I'm also not buyin' it that Ms. Hathaway is a size six. Her supposedly gorgeous coworker does not look smaller than Anne. She maybe just has smaller boobs. But she did manage to marry John Krasinsky, so good on ya, mate.

So okay, let's say that is just me and the rest of y'all are willing to buy into the plaid skirt = atrocious philosophy. Let's take a look at her relationships. She's living with a guy who has a dream of being a chef, and at the end of the film, he's moving to Boston to pursue his dreams and isn't that great? But like you observed, he begrudges her taking this annoying job at the magazine in pursuit of her dreams. Kind of a douche. And yes, she could have blown of the gala and gotten fired so she could be there for his birthday, but seriously, who is going to say to Dragon Lady boss, "I'm not going to go to this fabulous event where I get to wear amazing clothes and meet people who can further my career because my boyfriend will get pouty if I miss his birthday dinner?" Who does that? Yes, it is an option, but not an option that any career motivated-type person is going to take. Especially since we see at the beginning of the film that this is the only job she's even gotten an interview for since graduation. Has Boyfriend forgotten that if she loses her job, she also loses her paycheck? Which I'm guessing has to be a pretty decent size, considering how much she was able to turn her wardrobe around in such a short amount of time. Because really, do we honestly believe that Stanley Tucci is dressing her out of the sample closet every morning when she's too much of a cow to fit into anything they have back there in the first place? So yeah, you're right. Boyfriend is a douche. And your friend is also kind of right - we don't really see her being subservient to him, but she does come home with a cupcake and an apology which he refuses to take. I was waiting for her to scream, "I just passed up an opportunity to schmooze with the Editor-in-Chief of The New Yorker so I could bring you this sad little cupcake and you're pissed at me?" I would have. Or at least I'd like to think I would have. But yeah. He owes her an apology for being completely non-supportive of anything she does, except when she brings him free crap from work. But instead, she apologizes for REALLY NOT CHANGING AT ALL.

That's right. I said it. I don't see her change at all. Except her wardrobe. At the beginning, she's a strong, confident woman who is extraordinarily nice to everyone, whether they deserve it or not. At the end, she's a strong confident woman who is extraordinarily nice to everyone, whether they deserve it or not, who dresses better. At no point in the film does she become a conniving bitch, even though she is made to think she is. Which brings me to the next two relationships that don't make any sense in this film.

Her best friend. Otherwise known as "the only non-Caucasian person in the film." Look at how diverse we are! One second, she's in love with Ms. Hathaway's character because she just received a really expensive, impossible to find, one of a kind handbag for free. FOR FREE. And not ten seconds later, she's pissed that Ms. Hathaway "slights" her to answer a call from her boss. Who was the provider of the beautiful free bag in the first place. Hello! If she doesn't take the call from her boss, and jump every time her boss tells her to, she doesn't get all the pretty pretty swag which she then gives to you. That scene might have made more sense if as Anne was walking out the door, the friend said, "Take your stupid bag with you. I'd rather have dinner with my friend." But no, she sits clutching the bag like it's her precious, scowling at the person who just gave it to her. And then we flash to a few nights later when Anne shows up to her friend's art show. Anne's being supportive! Which none of her friends have bothered to be of her, but she's there. And the friend witnesses a kiss on the cheek between Anne and an "unknown gentleman" and all of a sudden, Anne isn't the person she knew anymore? What? They weren't making out. They were talking and he kissed her goodbye the way you'd kiss your grandmother goodbye. Hell, I'm willing to bet that 85% of the people in the fashion industry say goodbye that way. But without even letting her get a word out, bam! They're not friends anymore. No thank you for the bag, but I'm keeping it anyway.

And then, the relationship with the coworker across the corridor. Who is horrible to Anne through the entire movie. Seriously, she never does one nice thing for her. Makes fun of her to her face. Tells her to shut up and go away when she tries to make small talk. Is a selfish, self-centered bitch. And Anne, for some unknown reason, feels this devotion to her, as if she owed her something. This person has never been nice to you. There is no indication that this person will ever be nice to you. You do not have to feel guilty for doing a better job at work than she does. This is the straw that supposedly breaks her at the end of the film - she "took" the trip to Paris away from Emily. Except no, she didn't. She worked harder and proved herself to be more reliable (and less germ-ridden and less on-crutches-after-being-hit-by-a-car), and she was rewarded for that. Sure, she could have turned it down, but first of all, who would turn down a promotion for a co-worker who treats you like shit, and secondly, there was no guarantee that Emily would have gone to Paris if Anne hadn't. Meryl says that she wants to take the best team with her to Fashion Week and that no longer includes Emily. Which, to me, sounds more like Emily screwed herself out of a trip to Paris than anything sneaky and conniving that Anne did. Especially since Anne does nothing sneaky and conniving in the entire film.

And just because I have a little bit of a rant left in me, her relationship with Stanley Tucci's character. He's marvelous. The more I see of him, the more I like him. But he's not exactly welcoming of her when she joins the company. He, too, calls her fat and makes fun of her clothes. So she goes to him when she's having a bad day and needs advice? What? When did they become friends? Yes, they become friends later in the film, after she lets him play with her wardrobe, but that's kind of random and needy, don't you think? If anyone in the film had the right to be irked by her behavior, it was him. And he was not. He grew to love her and find her charming and delightful. So why don't any of her friends love her and find her charming and delightful?

And why does she take the non-supportive boyfriend back at the end of the film? Because as much as she wants to be the strong, powerful woman who knows what she wants, she is most comfortable in abusive relationships. It's the only explanation, really. It explains why she chose those friends in the first place. It explains why she didn't walk away from that job a half-dozen times. It explains why it becomes so important to her to impress Meryl. It explains why she feels some twisted loyalty to Emily. She may be a good writer, and she may be a beautiful woman. But from where I was sitting, I saw a woman who has some really screwed up ideas of what relationships are supposed to be, so it really was no surprise that after everyone has beaten her down through the entire film, she goes crawling back to her bum of a boyfriend (who she will probably leave New York for) under the guises of "this is my choice." If you really wanted to choose something good for yourself, a happy life for yourself, you would choose to get rid of all of the abusive relationships in it, not just quit your job. And she didn't even use the connections she made in the craptastic job! Not really. She interviews at the end for "The New York Mirror." She supposedly just "sold her soul" to get a credit on her resume that would take her anywhere so she "chooses" to go to Sheboygan? Really? If you can do anything, you're going to write for a paper nobody reads? Okay. Sure. This is a film about feminism and female power and choosing the life you lead. I can't wait to show this to my daughters to teach them to work extremely hard and be extremely nice so they can settle for eighth best and call it a "choice."

And I suppose I now sound like the Meryl Streep character. Oh well.

I'm sorry. I was supposed to be answering a question, but instead I'm ripping on a film. In short, no, the boyfriend is not a good guy. I was kind of sickened when she went back to him at the end. I would prefer a guy like your friend has, who would listen to me and buy me ice cream and walk my dog (if I had one). I think your friend, though, may have been equating your thoughts on the boyfriend in the film to her boyfriend in real life. Because we also need to mention the other romantic interest in the film (the guy with too much product in his hair), who is probably like the "powerful partner filled with money and excitement" that your friend gave up looking for. Which she probably took to mean you meant she wound up with the boyfriend from the film, who you were calling a douche, ergo, you were calling her boyfriend a douche. Which is why she is upset with you. Go apologize to your friend. And then go watch a good movie, where the lead character goes on a journey somewhere more interesting than to the mall.

Thank you, J.H. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com

Songwriting

M.C. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty
Have you written any new song lately and if so are any of them about me?"

I have not written any new songs in a while. I'm almost ashamed to admit that, but I haven't. I've been doing other things. Which isn't really an excuse - lots of artists are able to do more than one thing at a time - it's just how things have worked out recently.

I have also found myself surrounded by a lot of really amazing music at the moment that is sort of filling up and soothing my soul in such a way that I feel musically satisfied without writing anything. Like this. And these guys are also pretty great. And I know a lot of people really didn't like it, but I have to admit that this one has kind of grown on me, as have some of the other tunes from the same album.

So anyway. The short answer is no, no new songs lately. I was thinking of your Christmas tune the other day, though and it made me miss you. Hope you are well.

Thank you, M.C. for your question! Keep 'em coming guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com

Cat Genetics

D.H. asks, "Dear Miss Kitty,

My partner and I recently got two kittens from the SPCA. Although one is a dainty all-white short-hair, her sister is a burly grey-striped long-hair with a racoon tail. They also have radically different personalities. The SPCA swears these two are siblings from the same litter, but they are nothing alike. How can this be? Was Momma 'a rolling stone' of some sort?

D.H.

Hi, D.H. Welcome to the Wonderful World of Genetics!

There are a couple of things that could be going on here. The first is that yes, the mother cat was impregnated by two or more male cats at the same time. Well, the impregnation may not have occurred at the exact same time, but she could have "gone out for Italian food" with one cat one night, and another cat the next, with all of the various seeds taking root and producing all kinds of kittens.

The second thing to remember is that in the Wonderful World of Genetics, there are things called "dominant" and "recessive" genes. Dominant genes always show up when they are present. Recessive genes only show up if there are two of them. If both parents have one dominant and one recessive gene, there is a one in four chance that the offspring will display the recessive traits. This is why in large Irish families, there is always one kid with dark brown hair.

But just look at the families around you. Take me, for example. I have strawberry blond hair, greenish eyes, and almost no nose. My brother has blond hair, blue eyes, and a decent sized nose. My mom has coloring similar to me, and my dad has dark hair and blue eyes. How did those parents create a blond son? Genetics! Hooray genetics!

Another thing to remember is that for a cat, white is a "masking" color as opposed to being a color in and of itself. If you want to think of it as something akin to albino-ism, you probably could and nobody would fault you. Unless you tell them you think that way, at which time, they may point and laugh. But what it means is that just because the cat is white doesn't mean she's not a speckled tabby at heart, so to speak.

Same goes for personality. Cats is cats. They do what they want and nobody really knows why.

Thank you, D.H. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything@gmail.com

Comparative Beauty

E.C. asks, "Miss Kitty,

Which is more beautiful, a baby's smile, a perfectly prepared platter of buffalo tofu or a pet curled up on your lap?

In any of the above, how much is it's beauty reduced if experienced while watching a repeat of "Three and a half men"?"

Hi, E.C. Good to hear from you. Though I will say that I think your question requires a bit more clarification. I'm guessing you're asking which is more beautiful to me because beauty is subjective and the only opinions I can have are my own. Unless I steal someone else's, which happens from time to time, but in the stealing process, I usually add a bit of my own flare to make it mine. So I am going to answer your question from my own perspective. Because that is easiest and I'm lazy.

We can eliminate the platter of buffalo tofu right out. While the buffalo sauce may have a nice color to it, tofu is not pretty. It's just not. Tasty when smothered in buffalo sauce, but not pretty. Moving on.

The smile of a baby is gorgeous, as is having a pet curled up in your lap. If we are talking about my niece and my cat, that's a really tough call. If we're talking about this baby and my cat, my cat wins, hands down. Especially when he sort of rolls onto his side so I can scritch his tummy and he does that pawing at the air thing 'cuz he's happy and then he lets me hold his hand for a minute before he curls back up into a tiny ball with his paw over his eyes to block out any excess light that may be creeping in. Or when he is at the other end of the hallway and can hear me putting a blanket on my lap so he comes running, a flat out run to get into my lap and fall asleep, that just melts me. More than any random baby's smile ever could.

However, my niece is gorgeous. Seriously. I know everyone says their kid or their niece or their nephew is the cutest kid ever, but mine really is. I've been saying she is for the past year and a half she's been alive and then when I show people pictures of her, they go, "Wow! She really is cute," like I had been lying or making it up. She is what every parent hopes their child will be - adorable, smart, funny, sweet. Beautiful little kid. And when she smiles at you...let's just say she could make the Grinch's heart grow four sizes. Yes, she is cuter than Cindy Lou Who, who is pretty damn cute. Come on. If she crawled into your lap and asked for a Barbie Dream House, you'd go find one, body image issues be damned.

So it's a tough call. If my niece sat in my lap with my cat, who was curled up around my hand that was scritching his tummy, and my niece looked up at me and smiled, I think my head would explode from the beauty of it. So for the sake of my own health, here's hoping my niece never comes over to my house to meet my cat.

Side note: Really cute story. I met my cousin's new baby boy over the weekend. He's only five weeks old so he hasn't really learned to smile or make eye contact yet. But in that way that babies can psyche you out, there was a moment when he was lying on the floor and I was holding his hand that I swear he looked at me and the one corner of his mouth started to pull back like the beginnings of a smile. And I couldn't help it - I cried. Felt like a total moron, but this tiny, perfect, beautiful baby boy was trying to smile at me. How could I not?

Regarding the reduction in beauty given what I'm assuming is supposed to be an unpleasant outside circumstance (I've not heard of this "Three and a Half Men." I've seen a few episodes of "Two and a Half Men" - are they related? Did the change the name of the show since the kid grew up? Did the kid have his own kid and that's the new "half?"), I don't think outside circumstances have as much effect on the beauty of the situation as one might think. If one is as skilled at appreciating beauty as I am (and let's face it, I'm good), one can sort of tune out the background noise and just enjoy the warmth of the cat on my lap. And when we're playing with my niece, we're not watching TV. Or if the television is on, it's football. She loves football.

Thank you, E.C. for your question! Keep 'em coming, guys! askmisskittyanything.blogspot.com