Thursday, October 15, 2009
Day 156 - Psychotic
There have been a lot of bottles so far in this little experiment, some filled with food, some with trash, and some with items that were, more or less, borrowed from the family cupboards. Out of all those bottles so far in this project, and out of those in to come in the future, this one has got to be the creepiest.
The idea had been on my list for a long time; chicken bones. Considering Buffalo Wild Wings is pretty much a weekly appointment for me to keep, I decided last time to ask for a to-go box for my left-over bones. "Oh, for your dog?" the waitress asked, smiling. "Yeah...let's go with that" Stevie and I reply. I've never felt so creepy in my life; asking for the chicken bones as if I had a satanic ritual to carry out that night. I felt even creepier boiling the meat off the bones, ripping the spare flesh off with my hands, and drying them in the oven. The tray of white bone sitting in the oven, I imagined I was Charles Manson or Ed Gein preparing to make another coffee table, or perhaps a chaisse lounger out of human bone.
Which brings me to my connection, or, that is, my label-to-filler connections. The first being the image of wild cats, like tigers or lions, on the discovery channel ripping the meat off a fresh antelope carcass. The second and more important one involves Stevies's feline friend.
On the label a cat sits atop a fence, a cat that bears a striking resemblance to her cat, Psycho. I first met Psycho thinking it an odd name for a cat, come to find out, this cat is CRAZY. I've never seen a cat chase his tail for as long as this cat, or get in the way as much as Psycho does. On two occasions I had to chase Psycho around, outside, after he had attempted to escape the house by pawing at the door knob. And I've never, ever, heard of an animal that wants nothing more than to burst the door open when someone is in the bathroom.
So, to you Psycho, I give you on of my craziest, most psychopathic bottles ever.