- Home
- Jonathan Land
The Consumer Reporter Page 3
The Consumer Reporter Read online
Page 3
January 22, 2002
Consumer Report: Kaytee Perfect Choice Premium Canary Food
Consumer: Mr. Fluffles Product: Kaytee Perfect Choice Premium Canary Food
Last Tuesday was unseasonably warm for January. I usually don't notice these things, much less comment on them, but I had a lot of time on my hands. My employers at Consumer Reports magazine recently fired me because of "poor performance." I believe we were just having "artistic differences" since I thought "outside the box," and worked outside of their stale, antiquated format. Anyone familiar with my work is aware that my observance of consumers is far more enlightening than a mere product review, my integrity is unparalleled, and while my conclusions might be merely opinions, they are even-handed.
I decided to spend that beautiful day relaxing in a local park like a bum because I needed that particular type of catharsis. On the way there I stopped by the liquor store, where I had difficulty figuring out how to split my budget of $5 between alcohol and lottery tickets. I picked up a 50-ml bottle of Smirnoff 100 for $1.20 and a 50-ml bottle of Kahlua for $1.60. I wanted the "Red Hot Numbers" $2 scratch-off, but the proprietor flat-out refused my request for a complimentary Dixie cup and four ice cubes to go with the drinks. Instead I had to purchase a $.79, five-pound bag of ice, forcing me to settle with the $1.00 "Lucky Dog" card, which proved to be a cur.
Slightly more beaten down than before, I planted myself on a park bench, pouring the potent potables into my five-pound bag of ice. My black Russian came out rather uneven due to the impossibility of the mixing process. To be honest, I'm not sure if the Kahlua and vodka ever met. To make matters worse, the drinking process--hoisting the bag over my face as I leaned backwards--merely left me with cold lips and a damp forehead. I was able to lap up some of the booze when it dribbled down as I returned to an upright position.
As I was wiping my face clean, I saw a man feeding pigeons, not with typical stale breadcrumbs, but with a bag of Kaytee Perfect Choice Premium Canary Food. I also noticed a cat leering hungrily behind a tree. I've seen variations on this show one too many times on the Animal Planet channel. I feared a bloodbath, but that's not what happened.
Fluffles licked his front paws, smoothed back his whiskers and ears, and folded his tail into a shorter, thicker version of itself. After this odd grooming ritual was completed, with a deep breath, he stood on his hind legs, tucked his front paws under his shoulders, and hopped over to where the man was feeding the birds. Fluffles started bobbing up and down, pecking at the birdseed, with the pigeons accepting him as one of their own.
All of a sudden an obnoxious elderly woman shouted, "WHAT A CUUUTE KITTY! AREN'T YOU PRECIOUS!" The cat fell out of character immediately. The pigeons with seed in their mouths did spit takes, and they all high-tailed it out of the park. Fluffles attempted to pursue by jumping back into character, flapping his makeshift wings and running, but the laws of aerodynamics foiled his effort. After falling flat on his face after two attempted lift-offs, he started to twirl his tail around fast enough that he could hover about a half-inch off of the ground. The pigeons were long gone by now, and he was just floating forward like an airborne Pepe Le Pew.
"Bad, Mr. Fluffles! Flap, don't hover! You're still upset they gave that role in ChopperCats to that damn Morris wannabe, aren't you?" the man with the birdseed said.
Fluffles groaned, put all fours back on the ground, and let his tail spin down. He gave the international arm motion signifying "drats," and then he walked over to me, jumped on the park bench next to the bag of ice, and started licking the cubes.
Now, I know I certainly wasn't drunk. Was it possible that the acid I bought on eBay four years ago was finally kicking in? I must rescind my letter of complaint to "tleary4evr" and issue one of apology as soon as possible!
After I realized that there was probably a more reasonable explanation for this, I approached the man, who was obviously more than just a random bird feeder, to find out what exactly that might be.
"That's really impressive, sir. I never knew cats were capable of impressions. I'm a bit curious to find out why, though."
"This is Mr. Fluffles. He's an animal method actor. He's currently preparing for the lead role in an upcoming propaganda film entitled In The Birdcat's Seat."
"Propaganda film?"
"Well, the catbird is a songbird whose call mimics a cat's mewing. After Ken Burns' painfully thorough mini-series about the catbird last year, the question of a cat mimicking the qualities of a bird has been a hot topic in the zoological community, and animal activists are furious that such an animal doesn't currently exist. There's been a strong demand to have a yang to the catbird's yin, but nature's drawing a blank. None of the people who are anxious and frustrated by the lack of existence of the birdcat wish to create such a creature by unnatural means, so they think if they make a big stink some sort of forced evolution will finally come up with one. In the meantime, Hollywood's filling the gap with fiction, which all of these groups appreciate. They believe it's a very positive thing to create a heightened awareness for the general public so that they'll feel comfortable around such an animal when there finally is one."
"Well, I'm very impressed," I said as I petted Fluffles. He held up his paws to show me they were empty, and then pulled a piece of ice from behind my ear. "It must have taken a lot of training to get him this way. How'd you do that?"
"I honestly haven't done most of the work on making Mr. Fluffles who he is today, so I can't honestly tell you. It seems that during the last Actor's Guild strike, Mr. Fluffles worked on several commercials, movies, and TV shows as a scab. When the strike ended he was blacklisted. I acquired him at an animal shelter in LA, where he was put up by his agent. I recognized him from his work on a dog/bird buddy-cop sitcom called Woofer and Tweeter where he had a recurring role as a catnip informant from the Feline Underground Network.
"I adopted him immediately and became his agent. I have since taken Mr. Fluffles under my wing, so to speak. We figured this 'Birdcat' movie role was so distinctive that with the proper training, Mr. Fluffles could nail it, and he has. We watched hours and hours of bird footage, and now we're making public appearances in character. It's going fairly well, as you could see. We need to focus on focus a little bit more though. He's an amazing actor, and I'm working the whole TV-sitcom-into-dramatic-movie angle to draw parallels to Tom Hanks in the press. That could never hurt. Never."
Fluffles was now on his hind legs again, juggling four pieces of ice, bouncing one of them off of his tail, which was rhythmically swinging from side to side.
I got down to business: "So do you think he likes the birdseed?"
"Oh yeah, this is his favorite brand. He eats the stuff all of the time, but unfortunately it doesn't provide the sustenance that he needs, and the sound of the electric can opener still brings a twinkle to his eyes."
Fluffles was fully aware of his weaknesses, and it fatigued him. He slumped down on the bench, mewed, and his owner walked over, put sunglasses on him and lit his cigarette.
"Does he get frustrated that these limitations prevent him from being fully bird-like? It must be infuriating to work so hard at something only to have your own body not be up to the task, saying: No, you will never truly be that much like a bird. Don't get me wrong, I think he's a brilliant actor, but will people see a cat that's part bird, or a cat that's faking it well?"
"Listen, we don't need this. I've got to keep Mr. Fluffles' head in the game."
"I'm sorry, I was just curious," I tried to smooth things over by asking Fluffles for his autograph. His owner took out a stamp and an inkpad. Fluffles picked up the stamp with his mouth, pressed it against the pad, and then applied it to the back of my scratch-off lottery ticket. The stamp was the ball of a cat's paw with long, thin bird's toes sticking out of it. Man, was he working it.
I thanked them both, and they walked along. It must be horrible to have desire beyond your abilities. I know I get frustrated when I try to work on things that are beyond my skills. I
once tried to review the work of heart surgeons. I insisted on staying awake and drug-free for an entire bypass, but six different doctors knew that I wouldn't be able to go through with it when I fainted at pictures of the operation, so the project never got pumping. I was completely out of my depth.
A lot of us want to be things that it's virtually impossible for us to be. That's intimidating for those with a weaker constitution. Some of us can pull it off better than others, but how far will we go? Eating birdseed is one thing, but where will it stop? Paw binding? Bird-forming girdles? Prosthetic beaks?
How do we compensate for our lack of natural ability when we want to accomplish something beyond it? Can we? Should we? When this movie comes out, no matter how convincing his chops are, will the viewing audience be convinced that this is more than just a put-on? Fluffles might be comfortable with his adopted identity, but who exactly do I think he is, and what do I take him for? Does the next person feel the same?
I know I've raised more questions than answers here about whether or not Fluffles' consumption of birdseed is detrimental to him, but that's only because my emotions are obviously mixed on the subject. By no means do I believe that he should give up the career he's worked so hard at, but the staying power of such a niche act is daunting.
Right now, I believe that Fluffles should be thinking of the seed as more of a snack than a meal. But as long as he's aware of his situation--and he seems to be--then I hope he's as happy as could be expected, and I'll be looking forward to seeing him on the big screen.
Jonathan Land Consumer Reporter
Consumer Report: Kaytee Perfect Choice Premium Canary Food
Consumer: Mr. Fluffles Product: Kaytee Perfect Choice Premium Canary Food
Last Tuesday was unseasonably warm for January. I usually don't notice these things, much less comment on them, but I had a lot of time on my hands. My employers at Consumer Reports magazine recently fired me because of "poor performance." I believe we were just having "artistic differences" since I thought "outside the box," and worked outside of their stale, antiquated format. Anyone familiar with my work is aware that my observance of consumers is far more enlightening than a mere product review, my integrity is unparalleled, and while my conclusions might be merely opinions, they are even-handed.
I decided to spend that beautiful day relaxing in a local park like a bum because I needed that particular type of catharsis. On the way there I stopped by the liquor store, where I had difficulty figuring out how to split my budget of $5 between alcohol and lottery tickets. I picked up a 50-ml bottle of Smirnoff 100 for $1.20 and a 50-ml bottle of Kahlua for $1.60. I wanted the "Red Hot Numbers" $2 scratch-off, but the proprietor flat-out refused my request for a complimentary Dixie cup and four ice cubes to go with the drinks. Instead I had to purchase a $.79, five-pound bag of ice, forcing me to settle with the $1.00 "Lucky Dog" card, which proved to be a cur.
Slightly more beaten down than before, I planted myself on a park bench, pouring the potent potables into my five-pound bag of ice. My black Russian came out rather uneven due to the impossibility of the mixing process. To be honest, I'm not sure if the Kahlua and vodka ever met. To make matters worse, the drinking process--hoisting the bag over my face as I leaned backwards--merely left me with cold lips and a damp forehead. I was able to lap up some of the booze when it dribbled down as I returned to an upright position.
As I was wiping my face clean, I saw a man feeding pigeons, not with typical stale breadcrumbs, but with a bag of Kaytee Perfect Choice Premium Canary Food. I also noticed a cat leering hungrily behind a tree. I've seen variations on this show one too many times on the Animal Planet channel. I feared a bloodbath, but that's not what happened.
Fluffles licked his front paws, smoothed back his whiskers and ears, and folded his tail into a shorter, thicker version of itself. After this odd grooming ritual was completed, with a deep breath, he stood on his hind legs, tucked his front paws under his shoulders, and hopped over to where the man was feeding the birds. Fluffles started bobbing up and down, pecking at the birdseed, with the pigeons accepting him as one of their own.
All of a sudden an obnoxious elderly woman shouted, "WHAT A CUUUTE KITTY! AREN'T YOU PRECIOUS!" The cat fell out of character immediately. The pigeons with seed in their mouths did spit takes, and they all high-tailed it out of the park. Fluffles attempted to pursue by jumping back into character, flapping his makeshift wings and running, but the laws of aerodynamics foiled his effort. After falling flat on his face after two attempted lift-offs, he started to twirl his tail around fast enough that he could hover about a half-inch off of the ground. The pigeons were long gone by now, and he was just floating forward like an airborne Pepe Le Pew.
"Bad, Mr. Fluffles! Flap, don't hover! You're still upset they gave that role in ChopperCats to that damn Morris wannabe, aren't you?" the man with the birdseed said.
Fluffles groaned, put all fours back on the ground, and let his tail spin down. He gave the international arm motion signifying "drats," and then he walked over to me, jumped on the park bench next to the bag of ice, and started licking the cubes.
Now, I know I certainly wasn't drunk. Was it possible that the acid I bought on eBay four years ago was finally kicking in? I must rescind my letter of complaint to "tleary4evr" and issue one of apology as soon as possible!
After I realized that there was probably a more reasonable explanation for this, I approached the man, who was obviously more than just a random bird feeder, to find out what exactly that might be.
"That's really impressive, sir. I never knew cats were capable of impressions. I'm a bit curious to find out why, though."
"This is Mr. Fluffles. He's an animal method actor. He's currently preparing for the lead role in an upcoming propaganda film entitled In The Birdcat's Seat."
"Propaganda film?"
"Well, the catbird is a songbird whose call mimics a cat's mewing. After Ken Burns' painfully thorough mini-series about the catbird last year, the question of a cat mimicking the qualities of a bird has been a hot topic in the zoological community, and animal activists are furious that such an animal doesn't currently exist. There's been a strong demand to have a yang to the catbird's yin, but nature's drawing a blank. None of the people who are anxious and frustrated by the lack of existence of the birdcat wish to create such a creature by unnatural means, so they think if they make a big stink some sort of forced evolution will finally come up with one. In the meantime, Hollywood's filling the gap with fiction, which all of these groups appreciate. They believe it's a very positive thing to create a heightened awareness for the general public so that they'll feel comfortable around such an animal when there finally is one."
"Well, I'm very impressed," I said as I petted Fluffles. He held up his paws to show me they were empty, and then pulled a piece of ice from behind my ear. "It must have taken a lot of training to get him this way. How'd you do that?"
"I honestly haven't done most of the work on making Mr. Fluffles who he is today, so I can't honestly tell you. It seems that during the last Actor's Guild strike, Mr. Fluffles worked on several commercials, movies, and TV shows as a scab. When the strike ended he was blacklisted. I acquired him at an animal shelter in LA, where he was put up by his agent. I recognized him from his work on a dog/bird buddy-cop sitcom called Woofer and Tweeter where he had a recurring role as a catnip informant from the Feline Underground Network.
"I adopted him immediately and became his agent. I have since taken Mr. Fluffles under my wing, so to speak. We figured this 'Birdcat' movie role was so distinctive that with the proper training, Mr. Fluffles could nail it, and he has. We watched hours and hours of bird footage, and now we're making public appearances in character. It's going fairly well, as you could see. We need to focus on focus a little bit more though. He's an amazing actor, and I'm working the whole TV-sitcom-into-dramatic-movie angle to draw parallels to Tom Hanks in the press. That could never hurt. Never."
Fluffles was now on his hind legs again, juggling four pieces of ice, bouncing one of them off of his tail, which was rhythmically swinging from side to side.
I got down to business: "So do you think he likes the birdseed?"
"Oh yeah, this is his favorite brand. He eats the stuff all of the time, but unfortunately it doesn't provide the sustenance that he needs, and the sound of the electric can opener still brings a twinkle to his eyes."
Fluffles was fully aware of his weaknesses, and it fatigued him. He slumped down on the bench, mewed, and his owner walked over, put sunglasses on him and lit his cigarette.
"Does he get frustrated that these limitations prevent him from being fully bird-like? It must be infuriating to work so hard at something only to have your own body not be up to the task, saying: No, you will never truly be that much like a bird. Don't get me wrong, I think he's a brilliant actor, but will people see a cat that's part bird, or a cat that's faking it well?"
"Listen, we don't need this. I've got to keep Mr. Fluffles' head in the game."
"I'm sorry, I was just curious," I tried to smooth things over by asking Fluffles for his autograph. His owner took out a stamp and an inkpad. Fluffles picked up the stamp with his mouth, pressed it against the pad, and then applied it to the back of my scratch-off lottery ticket. The stamp was the ball of a cat's paw with long, thin bird's toes sticking out of it. Man, was he working it.
I thanked them both, and they walked along. It must be horrible to have desire beyond your abilities. I know I get frustrated when I try to work on things that are beyond my skills. I
once tried to review the work of heart surgeons. I insisted on staying awake and drug-free for an entire bypass, but six different doctors knew that I wouldn't be able to go through with it when I fainted at pictures of the operation, so the project never got pumping. I was completely out of my depth.
A lot of us want to be things that it's virtually impossible for us to be. That's intimidating for those with a weaker constitution. Some of us can pull it off better than others, but how far will we go? Eating birdseed is one thing, but where will it stop? Paw binding? Bird-forming girdles? Prosthetic beaks?
How do we compensate for our lack of natural ability when we want to accomplish something beyond it? Can we? Should we? When this movie comes out, no matter how convincing his chops are, will the viewing audience be convinced that this is more than just a put-on? Fluffles might be comfortable with his adopted identity, but who exactly do I think he is, and what do I take him for? Does the next person feel the same?
I know I've raised more questions than answers here about whether or not Fluffles' consumption of birdseed is detrimental to him, but that's only because my emotions are obviously mixed on the subject. By no means do I believe that he should give up the career he's worked so hard at, but the staying power of such a niche act is daunting.
Right now, I believe that Fluffles should be thinking of the seed as more of a snack than a meal. But as long as he's aware of his situation--and he seems to be--then I hope he's as happy as could be expected, and I'll be looking forward to seeing him on the big screen.
Jonathan Land Consumer Reporter
The Consumer Reporter