Tarhearted.

DULL.

My double life as a marketer and a playwright has been combined. I desperately want to write a play about the branding and launching of L'eggs egg. From Wikipedia:

In the 1970s, L'eggs introduced a unique trade dress by placing its product in white plastic chicken egg-shaped containers egg (albeit much larger) and garnering shelf space in grocery stores. Parent company HanesBrands Inc. has ceased packaging the hosiery in the hard plastic shells. Notwithstanding the secondary uses for the eggs by crafters, artists, and hobbyists, the plastic eggs were seen as an example of wastefulness. ^[1]

The L'eggs naming, package and logo were created by designer Roger Ferriter, working in the design studio of Herb Lubalin Associates in New York City in 1969. On the morning of the scheduled presentation to the Hanes Corporation of the marketing and packaging ideas for the new low cost pantyhose launch, Ferriter was not satisfied that the work was sufficiently creative. In an effort to revisit the name and packaging one last time, he attempted to "experience" the product in some new way, hoping that the exercise would suggest a new creative direction for the branding. Among his efforts, he attempted to compress a pair of pantyhose in his fist, wondering how compact the product could become. Staring at his clenched fist with the pantyhose inside he was struck with the possibility that the package could be an egg. Just as quickly, he realized that egg rhymes with leg, and then adding the popular mid century marketing boost of giving a product name some French sounding twist, he incorporated the l' (french for "the" when followed by a vowel such as the "e" of eggs) and arrived at L'eggs. Some sketches were prepared in time for the presentation, including a logo that incorporated two egg-influenced letter "g"s and thus was born one of the most successful product launches in history.

I suppose I can't though, can I? I mean, Leggs is still a company and Herb was a real dude. I don't know why the mundane and forgotten fascinates me so much, but it does. Perhaps this could be my play (finally) about women who commute in white sneakers and then change into heels. (Another one of my obsessions.) I wonder what percentage of these women own cats and, further, how many of these women have tasted cat food in a private, lonely moment.

Holla, Cathy!

P.S. I still think it would be a really good idea to blow up black and white Cathy comics, frame them, and your decorating scheme be "Cathy".

THE REIGN OF AUGUSTUS.

I just realized that I haven't written about Gus yet, even though we adopted him several months ago. Gus is short for Augustus Conkel-Rohn, the hyphenated last name because he has two daddies. Suck on that, Arkansas!

Facts about Gus:

1. His ears are adorably long, like a lynx, and his coat is super shiny and healthy. He doesn't shed at all! Its markings and shine make it way prettier than your coat. I'm just saying!

2. He refuses to eat any kind of fish. He just plain doesn't like it!

3. When we have guests over he is nowhere to be found. He's super shy around new people but a real terror when it's just us. Which brings me to my next point:

4. What an asshole! He's super bold and mischievous in his own way. He likes to knock my glasses off tables with his paw. I yell at him and put the glasses back where they were. He then proceeds to knock them off the table again.

5. He's obsessed with the bathroom and all that goes on there. He sleeps in the tub when it's not in use. When it is in use he paces back and forth, nervously watching you bathe. It's clear that he has no idea what you're doing or why you're doing it. He also likes the toilet. This brings me to my next point:

5. Gus will cut a mother fucker up. I learned this when I accidentally gave him a golden shower. I was just about to pee when suddenly little Gus shot up and put his little paws on the edge of the toilet, getting hit in the head with my stream, as it were. He totally freaked and me, being barefoot, paid in blood. Weeks later, while I was sleeping, my feet would suffer again. Apparently if Gus sees something moving under a blanket he doesn't necessarily associate it with being a part of you.

Anyway, I'm that person now. I'm blogging about my cat. I'm going to start pushing him around Williamsburg in a baby carriage.

All in all, you could say that Gus, if he were a human, would be like a crush worthy guy from a Shangri-La's song... painfully handsome with a seemingly hard exterior and a surprisingly tender heart. From their brilliant song, "Give Him a Great Big Kiss":

Yeah, well I hear he's bad.

He's good bad, but he's not evil.

UPDATE: The amazing Sean, from whom I procured little Gus, just sent me this picture of him as an even younger kitten. This is how he looked when he arrived at chez gay:

THIS KITTY HAS TWO DADDIES.

I really feel like I can't call my blog Tarhearted anymore. In the past year I've quit smoking and drinking, started doing yoga, keeping a journal, and seeing a shrink. The final straw?

I adopted an adorable kitten.

Whenever I look at this picture my nasty heart beats a little faster. He's coming home on Saturday, so I've got to prepare by picking up the essentials.

Obviously I'll need food, a litter box and kitty litter, toys etc. I'm really into this cat bed, which sells for a mere ninety dollars at Petco:

Kitty will also need a kitty wig for extra glamour. I prefer this "shy blonde" model, that "sets off your kitty’s eyes and makes your kitty look tan."

Fantastic. I predict it'll be two weeks before I've covered everything I own with kitty images. My old roommate was a up-and-coming cat lady. She had a figurine of a cat pushing a kitten in a baby carriage. I always told her I thought it was effed up and creepy.

That figurine will be on my bedroom shelf in a New York minute!