Rut (not like the elk)

They say, "A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words", but I can't seem to print.

Goodnight Sweethearts

The Final Word in Dating Advice c. 1943

I'm not really sure what the connection is between separating your knees and goose-stepping for the Fürher, but I suspect this was written by the progenitors of the prigs who brought us The Rules in the mid-90s. Still, young Adolph looks like a cute if slightly more hirsute member of Archie's gang - not exactly fearsome. Though I still fail to see the reasoning here, I feel a better tagline would have been: "Loose hips sink ships."

Just reading this makes me feel the same

Worse than it looks

Never get in an argument with a socket wrench, especially when you are supine, twenty feet back under a deck in a very confined space. Especially not when you are sleep deprived and fail to notice that you've managed to sink the bolt in the joist already and there's not much more for the tool to hold onto and all your arm strength is going to bring that metal club down faster and harder on your forehead.



Did it hurt? I cracked my frontal lobe so hard I yelped and instantly felt a sharp pain at the back of my skull. Still, I shed no tears, but was nervous enough about it to think I'd better get myself out from under there in case I'd given myself a concussion. It might have taken a while before I'd be found and rescued. So I crawled out in under a minute, but not before I already had a goose egg about half the size a chicken might lay. Blood moves fast! It happened Tuesday afternoon, but oddly, the bruise under my eye didn't emerge until Wednesday, and yesterday emerged across the bridge of my nose and down my cheek. There is almost no bruising at the point of impact , which is now a small lump over the start of my eyebrow. I looked half-Neanderthal a couple hours after it happened, as I iced it for 4-5 hours and the lump got shorter but broader in scope.



What is most interesting to me is that since I went all raccoon-eyed and especially going out last night, I'm getting all kinds of strange come-on energy from men, and I don't mean it in the "Oh, come on!" kind of way. Seems to bring out a bit of the brush-ape, as my step-father is fond of saying. It's half-titillated and half-protective, and I never expected it, though I suppose I should have, sex and violence lurking together in our primitive brains. Anyway, the entire thing has been fairly amusing to me, and I'm glad the headache is mostly gone. Now I have a black dog, a black eye, and, my boyfriend would like me to add, a black, black heart.

Gimme One

I dare you not to laugh.

My Dog: Convalescing or Merely Malingering?

(Duff and Levi on Levi's birthday a few years ago.)

Sorry I've not been posting and have failed to update you on the status of the canine beast I call my friend. Duff's status is status quo. He has been home for about a month, after two straight weeks+ at the vet. For three weeks I took him in twice daily to be catheterized, then the vet trained me to empty his bladder. So then it was once daily for a week, and now it is reduced to twice weekly for acupuncture. This is good, because all the expense was getting, well, expensive, and as much as I love lugging around 85+ lbs. of dog several times a day, I'm not sure it's the best thing for my back. The boogie board an old roommate left behind has come in very handy, and the vet techs were highly amused to see "King Duff" ride in on the Mach 5. They have been very kind and tease me that he is faking the entire thing so he can ride about on his palanquin (ok maybe THEY didn't call it that, but my BF and I do), like an oriental emperor.



He's gained some weight back, but no hind leg muscle. He gets some physical therapy, which I administer with help from the BF, but it leaves him sore and cranky with me. I can't really say he's making progress in that area, but I'm also aware that he's not out of pain yet, and spinal problems have long recovery times.

There are, however, no guarantees, although we did see remarkable activity one day at the vet's when he tried to chase down a King Charles Spaniel bitch who had recently whelped. Duff pushed forward with his hindquarters like a seal chased across a beach. I turned to the vet and said, "Maybe THAT'S what he needs." What other conclusion could I draw?



(Imagine her with milky paps, and you've got pure, unadulterated Duff porn.)

He chases rabbits in his sleep, he is often happy and almost always bright and alert. Formerly a very quiet and contented dog, he is now maddeningly yelpy. It is sourced in his helplessness, I am sure. The last two nights I have gotten him to remain on the bed and he has slept much better. This is a great relief, because he was getting me up three to eight times and often I spent most of the night on the floor beside him, as it kept him more calm. Both of us being aloft on the mattress is much easier on my old lady joints, even if he still keeps me up.

Characteristically unwilling to sully the nest, he refuses to release bodily functions inside the house, so all methods of evacuation are performed by me. Aand let me tell you, it is not so glamorous as it seems, but often leads to Kubrickian cinematic references, wherein I speak to my gloved forefinger: "Danny's not here right now, Mrs. Torrance."

His already expensive Innova diet is mightily fortified with all manner of additives - high lignan flax seed oil, spirulina, enzymes, herbs, raw organic colostrum, raw organic grassfed to the bitter end free-range beef, saw palmetto, sweet potato...

One of the worst things about all this, aside from the fatgue and the emotional unrest (which I will spare you for now), is that the experience is rendering me an entirely boring person who can talk only of one subject, and thinks that others are remotely interested in her dog's diet. I promise I think of other things, but this has been fairly consuming.

Many friends have reported dreams in which my dog is walking and running and quite well. This is encouraging to me, as I put stock in such things. Just today I received this kind message from on of you regular readers (I hope it's okay I reprinted it here, anonymously):

Well I finally had a dream with you in it. Never got to see you, but I had two 4x4 blackboards that I had turned into get well cards for Duff. I had all these great sayings on them that I can't remember what they were, which
really bothers me cuz I usually remember that stuff from my dreams. I woke up still trying to find a box to ship them in."

Dear Sir, consider them received.

(A recent photo of me, brimming with hope.)

Parmenides was a punk

I clicked onto a Yahoo! news link just now that read, "Research finds deadly rogue waves can form from nothing." Evidently ex nihilo nihil fit is now null and void, because something can come from nothing. I'm sure our resident physicist will have something to say on this matter, hey?

Or maybe the monster waves come from the "Bloop," as yet unseen and probably the largest creature on earth.

This is me being optimistic

My dog lost 13 lbs in ten days, more than a tenth of his body weight, a fact which has not alarmed the vet, though Duff's spine is now protruding. He was very lean at 95 lbs when I brought him in. I had a meltdown about it Monday and mostly I am just missing him. I can bring him home and let him recuperate here once he can pee on his own, when that will be I don't know. I don't see why I can't manage a catheter myself, but as hard as I'm working to pay the vet bills, it's probably just as well he is in their care. His spirits are good, they say, but he raises up a storm of clamor every time I leave, and lately he's been barking quite a bit during the day. Anyway, trying to be strong about this, but mostly I just miss him crowding me out of the way when I open the refrigerator door.

Praying for a Miracle

Those of you who have read my blog for a while probably know about my beloved dog, Duff. Ten years old with the physique of a five year old, nearly a hundred lbs., and as robust and good an animal as any I've had the privilege to know, the fellow was stricken with a mystery illness last Wednesday evening. Characteristically healthy as a horse, and practically built like one, he worked with me all day with no sign of discomfort or fatigue, then refused to get up when the work day was over. I got him to walk across the street to our house, after much cajoling, but he collapsed in a heap in the hallway and refused to budge. He couldn't even lift his head without crying out in immense pain, this same boy who busted my windshield with his head without so much as a whimper when he was a teenager.



I spent the night on the floor with him, trying to catch sleep between his whimpers and small restless movement. The next morning, my birthday, I took him into the vet, who shot him full of cortisone, took x-rays, ran bloodwork, and ended up stymied as to his diagnosis. One thing seems certain - he has a neurological problem which could be a tumor, a muscular disease, or even an adverse reaction to a simple bee sting or insect bite. He is much improved as regards his pain, and is now drinking and eating well, but aside from raising his head and wagging his tail, he can neither stand nor walk.

I remarked to a friend how beyond the obvious attachments and the less obvious fact that this shiny black friend of mine is clearly a replacement for the children I don't have, one can't underestimate the attachment of a being that is always in our presence. It isn't just that I love him, and I do immensely, it is that he is a part of my physicality - he is integrated into every step I take during the day. If I cook, I reach down to place on the floor the bowl with remnants of dinner for his enjoyment. If I go out, I consider how long I can rightly leave him alone. When I doze, I know that I will sleep better hearing his breath, and even the constant mounting and dismounting of the bed as he changes his position to find a better temperature equilibrium. In our time together, I'm sure I have swallowed and breathed in enough of his hair to choke a cat. He is in some ways the closest living being to me.



I know it's easy to dismiss the depth of a bond between humans and animals, to trivialize it as something less real, but I am sure it is not. What it is is less complicated, less fraught with neurotic longings, conflicts, and expectations. It is easier to have a more "pure" relationship to our pets, and I sincerely wish more of us could learn to behave more like them and less like us, because they really don't take things too personally, they just love.


Anyway, if you have time for a little prayer or something else you believe in to send his way, I would be grateful, because I'm just not ready to let go of him yet.

More Political Bicker

Just got back from the theater. Go see this movie. I'm not generally a fan of war films (nor particularly averse), but I'll see any sort of historical piece or costume drama. I really enjoyed this one. The cinematography, landscape, and people are just gorgeous. The clothes aren't half bad, either.

Political Bicker

This sign stands outside of Hollywood Billiards, a monster sports bar with quite a diverse clientele - douchebags of all varieties flock here when the game's on. If crowded, it takes 45 minutes to get a pitcher. Lame. Anyway, I don't necessarily agree, but I thought the sign was amusing.

For Bobby and his new bride

On Marriage


You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.


Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.


Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

- Kahlil Gibran, 1923

Pop Secret

No fucking way...

On Anxiety

"Just because you're watching Nightmare on Elm Street doesn't mean you're going to get killed."

- My very good friend Joe.

The Politics of Facial Hair

My excessively handsome BF is going through what I like to call his "Jim Morrison: American Prayer" phase. First the hair grew long, which I love, especially since it turns into perfect, soft sausage curls, like Gainsborough's Blue Boy, the Fauntleroy craze in the late 1800s, or those Orthodox ringlets they wear down in the Fairfax and Wilshire areas. Next came The Beard. I'm not a fan of any sort of stylized facial hair. Soul patches, Fu Manchus, moustaches, Van Dykes and the lot really give me an impression that the dude sportin' is having serious self-image issues, or that he's going to slip a Ketamine in my latte. Judgemental, superficial and unfair? Perhaps. Probably, but moustaches are the province of 70s porn stars, and unless you plan on buying a Chevy Van and trolling local school yards, I suggest it's not a prudent choice of veneer. The Van Dyke can sometimes be maybe sorta ok. (Who made me arbiter of facial hair style? No one. Now, shut up and do what you're told.)

But an honest beard? Despite the tendency of some of those upper lip hairs to wiggle up into a girl's nose when in full embrace, and the abrasive growing out stage, I can get behind a full beard. A bit of grooming is fine, but I really have a hard time being attracted to a man who looks like he overly primps. Dressing well is nice and good hygiene essential, but too sleek, too hyper-obsessively clean, is not sexy to me.

So I'm good with BF expressing his inner Grizzly Adams. Too bad his mother screamed when he landed back home in Texas this week. It seems The Beard may be coming off soon.

Little Ralphie Parker's Friend, Flick

In a few years, that kid will get himself stuck to a cold metal post. I must say, my first reaction was, "Eww..." Then I had to admit to myself that it is precisely the sort of thing I'd have done as a child. Or now. But you know, pigs are very clean. Or so people like to tell you.

On Releasing Blame

Forgiveness is the fragrance
that the violet sheds
on the heel that has crushed it.

- Mark Twain


(painting by Godward, With Violets Wreathed and Robe of Saffron Hue, 1902)

6 Ways Mushrooms Can Save the World

Sorry, he's not telling you to take the "magic" kind.

Understanding Serendipity*

Amy Tan: Where does creativity hide?



If you are unaware of the annual TED Conference in Monterrey, acquaint yourself with these amazing lectures that cover arts, sciences, and human life, available on YouTube and on the TED: Ideas Worth Spreading website. I'll be posting more of my personal favorites over the weeks to come.


* 1. an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident.
2. good fortune; luck

Word History: We are indebted to the English author Horace Walpole for the word serendipity, which he coined in one of the 3,000 or more letters on which his literary reputation primarily rests. In a letter of January 28, 1754, Walpole says that "this discovery, indeed, is almost of that kind which I call Serendipity, a very expressive word." Walpole formed the word on an old name for Sri Lanka, Serendip. He explained that this name was part of the title of "a silly fairy tale, called The Three Princes of Serendip: as their highnesses traveled, they were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things which they were not in quest of...."