Change is weird. Not in any bad sense of being weird... it's just weird. Sometime around late 2002/early 2003 I acquired the first of my three current dogs. He was a stray, apparently abandoned, and a lovable lonely little thing. My roommate and I named him Chody (in honor of a character from a Trey Parker/Matt Stone film... shame on you if you know what it means) and adopted him after attempting to find his owner. After my roommate deployed to Iraq, my then-girlfriend decided to guilt-trip me into changing his name to Jax. And, from then on, Jax became my alpha male (albeit in a pack of one).
Fast forward to January of 2004... After being activated myself and realizing how lonely Jax could get, I went ahead and adopted another dog, Jasper. Though both dogs are named after the same soap opera character (don't ask), they are complete opposites of each other in almost every way. Jax is a mutt... part pointer and terrier (either English bull or Boston... hard to tell); Jasper is a pure German Shepherd. Jax is not neutered, the result of misguided sentimentality. Jasper had to be cut because of an undescended testicle (I used the pick of the litter honor on the runt). Jax is aggressive, a fighter, and unflinchingly dominant. Jasper is passive, a soldier, and unflinchingly submissive. Strange, then, to recall that when Jasper was a puppy, Jax would always let Jasper eat first.
One day, that all changed. Long-story short, the little 35-pound dog had the larger 75-pound dog by the balls.
Sometime late in 2009, Jax seriously injured one of his shoulders. Instead of taking it easy and letting it heal properly, however, Jax overcompensated and instead became much more aggressive towards Jasper (a third dog, Starbuck - acquired late 2004/early 2005 - never really acknowledged the canine chain-of-command, kept to himself, and largely avoided any attempts of submission by Jax).
In March of 2010, our little pack returned to the deserts of the West, which placed the dogs in the ridiculous summer heat of Nevada. Largely due to inactivity during the day and being in a garage at night, Jax was given the opportunity to recover from his injury with much-needed rest (anti-inflammatories hadn't even seemed to help much). Staying with my sister, her children were introduced the wonders of having dogs around and - in a moment a bit out of character for her - she adopted her own dog, Wally. A dog that Jasper took the opportunity to establish dominance over.
The result? Having his own underling, Jasper began to challenge Jax. By July 2, with Jax still recovering, Jasper even started challenging Jax at the food bowl. I must admit, the first time I saw it, I thought Jasper might have confused Jax for Wally... but he kept doing it. Finally, I thought, Jasper would no longer be relegated as a chew toy (literally... he bears several scars from Jax's teeth).
But it was not to be.
I left to sign for a rental property in California on July 31, leaving my dogs with my sister. By August 1, according to her, Jax decided to reclaim his undisputed throne as the alpha male, working overtime trying (and succeeding, apparently) to subdue Jasper all over again. And, upon my return to Nevada, Jasper's persistent whines as Jax subtly exerts his influence serve as proof that Jax is still, undeniably, the king of the pack.
Ah, well. It was interesting while it lasted. Jax can sure be a jerk sometimes. I wonder who he gets it from?
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dogs. Show all posts
Monday, September 13, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Separation Anxiety
I'm in the process of giving up my pets, and it sucks. No, it's not a permanent situation, merely one borne of necessity as I attempt to resettle into an oversized city and get back to work. As soon as I'm able to acquire a place with a decent backyard, I'll retrieve my four-legged companions (all five of the bastards) and live happily ever after... at least in terms of cats and dogs.
I've done it before with two of my dogs (Jasper and Starbuck), but this will mark the first time that I'll be separated long-term from my alpha male (Jax, who's very close to getting his nuts chopped off) and the two most loyal cats I've ever known (Kay and Sagremor). Oh, there's a possibility Jax's adopted mother won't be able to handle him and he'll wind up with me in the city of angels, but until that presents itself, I'm planning on not seeing him for a while.
And it sucks.
I'm not a worrier. That gene seems generally absent from my DNA, but I am going to feel a bit sad at not being able to run and spoil these guys (yes, they're all male... that's another story). I know this beyond any reasonable doubt. A while back I drove to Las Vegas for some work. This drive marked the first time I made a long-distance drive without my dogs in the back of my truck. I couldn't help but checking the bed every so often to make sure they were doing okay, even though there was nothing back there.
And now I'll be making another long-distance drive to drop them off with a friend of mine so I can concentrate on getting back into the industry that I left over a year ago. And it sucks. I can already see myself suffering from depressing separation anxiety on the drive back. It's bad enough that I've already left my two cats with my reluctant but willing sister. I feel as though I'm somehow punishing them for their loyalty (that, too, is another story).
But, people have to do what they have to do.
It still sucks.
Sucks, sucks, sucks, sucks, sucks.
I've done it before with two of my dogs (Jasper and Starbuck), but this will mark the first time that I'll be separated long-term from my alpha male (Jax, who's very close to getting his nuts chopped off) and the two most loyal cats I've ever known (Kay and Sagremor). Oh, there's a possibility Jax's adopted mother won't be able to handle him and he'll wind up with me in the city of angels, but until that presents itself, I'm planning on not seeing him for a while.
And it sucks.
I'm not a worrier. That gene seems generally absent from my DNA, but I am going to feel a bit sad at not being able to run and spoil these guys (yes, they're all male... that's another story). I know this beyond any reasonable doubt. A while back I drove to Las Vegas for some work. This drive marked the first time I made a long-distance drive without my dogs in the back of my truck. I couldn't help but checking the bed every so often to make sure they were doing okay, even though there was nothing back there.
And now I'll be making another long-distance drive to drop them off with a friend of mine so I can concentrate on getting back into the industry that I left over a year ago. And it sucks. I can already see myself suffering from depressing separation anxiety on the drive back. It's bad enough that I've already left my two cats with my reluctant but willing sister. I feel as though I'm somehow punishing them for their loyalty (that, too, is another story).
But, people have to do what they have to do.
It still sucks.
Sucks, sucks, sucks, sucks, sucks.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Dogs: The New Kids
It's painfully overdone, isn't it? Referring to pets as children. But they are, in a way... take mine, for instance. Fighting among themselves because of an aborted fight with a stranger's dog. Was one mad at the other for not kicking ass? Or for not letting him kick ass? Or is it all just instinctual response personified by humans with nothing better to do?
Probably the latter, but since that would be no fun, I'll pretend it's not.
Anyway... so last night some douchebag let his dog run around off of a leash. Now, I have no problem with that. In fact, I do it all the time. The difference here is that while I let my all-too-wild dogs go running in the middle of a desert, or a forest, or a mountain range (you know, the middle of nowhere), this asshole let his dog go in the middle of a populated neighborhood.
Caveat #2: Had this particular dog been better-trained, I wouldn't have had a problem, either. But it wasn't. In fact, as soon as it smelled my dogs, it went into kill mode. Too bad a fence was in the way... that dog would've learned what pack dogs (mine) can do in a brawl. Scary, yeah, and I'm not too particularly fond of the fact that my dogs are such competent hunters and killers, but they're animals... and I like letting dogs be canines.
Where was I? Oh, yeah... asshole. So his dog runs up to the fence my dogs are behind. Now, anybody who's been following the adventures of my pets know that my alpha male is kind of a dick. He's not neutered (can't bring myself to do it, no matter how much he deserves it) and at barely 35 pounds, he's managed to make an 80-pound German Shepherd submit to his will. He was a stray when I got him, and he still likes to feed himself from time to time (so I let him... don't tell the people whose pet birds are missing).
So now there's this unknown dog on one side of the fence, and my three dogs on the other. Alpha male goes nuts, strange dog goes nuts. I think that the alpha gave an order to the German Shepherd to kill something, and the next thing I know, the Shepherd attacks my other dog. What. The. Fuck? Honestly, the Shepherd had NEVER done something like that before (first time for everything, I guess). I don't notice it at first, but one of the Shepherd's claws catches my other dog just right and the claw rips open the skin above my other dog's stomach. Yelps of pain (of a type I've not heard before) lead to a few moments of confusion, and then I see the blood when the poor guy tries to clean his wounds.
Ugh. And leave it to the local area to have shut down their own emergency veterinarian hospital (make note, pet owners... if you're going to have a catastrophe, do your best to schedule them during normal operating hours).
So I grab a small first aid kit and apply a dressing to the wound (stomach wounds are tricky... it always cracks me up whenever a TV show or a movie shows a medic applying pressure to the stomach). While I'm doing so, I hear my alpha male start kicking the crap out of the German Shepherd. Literally. There's crap everywhere. The (other) poor guy shit himself.
Wait... I forgot to mention that while my first injured dog was yelping, the owner of the other dog simply sat in his driveway and watched. I should've jumped the fence and kicked his dog in the mouth. Or the owner in the mouth... I'm not a huge fan of hitting animals, even the misbehaved ones (of which I own three).
Okay, back to story: one dog with a tear in his skin; one dog with shit in his coat; one dog sitting there with an Alfred E. Newman expression on his face. I suddenly debate obtaining pet insurance. Then I debate cutting the alpha's nuts off. Then I debate exchanging my dogs for three new cats (just kidding... I still have two cats... they'd eat me as I sleep if I brought home more).
So what do I do? I double-check the dressing, convince my sister to let the wounded dog sleep in the house, then sneak the dog onto the bed. In the morning, I take him to the vet where he gets cleaned up and stapled. There's a moment when his lampshade makes him walk into a door, and while I can't help but laugh my ass off, I remove it from his neck. He's already in pain, why submit him to torture? And mockery from my other pets (oh, snap... there I go personifying again).
I do learn that the alpha male gets seriously depressed when I separate him from his adopted brother. He's outside right now, sitting in the middle of the yard, waiting for the other to come out and play. Unfortunately, that's going to be a few days.
There's no point to this story. I just like talking about my boys (yes, all three dogs and both cats are boys). It's kinda like when people show you pictures of their ugly children and you're forced to sit there and smile. Nyah.
Probably the latter, but since that would be no fun, I'll pretend it's not.
Anyway... so last night some douchebag let his dog run around off of a leash. Now, I have no problem with that. In fact, I do it all the time. The difference here is that while I let my all-too-wild dogs go running in the middle of a desert, or a forest, or a mountain range (you know, the middle of nowhere), this asshole let his dog go in the middle of a populated neighborhood.
Caveat #2: Had this particular dog been better-trained, I wouldn't have had a problem, either. But it wasn't. In fact, as soon as it smelled my dogs, it went into kill mode. Too bad a fence was in the way... that dog would've learned what pack dogs (mine) can do in a brawl. Scary, yeah, and I'm not too particularly fond of the fact that my dogs are such competent hunters and killers, but they're animals... and I like letting dogs be canines.
Where was I? Oh, yeah... asshole. So his dog runs up to the fence my dogs are behind. Now, anybody who's been following the adventures of my pets know that my alpha male is kind of a dick. He's not neutered (can't bring myself to do it, no matter how much he deserves it) and at barely 35 pounds, he's managed to make an 80-pound German Shepherd submit to his will. He was a stray when I got him, and he still likes to feed himself from time to time (so I let him... don't tell the people whose pet birds are missing).
So now there's this unknown dog on one side of the fence, and my three dogs on the other. Alpha male goes nuts, strange dog goes nuts. I think that the alpha gave an order to the German Shepherd to kill something, and the next thing I know, the Shepherd attacks my other dog. What. The. Fuck? Honestly, the Shepherd had NEVER done something like that before (first time for everything, I guess). I don't notice it at first, but one of the Shepherd's claws catches my other dog just right and the claw rips open the skin above my other dog's stomach. Yelps of pain (of a type I've not heard before) lead to a few moments of confusion, and then I see the blood when the poor guy tries to clean his wounds.
Ugh. And leave it to the local area to have shut down their own emergency veterinarian hospital (make note, pet owners... if you're going to have a catastrophe, do your best to schedule them during normal operating hours).
So I grab a small first aid kit and apply a dressing to the wound (stomach wounds are tricky... it always cracks me up whenever a TV show or a movie shows a medic applying pressure to the stomach). While I'm doing so, I hear my alpha male start kicking the crap out of the German Shepherd. Literally. There's crap everywhere. The (other) poor guy shit himself.
Wait... I forgot to mention that while my first injured dog was yelping, the owner of the other dog simply sat in his driveway and watched. I should've jumped the fence and kicked his dog in the mouth. Or the owner in the mouth... I'm not a huge fan of hitting animals, even the misbehaved ones (of which I own three).
Okay, back to story: one dog with a tear in his skin; one dog with shit in his coat; one dog sitting there with an Alfred E. Newman expression on his face. I suddenly debate obtaining pet insurance. Then I debate cutting the alpha's nuts off. Then I debate exchanging my dogs for three new cats (just kidding... I still have two cats... they'd eat me as I sleep if I brought home more).
So what do I do? I double-check the dressing, convince my sister to let the wounded dog sleep in the house, then sneak the dog onto the bed. In the morning, I take him to the vet where he gets cleaned up and stapled. There's a moment when his lampshade makes him walk into a door, and while I can't help but laugh my ass off, I remove it from his neck. He's already in pain, why submit him to torture? And mockery from my other pets (oh, snap... there I go personifying again).
I do learn that the alpha male gets seriously depressed when I separate him from his adopted brother. He's outside right now, sitting in the middle of the yard, waiting for the other to come out and play. Unfortunately, that's going to be a few days.
There's no point to this story. I just like talking about my boys (yes, all three dogs and both cats are boys). It's kinda like when people show you pictures of their ugly children and you're forced to sit there and smile. Nyah.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Drifting... Again...
So, I'm on the move again. On the road again... or am I? Who knows, at this point. I'm writing this from a different location than my last, I dunno, 100 writings, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'm anywhere different. Of course, I could be. Hell, I should be. Regardless, where I am while you read this is likely not where I was when I wrote this. Or writing this. Or something like that. Ah, screw it... I'll worry about tenses another time.
Anyway, for those who care, I'm out and about in the world. Which, for those who may not know, is how I like it. I wander while I wonder and I wonder while I wander (actually, I usually wonder why I'm not wandering, when it is that I'm not wandering).
My ultimate destination is California, the all-too-elusive place that I've been trying to get to for the past, say, 21 years. Why it's elusive, I'll never really know... I mean, it's land. It doesn't really move, right? Except during the occasional earthquake (okay, okay... it's California... the frequent earthquake).
Though I've enjoyed my time writing over the past year or so, it's time for me to reenter the workforce. Honestly, I can't wait. Sitting still, even if it's due to writing, gets to me. I like motion. Movement is good. Some movements are better than others, but I'll leave it to your imaginations to determine what the Hell I mean by that.
So I'm on my way. Finally. I was supposed to be on my way last October, but two of my dogs decided to run away and completely destroy my entire schedule. And then, I must admit, I got a little complacent. I probably need to stop doing that, but it's oh, so easy. Need someone to whip me into action. Preferably young, brunette, rich, smart, and willing to settle on someone beneath her stature.
I should wrap this up. I need to decide if I'm taking I-40 or I-20 to I-10. Decisions, decisions.
*This also means no creative writing for a while... expect nothing but superficial rants and raves until I get settled again.
Anyway, for those who care, I'm out and about in the world. Which, for those who may not know, is how I like it. I wander while I wonder and I wonder while I wander (actually, I usually wonder why I'm not wandering, when it is that I'm not wandering).
My ultimate destination is California, the all-too-elusive place that I've been trying to get to for the past, say, 21 years. Why it's elusive, I'll never really know... I mean, it's land. It doesn't really move, right? Except during the occasional earthquake (okay, okay... it's California... the frequent earthquake).
Though I've enjoyed my time writing over the past year or so, it's time for me to reenter the workforce. Honestly, I can't wait. Sitting still, even if it's due to writing, gets to me. I like motion. Movement is good. Some movements are better than others, but I'll leave it to your imaginations to determine what the Hell I mean by that.
So I'm on my way. Finally. I was supposed to be on my way last October, but two of my dogs decided to run away and completely destroy my entire schedule. And then, I must admit, I got a little complacent. I probably need to stop doing that, but it's oh, so easy. Need someone to whip me into action. Preferably young, brunette, rich, smart, and willing to settle on someone beneath her stature.
I should wrap this up. I need to decide if I'm taking I-40 or I-20 to I-10. Decisions, decisions.
*This also means no creative writing for a while... expect nothing but superficial rants and raves until I get settled again.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Things I Did On Thanksgiving
Well, another Thanksgiving has come and gone and, as usual, I didn't do a whole lot. I haven't had dinner with the family since 2006 (which was the first time I had Thanksgiving dinner with the family since 1995). Hell, I didn't even have dinner this year. I don't know why, but such things don't bother me. I get berated for my blasé attitude a lot by many people, but I just don't change. Okay, maybe I change a little, as I did actually have plans this year, but my change is slow (unlike Obama's version of it... oh, wait a sec).
Anyway... what did I do this year?
I slept in until very late... like, a few hours after noon late. I did wake up to let the dogs out this morning, but other than that I stayed on the couch.
I argued with the person I had plans with, since xhe (a ha!) summarily canceled on me on the account of being depressed. I was supposed to go to her sister's for dinner and I'm fairly certain she told her sister that I pulled out, rather than what really happened. I even turned down two other Thanksgiving invitations in order to go, so I'm a tad annoyed about this.
The following happened on the 25th: I learned how to juggle three balls! Finally! Yes, I'm way too happy about this.
I played a video game called Plants vs. Zombies (really... but it's awesome... you should check it out) until I collected one of every plant for my Zen Garden (play the game to find out what that is... or Google it).
I had one cigarette and a limited amount of nicotine. And I had two pots of coffee (and broke a coffee cup, to boot).
I listened to every song on my Sprint phone at least three times. I love Sprint Music. I only download the free songs, but they tend to be really good and from obscure artists I would have otherwise never heard of.
I wrote this.
'Til next year!
Anyway... what did I do this year?
I slept in until very late... like, a few hours after noon late. I did wake up to let the dogs out this morning, but other than that I stayed on the couch.
I argued with the person I had plans with, since xhe (a ha!) summarily canceled on me on the account of being depressed. I was supposed to go to her sister's for dinner and I'm fairly certain she told her sister that I pulled out, rather than what really happened. I even turned down two other Thanksgiving invitations in order to go, so I'm a tad annoyed about this.
The following happened on the 25th: I learned how to juggle three balls! Finally! Yes, I'm way too happy about this.
I played a video game called Plants vs. Zombies (really... but it's awesome... you should check it out) until I collected one of every plant for my Zen Garden (play the game to find out what that is... or Google it).
I had one cigarette and a limited amount of nicotine. And I had two pots of coffee (and broke a coffee cup, to boot).
I listened to every song on my Sprint phone at least three times. I love Sprint Music. I only download the free songs, but they tend to be really good and from obscure artists I would have otherwise never heard of.
I wrote this.
'Til next year!
Monday, November 16, 2009
Organized Musings Revisited
A while back I wrote some "organized random musings," and since I've nothing better to muse about, well, I'm doing it again.
Television
I've previously mentioned that Jay Leno will kill NBC. Sure, so did many other people, but since I said it irrespective of them, I'm going to go ahead and claim that I was right.
AMC's remake of The Prisoner is, so far, quite a bit better than their absolutely crap remake of The Andromeda Strain.
Speaking of Leno... thanks for killing Southland prematurely. Here's hoping TNT (who picked it up) does the show some justice.
Sports
The Chargers are now tied for first in the AFC West after a bad start... they had to catch up to the Broncos (who had a great start), who they play next week. Go Bolts! And congrats to LaDainian Tomlinson for passing for passing Marcus Allen on the all-time touchdown list (Tomlinson is now in 3rd on that list) and Franco Harris on the all-time rushing yardage list.
Nice, Bill Belichick. Your supreme arrogance caused you to go for it on 4th down and 2 yards to go... against a streaking Colts team. You were winning 34 to 28 with two minutes left in the game. And you lost. I laugh in your general direction.
Speaking of LaDainian Tomlinson... New York Giants fans seem to take offense that Tomlinson is called "LT," which, as we all know, is the moniker of Giants great Lawrence Taylor. I don't really see what the big deal is, but I guess I tend to agree. Why not use "LDT" for Tomlinson?
Music
Tulsa's song, "Mass," is one of the best rock n' roll songs of all time.
Some recommendations for you adult rockers: Tea Leaf Green, Carlon (whose song, "Cantaloupe," is fucking phenomenal), Bert Susanka, and Au Revoir Simone.
Dance/techno/trance/whatever listeners: Radioactive Sandwich kicks ass. Magnum .38 isn't too bad, either.
Animals
If you have a dog that won't stop digging holes in your yard, fill the holes with his shit. He'll stop, trust me.
Conclusion
That's all I got... I'm sleepy.
Television
I've previously mentioned that Jay Leno will kill NBC. Sure, so did many other people, but since I said it irrespective of them, I'm going to go ahead and claim that I was right.
AMC's remake of The Prisoner is, so far, quite a bit better than their absolutely crap remake of The Andromeda Strain.
Speaking of Leno... thanks for killing Southland prematurely. Here's hoping TNT (who picked it up) does the show some justice.
Sports
The Chargers are now tied for first in the AFC West after a bad start... they had to catch up to the Broncos (who had a great start), who they play next week. Go Bolts! And congrats to LaDainian Tomlinson for passing for passing Marcus Allen on the all-time touchdown list (Tomlinson is now in 3rd on that list) and Franco Harris on the all-time rushing yardage list.
Nice, Bill Belichick. Your supreme arrogance caused you to go for it on 4th down and 2 yards to go... against a streaking Colts team. You were winning 34 to 28 with two minutes left in the game. And you lost. I laugh in your general direction.
Speaking of LaDainian Tomlinson... New York Giants fans seem to take offense that Tomlinson is called "LT," which, as we all know, is the moniker of Giants great Lawrence Taylor. I don't really see what the big deal is, but I guess I tend to agree. Why not use "LDT" for Tomlinson?
Music
Tulsa's song, "Mass," is one of the best rock n' roll songs of all time.
Some recommendations for you adult rockers: Tea Leaf Green, Carlon (whose song, "Cantaloupe," is fucking phenomenal), Bert Susanka, and Au Revoir Simone.
Dance/techno/trance/whatever listeners: Radioactive Sandwich kicks ass. Magnum .38 isn't too bad, either.
Animals
If you have a dog that won't stop digging holes in your yard, fill the holes with his shit. He'll stop, trust me.
Conclusion
That's all I got... I'm sleepy.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Just Another Case of Blah
Can't write anything. How typical. So it's time to disguise random and fleeting thoughts as something profound, which they most certainly are not. There was a schedule when the Atlantic Coast was abandoned, but a couple of dogs decided to delay things by going sightseeing without telling their owner. He didn't panic, but he was certainly upset and more than a little worried. Was about to give up, too, when they decided to come back. A 94-hour foray to who knows where, and they didn't think they did anything wrong? Ah, well... at least the fat one lost some weight. The little bastard.
There was a book to read when Dallas was reached, but, again, that was delayed when the dogs took off. Good thing an old college friend took her family to Disney World and left her house empty. Good thing, too, that she's not too mad at how she got pissed off the other day. Then again, she did leave the house a bit of a mess. Hah. Ah, well... just desserts in every meal, no?
And then the cats ran off. But at least they came back the next day. Cats and strange places don't mix well, or maybe they do and cats are really more loyal than dogs. There's a guy in Massachusetts who would debate that, and his wife says he secretly loves cats, but he keeps a mean face about them. Perhaps too much has been stated.
Anyway, the book has been read and must now be analyzed. But what a chore that is. Better to watch a bunch of movies with a guy that was in the Army, too. Talk about old times, complain about present times, wax poetic about new times, hope against hope about future times. Something like that. Suddenly the cross-country trip seems more trouble that it's worth, especially seeing as how the ultimate destination should be right back in the Eastern Time Zone. A rat hole known as Fort Benning. Then again, there are those lazier than others, and Benning might never be seen again, save on an episode of Ramsay's The F Word.
Funny how TV works.
Maybe time just needs to be taken to breathe... and listen to a little music.
There was a book to read when Dallas was reached, but, again, that was delayed when the dogs took off. Good thing an old college friend took her family to Disney World and left her house empty. Good thing, too, that she's not too mad at how she got pissed off the other day. Then again, she did leave the house a bit of a mess. Hah. Ah, well... just desserts in every meal, no?
And then the cats ran off. But at least they came back the next day. Cats and strange places don't mix well, or maybe they do and cats are really more loyal than dogs. There's a guy in Massachusetts who would debate that, and his wife says he secretly loves cats, but he keeps a mean face about them. Perhaps too much has been stated.
Anyway, the book has been read and must now be analyzed. But what a chore that is. Better to watch a bunch of movies with a guy that was in the Army, too. Talk about old times, complain about present times, wax poetic about new times, hope against hope about future times. Something like that. Suddenly the cross-country trip seems more trouble that it's worth, especially seeing as how the ultimate destination should be right back in the Eastern Time Zone. A rat hole known as Fort Benning. Then again, there are those lazier than others, and Benning might never be seen again, save on an episode of Ramsay's The F Word.
Funny how TV works.
Maybe time just needs to be taken to breathe... and listen to a little music.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Pet Musings: October 12, 2009
Well, well... this week has turned out to be an eventful uneventful week, and I just figured I'd share a few things concerning my dogs and cats...
As some of you are aware, my two lost dogs have returned to me. They were gone for 94 hours (from Sunday at 3:00 PM to Thursday at 1:00 PM) in a place that they were unfamiliar with. I posted an ad on craigslist.org, went to the local animal services, and was about to put up about 50 fliers in the neighborhood they disappeared in when, in typical fashion (don't ask), I watched in relative disbelief as my two dogs walked down the road towards the very spot I was standing. Also in typical fashion, they didn't seem to think their disappearance was a big deal, although they were both a few pounds lighter. Jerks.
My German Shepherd (you know, the loyal dog that DIDN'T run away) was at first extremely happy to see the other dogs, but quickly realized that all the one-on-one attention he had been receiving had gone away. So, he did the grown-up thing and cried all freaking night because there was no half-asleep guy sleeping in an open garage throwing him the tennis ball at 2 in the morning.
One of my cats made a break for it on Sunday (yesterday at the time of this posting), primarily because they've been stuck living in the bed of my truck for an extra week, thanks to the missing dogs. And now, due to occupational requirements, they're going to stay in the bed of my truck for yet another week because I have to finish a book and submit a critical analysis by the 23rd... and driving across country isn't really conducive to that.
Pointless Musings
The San Diego Padres finished the season with 75 wins and 87 losses... good enough for 4th place in the National League West. Crappy, I know, but a far cry better than the 5th place they held for most of the season. Ah, well... there's always next year.
Thank you, NFL Mobile (only on Sprint) for allowing me to catch last Sunday's Pittsburgh-San Diego game when I was devoid a television. And thank you, NFL, for scheduling a Chargers bye week this Sunday while I was still devoid a television.
This just in: I am reactivating all of my paper bills from all of my utilities and banks. Not having the Internet whooped my ass last week, and I ain't letting that happen again.
Eh... I'd complain about more things, but I'm tired. I'll be returning to form in a couple of weeks (I think).
As some of you are aware, my two lost dogs have returned to me. They were gone for 94 hours (from Sunday at 3:00 PM to Thursday at 1:00 PM) in a place that they were unfamiliar with. I posted an ad on craigslist.org, went to the local animal services, and was about to put up about 50 fliers in the neighborhood they disappeared in when, in typical fashion (don't ask), I watched in relative disbelief as my two dogs walked down the road towards the very spot I was standing. Also in typical fashion, they didn't seem to think their disappearance was a big deal, although they were both a few pounds lighter. Jerks.
My German Shepherd (you know, the loyal dog that DIDN'T run away) was at first extremely happy to see the other dogs, but quickly realized that all the one-on-one attention he had been receiving had gone away. So, he did the grown-up thing and cried all freaking night because there was no half-asleep guy sleeping in an open garage throwing him the tennis ball at 2 in the morning.
One of my cats made a break for it on Sunday (yesterday at the time of this posting), primarily because they've been stuck living in the bed of my truck for an extra week, thanks to the missing dogs. And now, due to occupational requirements, they're going to stay in the bed of my truck for yet another week because I have to finish a book and submit a critical analysis by the 23rd... and driving across country isn't really conducive to that.
Pointless Musings
The San Diego Padres finished the season with 75 wins and 87 losses... good enough for 4th place in the National League West. Crappy, I know, but a far cry better than the 5th place they held for most of the season. Ah, well... there's always next year.
Thank you, NFL Mobile (only on Sprint) for allowing me to catch last Sunday's Pittsburgh-San Diego game when I was devoid a television. And thank you, NFL, for scheduling a Chargers bye week this Sunday while I was still devoid a television.
This just in: I am reactivating all of my paper bills from all of my utilities and banks. Not having the Internet whooped my ass last week, and I ain't letting that happen again.
Eh... I'd complain about more things, but I'm tired. I'll be returning to form in a couple of weeks (I think).
Thursday, October 8, 2009
The Brothers Three
For nearly five years, they were three. The first, a stray, was clearly the one in charge. Mostly due to his commanding personality, of course, but it also helped that he still had his testicles. The second, the largest (yet most gentle), was a simple and loyal soul. The only one of pure blood, he never seemed to rub it in, deferring all shows of force to the first. The third, a rescue, was extremely stubborn and extremely smart. An escape artist and a bad influence, the group's cheerleader. He put the hound in Houdini... never mind the "n" out of place.
Each were well traveled. All having originated in North Carolina, each had made there way to California and back again. Sure, sometimes the first and the third got away, succumbing to their exploratory urges, but they would always come back. The second never ran off, save for a brief period of time in which he suffered unexplained seizures and would wander in the subsequent confusion. So, for nearly five years, no matter the weather, no matter the location, no matter the state of mind, they were three. A pack of mock wolves; a group of four-legged miscreants; a collection of wilderness falsely domesticated.
But, now, after loading up in their master's truck for one more trip from North Carolina to California, the first and the third decided to explore once again, leaving the second behind. Where once was three, there is now only one. Where once was the sound of dogs wrestling in the yard, there is now only the silhouette of a German Shepherd waiting for the return of his adopted siblings. Where once there was joy in a master's glance, there is only worried pessimism. And a lack of sleep.
For his collection has dwindled to a solitary dog.
Each were well traveled. All having originated in North Carolina, each had made there way to California and back again. Sure, sometimes the first and the third got away, succumbing to their exploratory urges, but they would always come back. The second never ran off, save for a brief period of time in which he suffered unexplained seizures and would wander in the subsequent confusion. So, for nearly five years, no matter the weather, no matter the location, no matter the state of mind, they were three. A pack of mock wolves; a group of four-legged miscreants; a collection of wilderness falsely domesticated.
But, now, after loading up in their master's truck for one more trip from North Carolina to California, the first and the third decided to explore once again, leaving the second behind. Where once was three, there is now only one. Where once was the sound of dogs wrestling in the yard, there is now only the silhouette of a German Shepherd waiting for the return of his adopted siblings. Where once there was joy in a master's glance, there is only worried pessimism. And a lack of sleep.
For his collection has dwindled to a solitary dog.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Incredible Journeys Home
The Appalachians just west of Asheville are already getting get cold. There is no risk of snow just yet, but the autumn chills are settling in and familiar aches returning. Weather isn't the only reason for the aches, of course, as the memory of a tired and hungry body's journey from the Atlantic coast is still fresh in bones and muscles. It has taken five weeks to get this far, and a desire to return to a Californian mountain lake once called home ensures that aches and pains will be endured for another few months. If, that is, a body no longer conditioned can remember younger days long enough to make it.
A month ago, everything was lost. Career, money, life... everything. So a journey was begun. A dying truck on its last miles sold to ensure food, at least, could be had. As companions, loyal dogs would remain beside, hunting their own meals and occasionally sharing the unlucky squirrel or rabbit. The two smaller dogs, a pointer-mix and a beagle-mix, would often range together, but always pick up their master's scent and return. The German Shepherd, true in camaraderie, would never roam too far away.
An old Army backpack was packed with what clothes, soap, and toothpaste could be carried. There was a cell phone, of course, but one no longer paid for and soon to be inactive. Most unusually, a cat carrier containing two cats, a gray-white and a dark mackerel-tabby the sole remnants of a family once numbering ten or more. A hard journey made more difficult by a stubborn reluctance to part with what were considered children.
Naturally, the cats had to be let out of their cage to relieve themselves and to eat, but never without a gentle hand holding tightly to neck or back. Initially the cats found themselves at odds with such an arrangement, but they learned to accept it eventually. Still, they continued to despise it, unaware of the great care taken to prevent their getting lost so far from any home they've ever known. A great care taken despite the great burden.
But their master is not invincible, and a feeble attempt at staying warm in the Appalachian forest serves pitiful proof of this. Exhausted, no forward progress had been made in days. A decision is made to let the cats roam around, hoping they would somehow recognize their temporary abode. At first, the cats are weary of leaving the safety, if confinement, of their cage. Soon, however, playful dogs and the sounds of an open wilderness provide the motivation to set foot on strange land.
A tired smile. Pairs of cat eyes make contact with human. An unspoken trust providing some comfort where none is to be had.
"Don't go too far," a voice cracks. Less for the words and more for the sound remembered from happier days and telephone conversations from the next room. "Don't go too far."
The cats cautiously prowl around, under both the watchful eyes of an adopted parent and the curious eyes of canine cousins. Toys reveal themselves as leaves fluttering in the wind, insects hiding under decaying bark, and the rare evidence of previous encampments. Slowly, but surely, the playground continues to grow, all the while the melody of "don't go too far" plays in the background.
But the Autumn chills are increasing, and strength has to be preserved. Human eyes close, and a voice quiets into a slumber. Dogs, sensing the need for warmth, huddle close. But the cats continue to play, further and farther away. Further and farther away, until the instinct that home lies somewhere to the East overwhelms the knowledge that such place was no longer home.
In the morning, hours of calling, and perhaps a few tears shed, ultimately give way to a westward journey continued.
And an empty cage remains in the mountains west of Asheville.
A month ago, everything was lost. Career, money, life... everything. So a journey was begun. A dying truck on its last miles sold to ensure food, at least, could be had. As companions, loyal dogs would remain beside, hunting their own meals and occasionally sharing the unlucky squirrel or rabbit. The two smaller dogs, a pointer-mix and a beagle-mix, would often range together, but always pick up their master's scent and return. The German Shepherd, true in camaraderie, would never roam too far away.
An old Army backpack was packed with what clothes, soap, and toothpaste could be carried. There was a cell phone, of course, but one no longer paid for and soon to be inactive. Most unusually, a cat carrier containing two cats, a gray-white and a dark mackerel-tabby the sole remnants of a family once numbering ten or more. A hard journey made more difficult by a stubborn reluctance to part with what were considered children.
Naturally, the cats had to be let out of their cage to relieve themselves and to eat, but never without a gentle hand holding tightly to neck or back. Initially the cats found themselves at odds with such an arrangement, but they learned to accept it eventually. Still, they continued to despise it, unaware of the great care taken to prevent their getting lost so far from any home they've ever known. A great care taken despite the great burden.
But their master is not invincible, and a feeble attempt at staying warm in the Appalachian forest serves pitiful proof of this. Exhausted, no forward progress had been made in days. A decision is made to let the cats roam around, hoping they would somehow recognize their temporary abode. At first, the cats are weary of leaving the safety, if confinement, of their cage. Soon, however, playful dogs and the sounds of an open wilderness provide the motivation to set foot on strange land.
A tired smile. Pairs of cat eyes make contact with human. An unspoken trust providing some comfort where none is to be had.
"Don't go too far," a voice cracks. Less for the words and more for the sound remembered from happier days and telephone conversations from the next room. "Don't go too far."
The cats cautiously prowl around, under both the watchful eyes of an adopted parent and the curious eyes of canine cousins. Toys reveal themselves as leaves fluttering in the wind, insects hiding under decaying bark, and the rare evidence of previous encampments. Slowly, but surely, the playground continues to grow, all the while the melody of "don't go too far" plays in the background.
But the Autumn chills are increasing, and strength has to be preserved. Human eyes close, and a voice quiets into a slumber. Dogs, sensing the need for warmth, huddle close. But the cats continue to play, further and farther away. Further and farther away, until the instinct that home lies somewhere to the East overwhelms the knowledge that such place was no longer home.
In the morning, hours of calling, and perhaps a few tears shed, ultimately give way to a westward journey continued.
And an empty cage remains in the mountains west of Asheville.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Priorities
I have cats. And I love my cats. Okay, sometimes I hate my cats, but for the most part I love my cats. Everyone has a crazy cat story, of course, and I am no different. I've found poo in strange places, woke up to a piss stain on the pillow next to my head, discovered dismembered small-animal parts in my living room, and laughed as a kitten attached itself to my German Shepherd's face.
Despite all of this, I have never had to make a decision of priorities while watching my cats do something that, well, I'd regret later.
Tonight, however, and merely a few moments ago, I did.
Now, my cats adore me. I'm not exactly sure why, as I don't treat them any better than my dogs, but these two cats adore me. They follow me around like begging dogs, watch TV with me, sleep with me, and fight over which one gets to sit in my lap. I haven't been a cat person for very long, relatively speaking, so forgive me if this all comes across as "normal" to some of you. To me, it's downright strange.
Usually when I watch television, one cat will take station on the back of the couch, right above my head. Most of the time, that cat will simply fall asleep, but other times, he'll attack my hair. The other cat will, as implied earlier, simply curl up on my lap.
Now, I'm a fairly avid drinker of Vitamin Water. I like it, and it doesn't damage your teeth as badly as Gatorade does. And, since I usually don't eat as balanced as I should, I take solace in the extra vitamins the drink provides. My current favorite flavor is "power-c." Mind you, Vitamin Water isn't the cheapest drink in the world, and when you add up the gas you use to drive to the nearest convenience store to buy a bottle, it's about, oh, $57.12 for a 32 fluid ounce bottle.
Currently, my favorite comedy is a little-known British comedy called Spaced. To be blunt, it is the funniest fucking 30-minute comedy series I have ever seen. And that's not an exaggeration.
So there I was...
Watching an episode of Spaced, drinking a bottle of "power-c" Vitamin Water, when my dark cat decided he wanted to sit in my lap. Normally, he'd walk to the front of the couch by my feet and jump into my lap. But, since this particular cat suffers from frequent bouts of laziness, he decided to take the short route... which was from the left, over the armrest, which just happened to be where my arm was resting. Go figure, right?
Unfortunately for me, the cat misjudged how much higher he would have to pounce in order to clear my arm, and, as such, didn't quite make it. Instead of simply falling to the ground and trying again, however, he went with "Option B."
Now, I assure you that "Option B" is quite painful, as it involves my cat attempting to maintain altitude by latching onto the nearest surface with his claws. That nearest surface happened to be my arm.
Since I love my cats, I'm always willing to lend a helping hand. The problem here was that one hand was pinned to the armrest, and the other was holding my drink. So, in reactionary fashion, I instantaneously set the bottle between my thighs, reached over with my now-free right hand, grabbed my cat by the neck, and pulled him up to safety... right into my lap. Spilling at least 12 ounces of my 32 ounce drink onto the floor.
Result? Cat not on lap, Vitamin Water not in mouth, me no watch Spaced.
As I knelt there, cleaning up the liquid mess, I went over the incident in my head. I came to the conclusion that my priorities were wrong. I shouldn't have attempted to save the cat, who would've been fine anyway, and lose my drink while interrupting my entertainment.
I should've just hit the cat with the drink bottle, tapped the "jump back" button on the DVR, and finished my show.
Next time, I'll be ready.
Despite all of this, I have never had to make a decision of priorities while watching my cats do something that, well, I'd regret later.
Tonight, however, and merely a few moments ago, I did.
Now, my cats adore me. I'm not exactly sure why, as I don't treat them any better than my dogs, but these two cats adore me. They follow me around like begging dogs, watch TV with me, sleep with me, and fight over which one gets to sit in my lap. I haven't been a cat person for very long, relatively speaking, so forgive me if this all comes across as "normal" to some of you. To me, it's downright strange.
Usually when I watch television, one cat will take station on the back of the couch, right above my head. Most of the time, that cat will simply fall asleep, but other times, he'll attack my hair. The other cat will, as implied earlier, simply curl up on my lap.
Now, I'm a fairly avid drinker of Vitamin Water. I like it, and it doesn't damage your teeth as badly as Gatorade does. And, since I usually don't eat as balanced as I should, I take solace in the extra vitamins the drink provides. My current favorite flavor is "power-c." Mind you, Vitamin Water isn't the cheapest drink in the world, and when you add up the gas you use to drive to the nearest convenience store to buy a bottle, it's about, oh, $57.12 for a 32 fluid ounce bottle.
Currently, my favorite comedy is a little-known British comedy called Spaced. To be blunt, it is the funniest fucking 30-minute comedy series I have ever seen. And that's not an exaggeration.
So there I was...
Watching an episode of Spaced, drinking a bottle of "power-c" Vitamin Water, when my dark cat decided he wanted to sit in my lap. Normally, he'd walk to the front of the couch by my feet and jump into my lap. But, since this particular cat suffers from frequent bouts of laziness, he decided to take the short route... which was from the left, over the armrest, which just happened to be where my arm was resting. Go figure, right?
Unfortunately for me, the cat misjudged how much higher he would have to pounce in order to clear my arm, and, as such, didn't quite make it. Instead of simply falling to the ground and trying again, however, he went with "Option B."
Now, I assure you that "Option B" is quite painful, as it involves my cat attempting to maintain altitude by latching onto the nearest surface with his claws. That nearest surface happened to be my arm.
Since I love my cats, I'm always willing to lend a helping hand. The problem here was that one hand was pinned to the armrest, and the other was holding my drink. So, in reactionary fashion, I instantaneously set the bottle between my thighs, reached over with my now-free right hand, grabbed my cat by the neck, and pulled him up to safety... right into my lap. Spilling at least 12 ounces of my 32 ounce drink onto the floor.
Result? Cat not on lap, Vitamin Water not in mouth, me no watch Spaced.
As I knelt there, cleaning up the liquid mess, I went over the incident in my head. I came to the conclusion that my priorities were wrong. I shouldn't have attempted to save the cat, who would've been fine anyway, and lose my drink while interrupting my entertainment.
I should've just hit the cat with the drink bottle, tapped the "jump back" button on the DVR, and finished my show.
Next time, I'll be ready.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Realistic Resolutions for the New Year
New Year's resolutions are bunk. We all know that. Hell, anyone checking at my resolutions for 2007 would know that I didn't keep any of them.
So, this year, I'm going to make some that I know I can keep.
1. I resolve to eat lots of food, ignoring any possible health risks caused by said food.
2. I resolve to pet my cats and dogs, even while neglecting their desire to go for long walks.
3. I resolve to imbibe in alcohol, smoke an occasional cigarette, and throw up once or twice.
4. I resolve to watch a lot of movies, keep up with certain television series, and play video games when I have the time.
5. I resolve to cuss out someone who insults me, making them feel really small and really stupid.
6. I resolve to waste a lot of time on the Internet, remaining oblivious to the fact that there are other, more productive, tasks that require my attention.
7. I resolve to drive on the highways like they are my highways, acting as though the rest of the drivers out there are merely borrowing my road space.
8. I resolve to forget birthdays, anniversaries, and other special occasions due to my own self-centered and narcissistic tendencies.
9. I resolve to spend more money than I should, buy more things than I need, and deplete my savings in the name of fun.
There... that's better.
So, this year, I'm going to make some that I know I can keep.
1. I resolve to eat lots of food, ignoring any possible health risks caused by said food.
2. I resolve to pet my cats and dogs, even while neglecting their desire to go for long walks.
3. I resolve to imbibe in alcohol, smoke an occasional cigarette, and throw up once or twice.
4. I resolve to watch a lot of movies, keep up with certain television series, and play video games when I have the time.
5. I resolve to cuss out someone who insults me, making them feel really small and really stupid.
6. I resolve to waste a lot of time on the Internet, remaining oblivious to the fact that there are other, more productive, tasks that require my attention.
7. I resolve to drive on the highways like they are my highways, acting as though the rest of the drivers out there are merely borrowing my road space.
8. I resolve to forget birthdays, anniversaries, and other special occasions due to my own self-centered and narcissistic tendencies.
9. I resolve to spend more money than I should, buy more things than I need, and deplete my savings in the name of fun.
There... that's better.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Sitting Down
My ass hurts. My legs hurt. My lower back hurts. Hell, even my elbows hurt. And, no, it's not from every guy's dream of too much sex.
It's from sitting down all fucking day, every day, for the last two weeks.
You see, while I'm home I either watch TV or fiddle around on this piece-of-junk computer. While I'm work I'm either sitting in my truck, driving around, or sitting in a sound booth doing crap. Sure, there are those occasional breaks of standing Foley work and the PA run-around-all-day jobs, but it's been a while since I've had a PA position.
Okay, so I can play with my dogs, right? Well, given their slow decline back into being feral, that becomes a health-risk unto itself, and never lasts long. Combined with the fact that I no longer live near open desert or out-of-the-way canyons, I can't even hike with them anymore.
So what do I do? Well, like I said, TV and computer. Which means I do absolutely nothing productive. Oh, sure, I write, but I haven't been able to type anything significant as of late, and the imagination has been reeling... probably due to a combination of sitting all day, bad diet, complete lack of exercise, and smoking a pack of cigarettes every day. By the way, the previous blog was an attempt at "character-building" for a story that clearly went awry. But, hey, at least now I'm trying.
I'm just sick of sitting down.
It's from sitting down all fucking day, every day, for the last two weeks.
You see, while I'm home I either watch TV or fiddle around on this piece-of-junk computer. While I'm work I'm either sitting in my truck, driving around, or sitting in a sound booth doing crap. Sure, there are those occasional breaks of standing Foley work and the PA run-around-all-day jobs, but it's been a while since I've had a PA position.
Okay, so I can play with my dogs, right? Well, given their slow decline back into being feral, that becomes a health-risk unto itself, and never lasts long. Combined with the fact that I no longer live near open desert or out-of-the-way canyons, I can't even hike with them anymore.
So what do I do? Well, like I said, TV and computer. Which means I do absolutely nothing productive. Oh, sure, I write, but I haven't been able to type anything significant as of late, and the imagination has been reeling... probably due to a combination of sitting all day, bad diet, complete lack of exercise, and smoking a pack of cigarettes every day. By the way, the previous blog was an attempt at "character-building" for a story that clearly went awry. But, hey, at least now I'm trying.
I'm just sick of sitting down.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Overdue Randomness
It's been a while... and I officially have high-speed Internet (of my own) for the first time since March of 2006, so here I go...
I hate flies. I'm actually going to be blogging about flies in detail sometime soon, but just know that I hate them. Murderously. Obsessively. I hate them.
Moved in to a new house. Decent size. Three bedroom (but only 1.5 bath). However, I have no fucking furniture as I left it all on the West Coast, so the house seems enormous. I need a roommate, too.
Michael Vick's going down. Down, down, down. Don't know why this makes me smile, but it does. I guess I'm just evil. Then again... I also love dogs.
Anybody seen the conceptual drawings for the replacement to the space shuttle? It looks wickedly crazy, yet wickedly cool.
The Bourne Ultimatum is officially the only "Part III" this year that stood up to the first movie in its series. Hell, it's the only sequel, period, that stood up to the first movie in its series.
C'mon Padres... don't let me down.
C'mon Chargers... don't let me down.
Anybody play the boardgame "Axis & Allies?" I don't know why, but I've been recently hooked. What's strange about it is that I don't have the game... nor does anybody else I know out here. Okay, okay... I'm a World War II nut. Sue me.
Humidity sucks.
I want to borrow $8000. Any takers? I'll pay you back $8900 in 24 months or less.
Don't know if I mentioned this, but all three of my dogs have finally been reunited. It might be a temporary thing (as I'm only supposed to have two dogs here), but it's still a good thing nonetheless.
Boy, this is a worthless blog, ain't it?
Vote for Clint Eastwood.
I hate flies. I'm actually going to be blogging about flies in detail sometime soon, but just know that I hate them. Murderously. Obsessively. I hate them.
Moved in to a new house. Decent size. Three bedroom (but only 1.5 bath). However, I have no fucking furniture as I left it all on the West Coast, so the house seems enormous. I need a roommate, too.
Michael Vick's going down. Down, down, down. Don't know why this makes me smile, but it does. I guess I'm just evil. Then again... I also love dogs.
Anybody seen the conceptual drawings for the replacement to the space shuttle? It looks wickedly crazy, yet wickedly cool.
The Bourne Ultimatum is officially the only "Part III" this year that stood up to the first movie in its series. Hell, it's the only sequel, period, that stood up to the first movie in its series.
C'mon Padres... don't let me down.
C'mon Chargers... don't let me down.
Anybody play the boardgame "Axis & Allies?" I don't know why, but I've been recently hooked. What's strange about it is that I don't have the game... nor does anybody else I know out here. Okay, okay... I'm a World War II nut. Sue me.
Humidity sucks.
I want to borrow $8000. Any takers? I'll pay you back $8900 in 24 months or less.
Don't know if I mentioned this, but all three of my dogs have finally been reunited. It might be a temporary thing (as I'm only supposed to have two dogs here), but it's still a good thing nonetheless.
Boy, this is a worthless blog, ain't it?
Vote for Clint Eastwood.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
First Full Week Back in Wilmington: Some Notes
Well, it's official. Yesterday marked my first full completed week back in lovely Wilmington, North Carolina. I actually officially moved back May 19, but I had to return to Fayetteville and didn't actually stay here until May 21.
Anyway, some notes...
Wilmington's film industry seems to be no better off than when I first left it. Three projects, almost all wrapped. No available film jobs. Nuts.
The humidity is killing me.
I had to split up my three dogs. It sucks. They're sad. So am I.
I've been sick for the better part of a week. What a way to celebrate returning to an awesome beach town.
A bunch of "friends" have yet to return phone calls or emails. Thanks, guys.
Another friend told me to never contact her again. Still confused about that one. I'm not sure if she found out about my "adventures" in Latin America or not. ;)
I quit smoking on May 26. For those who didn't know, I started again on May 5, when I stopped in Dallas for two days and stayed with the guy who taught me how to smoke in the first place.
It's very weird shopping in my old Food Lion and eating at my old Subway. Can't explain it. It's just weird.
My laptop is painfully outdated, and despite my best efforts to upgrade the hardware/software, it really doesn't invite me to use it... hence, the few blogs and complete lack of other significant writing.
I cut all of my long hair off. I officially look like a soldier once again (even though I never looked like a soldier when I actually was a soldier).
My cats are pissed that I haven't let them outside yet.
I have no idea how the Padres are doing, and have no clue how the Chargers are progressing with their off-season. Also, I don't even know if the Ducks won the Stanley Cup. In fact, I'm not even aware that sporting events are occuring right now.
I hurt my foot, my hip, and my elbow doing pratfalls for a buddy's video project on Saturday. He showed me a rought cut, and my pain didn't even make it on the trailer. I feel used.
I taught my dog how to jump in and out of my room window, primarily because I'm too lazy to walk him around back.
Finally, despite feeling so out of place and mostly being bored with nothing to do, I feel great and am loving it.
Shoot me a line, people. Let's hang out.
Anyway, some notes...
Wilmington's film industry seems to be no better off than when I first left it. Three projects, almost all wrapped. No available film jobs. Nuts.
The humidity is killing me.
I had to split up my three dogs. It sucks. They're sad. So am I.
I've been sick for the better part of a week. What a way to celebrate returning to an awesome beach town.
A bunch of "friends" have yet to return phone calls or emails. Thanks, guys.
Another friend told me to never contact her again. Still confused about that one. I'm not sure if she found out about my "adventures" in Latin America or not. ;)
I quit smoking on May 26. For those who didn't know, I started again on May 5, when I stopped in Dallas for two days and stayed with the guy who taught me how to smoke in the first place.
It's very weird shopping in my old Food Lion and eating at my old Subway. Can't explain it. It's just weird.
My laptop is painfully outdated, and despite my best efforts to upgrade the hardware/software, it really doesn't invite me to use it... hence, the few blogs and complete lack of other significant writing.
I cut all of my long hair off. I officially look like a soldier once again (even though I never looked like a soldier when I actually was a soldier).
My cats are pissed that I haven't let them outside yet.
I have no idea how the Padres are doing, and have no clue how the Chargers are progressing with their off-season. Also, I don't even know if the Ducks won the Stanley Cup. In fact, I'm not even aware that sporting events are occuring right now.
I hurt my foot, my hip, and my elbow doing pratfalls for a buddy's video project on Saturday. He showed me a rought cut, and my pain didn't even make it on the trailer. I feel used.
I taught my dog how to jump in and out of my room window, primarily because I'm too lazy to walk him around back.
Finally, despite feeling so out of place and mostly being bored with nothing to do, I feel great and am loving it.
Shoot me a line, people. Let's hang out.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
As of Right Now...
... my top five favorite films are Road to Perdition, followed by (in no particular order) Beautiful Girls, Children of Men, Good Will Hunting, and Heat.
... I'm reading a book called The Short Screenplay by Dan Gurskis.
... I have yet to convince my hopefully-future roommate to move to Los Angeles NOW.
... the San Diego Padres are undefeated (2-0).
... grooming creme has replaced mousse as my hair product of choice.
... my latest script, Clandestine's Daughter, has yet to go out to my reader, despite my having promised it to her by last December (and I had intended to get it to her last May or so).
... I haven't worked on an actual set in 156 days.
... I am very upset that one of the good-looking girls on American Idol went home instead of that Sanjaya fruitcake.
... I'm really, really hungry.
... I'm officially excited for the new Transformers movie.
... the 15 Britons taken by Iran are on their way home.
... she has a boyfriend.
... ridiculously oversized "bunny slippers" are keeping my feet warm.
... my Boston Terrier/Pointer mix is trying to keep warm by sleeping under my German Shepherd.
... snow still caps the Sierra Nevadas.
... Charger Girl tryouts are underway.
... DC comics generally suck.
... I'm trying to figure out where I'll be tomorrow, next week, next month, and next year.
... I'm bored off of my ass, but not tired enough to go to sleep.
... I could use a backrub... and a pedicure.
... my pickup truck needs an oil change.
... you're probably wondering why the Hell you're reading this.
... I'm reading a book called The Short Screenplay by Dan Gurskis.
... I have yet to convince my hopefully-future roommate to move to Los Angeles NOW.
... the San Diego Padres are undefeated (2-0).
... grooming creme has replaced mousse as my hair product of choice.
... my latest script, Clandestine's Daughter, has yet to go out to my reader, despite my having promised it to her by last December (and I had intended to get it to her last May or so).
... I haven't worked on an actual set in 156 days.
... I am very upset that one of the good-looking girls on American Idol went home instead of that Sanjaya fruitcake.
... I'm really, really hungry.
... I'm officially excited for the new Transformers movie.
... the 15 Britons taken by Iran are on their way home.
... she has a boyfriend.
... ridiculously oversized "bunny slippers" are keeping my feet warm.
... my Boston Terrier/Pointer mix is trying to keep warm by sleeping under my German Shepherd.
... snow still caps the Sierra Nevadas.
... Charger Girl tryouts are underway.
... DC comics generally suck.
... I'm trying to figure out where I'll be tomorrow, next week, next month, and next year.
... I'm bored off of my ass, but not tired enough to go to sleep.
... I could use a backrub... and a pedicure.
... my pickup truck needs an oil change.
... you're probably wondering why the Hell you're reading this.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Jasper, Part I
He just turned three last November. He's a baby, and he acts like it. Brave in the face of irrelevance, cowardice in the face of everything else. The other two beat him up, even though he's the biggest. But he's the sweetest, the tamest, and the most loyal.
And yesterday he started having seizures.
There was evidence that he had a couple of seizures earlier, but as I didn't know that he had them, I figured the tells were of something else. A fight, maybe. The smeared crap in the yard. The overturned water bowl. Could've been anything. But probably seizures.
As I watched one at around 11:30 PM, I really didn't know how to react. I worried, I wanted to panic, but I stayed calm. I watched as he tried to fold and swallow his tongue. I watched as he realized that something was wrong. I watched as he went into a panic, running around wherever there was room. I watched as his adopted brother, as scared as everyone else, tried to subdue him. And I watched as he collapsed, foaming at the mouth, defecating uncontrollably, convulsing violently, painfully. So I did the only I could do. I placed one hand on his head, the other on his body, and held him firm so he wouldn't hurt himself by bouncing his head off the ground too hard.
70 pounds of German Shepherd never looked so helpless.
I didn't see the onset of the second seizure, this one at about 6:15 AM, but I did hear it. And I got to him fast enough to see him flopping around in his makeshift doghouse. Again, he defecated. This time, when it subsided, he cried and howled in pain and confusion. Three, maybe four times. It was the most solemn, heartbreaking sound I had heard in a long time. Maybe ever. After he cried, he tried to stand up. Dizzy, disoriented, he looked like a newborn puppy trying to figure out what his legs were for. It took him almost five minutes to stabilize himself. Then he walked up to me, put his head in my lap, and looked as though he was trying to ask me a question.
He was suffering, and he didn't know why.
I don't know why, either.
I'm still waiting on the vet to call with the test results.
And yesterday he started having seizures.
There was evidence that he had a couple of seizures earlier, but as I didn't know that he had them, I figured the tells were of something else. A fight, maybe. The smeared crap in the yard. The overturned water bowl. Could've been anything. But probably seizures.
As I watched one at around 11:30 PM, I really didn't know how to react. I worried, I wanted to panic, but I stayed calm. I watched as he tried to fold and swallow his tongue. I watched as he realized that something was wrong. I watched as he went into a panic, running around wherever there was room. I watched as his adopted brother, as scared as everyone else, tried to subdue him. And I watched as he collapsed, foaming at the mouth, defecating uncontrollably, convulsing violently, painfully. So I did the only I could do. I placed one hand on his head, the other on his body, and held him firm so he wouldn't hurt himself by bouncing his head off the ground too hard.
70 pounds of German Shepherd never looked so helpless.
I didn't see the onset of the second seizure, this one at about 6:15 AM, but I did hear it. And I got to him fast enough to see him flopping around in his makeshift doghouse. Again, he defecated. This time, when it subsided, he cried and howled in pain and confusion. Three, maybe four times. It was the most solemn, heartbreaking sound I had heard in a long time. Maybe ever. After he cried, he tried to stand up. Dizzy, disoriented, he looked like a newborn puppy trying to figure out what his legs were for. It took him almost five minutes to stabilize himself. Then he walked up to me, put his head in my lap, and looked as though he was trying to ask me a question.
He was suffering, and he didn't know why.
I don't know why, either.
I'm still waiting on the vet to call with the test results.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
All I Want for Christmas...
Well, it's Christmas Eve. One day to go. And, given the nature of the high-tech world we live in today, I figured I can get one more request to Santa in, via the oh-so-wonderful world of MySpace. Yes, Santa has a MySpace page. Don't let it fool you, at first glance his profile makes him look like a simple fat guy with a reindeer fetish, but the elves are a dead giveaway. He's a complicated fat guy with a reindeer fetish AND an elf fetish.
Anyway, my list is a modest one, so let's begin...
1. World peace. No, scratch that. It'll never happen anyway.
2. Bigger yard for my dogs. I'm getting real tired of the beagle moving his poop around so I can't help but step in it. And don't think I don't know you're doing it on purpose, asshole.
3. Higher alcohol tolerance. Holy shit, I'm a lightweight again. Well, scratch this one, too... it's keeping my bar tabs low.
4. New car. An Aston Martin is preferred, but I'll take anything that costs over $60k and doesn't look like a rapper drives it.
5. New job. That last one I had was essentially a rip-off. You want me to take over marketing? At what salary? My response: "I quit, have a nice Christmas."
6. My unemployment check. You gotta love those. Freeloading jerk-offs. Wait a sec...
7. Less snow. Much, much less snow. And more heat. Much, much more heat.
8. Oakley to be a little more clear on their replacement policy. I'm going to be confused about that for a while, I'm sure.
9. Four years without mention of a Bush or a Clinton.
10. The Chargers to win the Super Bowl. Win, not just get there.
11. An HDTV that costs more than my new car. And is bigger. With accompanying DTS+ sound system. I'm a glutton, what can I say?
12. Eli Manning to break his leg. Does Santa tackle at the knees?
13. My cats to quit pissing on my stuff because they think the snow is my fault.
14. I'm going to break down and ask for an iPod. If there was ever anyone in need of an uplifting soundtrack for life, it's me at this very moment. Although I hate iPods... and cell phones... and indoor plumbing... the stone age was much simpler, man.
15. Adjustable sample rates on MySpace profile songs, in case I'm ever stuck with dial-up again... I can't hear my own damn profile songs.
16. A trip to Europe, a trip to Africa, a trip to Asia, a trip to South America, and a trip to Australia. I'd ask for a trip to Antarctica, but ever since I saw March of the Penguins, I'm afraid that one of those baby-stealers will try to take my unborn children.
17. Dinner in Hawaii.
18. The USA to figure out what the fuck it's doing in the Middle East. No, scratch that one, too... doesn't look like that's ever going to happen, either.
19. Baseball and hockey to shorten the length of their seasons. And for baseball to expand its playoffs. It is, after all, America's favorite pastime. Or was, until that last strike... funny how Canada's favorite pastime becomes more popular after a strike, isn't it? Damn northern liberals. It's all a conspiracy. Go Ducks!
20. To have that fantastic indie music that's exploding just below the radar to replace that crap pop music that's imploding everywhere else.
21. To have the weddings I'm invited to outnumber the funerals. I'm really tired...
22. To rebuild all of the bridges I've purposefully or inadvertently burned over the last 28 years.
23. Ah, fuck it... Peace on Earth.
24. Her.
Anyway, my list is a modest one, so let's begin...
1. World peace. No, scratch that. It'll never happen anyway.
2. Bigger yard for my dogs. I'm getting real tired of the beagle moving his poop around so I can't help but step in it. And don't think I don't know you're doing it on purpose, asshole.
3. Higher alcohol tolerance. Holy shit, I'm a lightweight again. Well, scratch this one, too... it's keeping my bar tabs low.
4. New car. An Aston Martin is preferred, but I'll take anything that costs over $60k and doesn't look like a rapper drives it.
5. New job. That last one I had was essentially a rip-off. You want me to take over marketing? At what salary? My response: "I quit, have a nice Christmas."
6. My unemployment check. You gotta love those. Freeloading jerk-offs. Wait a sec...
7. Less snow. Much, much less snow. And more heat. Much, much more heat.
8. Oakley to be a little more clear on their replacement policy. I'm going to be confused about that for a while, I'm sure.
9. Four years without mention of a Bush or a Clinton.
10. The Chargers to win the Super Bowl. Win, not just get there.
11. An HDTV that costs more than my new car. And is bigger. With accompanying DTS+ sound system. I'm a glutton, what can I say?
12. Eli Manning to break his leg. Does Santa tackle at the knees?
13. My cats to quit pissing on my stuff because they think the snow is my fault.
14. I'm going to break down and ask for an iPod. If there was ever anyone in need of an uplifting soundtrack for life, it's me at this very moment. Although I hate iPods... and cell phones... and indoor plumbing... the stone age was much simpler, man.
15. Adjustable sample rates on MySpace profile songs, in case I'm ever stuck with dial-up again... I can't hear my own damn profile songs.
16. A trip to Europe, a trip to Africa, a trip to Asia, a trip to South America, and a trip to Australia. I'd ask for a trip to Antarctica, but ever since I saw March of the Penguins, I'm afraid that one of those baby-stealers will try to take my unborn children.
17. Dinner in Hawaii.
18. The USA to figure out what the fuck it's doing in the Middle East. No, scratch that one, too... doesn't look like that's ever going to happen, either.
19. Baseball and hockey to shorten the length of their seasons. And for baseball to expand its playoffs. It is, after all, America's favorite pastime. Or was, until that last strike... funny how Canada's favorite pastime becomes more popular after a strike, isn't it? Damn northern liberals. It's all a conspiracy. Go Ducks!
20. To have that fantastic indie music that's exploding just below the radar to replace that crap pop music that's imploding everywhere else.
21. To have the weddings I'm invited to outnumber the funerals. I'm really tired...
22. To rebuild all of the bridges I've purposefully or inadvertently burned over the last 28 years.
23. Ah, fuck it... Peace on Earth.
24. Her.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Random Givings of Thanks
Personally, I think that Thanksgiving is a painfully and obviously arbitrary holiday, but whatever...
Some things to give thanks and not-so-much-thanks for this year:
Thanks to my friends who helped me get through a shit time in my life.
Not-so-much-thanks for the person who single-handedly put me there (not that I hold a grudge... anymore).
Thanks to the idiots who are making the "Global War on Terrorism" a de facto screw up.
Thanks to the NFL for putting a third game on Thanksgiving Day.
Thanks to Kay and Sagremor, my two cats who have actually stuck around.
Not-so-much-thanks to the asshole "retiree" CEOs who give themselves $400 million pensions while the rest of America struggles to make ends meet.
Thanks to John Kerry for informing me that I was in the Army because I got bad grades in school. I was under the impression that I held a sense of duty that many no longer hold.
Thanks to my muse for putting me back in a writer's mindset.
Thanks to my dogs for putting up with my lack of attention giving... that'll change soon, I promise.
Thanks to my sister for editing my writings for spelling and grammar at no charge.
Thanks to PH for lending me a shitload of money (five figures, seriously) to keep my head above water.
Not-so-much-thanks to Chevrolet for making the third-door latch on S-10s an easily broken piece of shit.
Thanks to the screenwriters of Casino Royale for making James Bond cool again.
Thanks to Martin Scorsese for making back-to-back films that truly inspired me.
Not-so-much-thanks to George Lucas for refusing to remaster the prints of the original Star Wars trilogy for DVD.
Thanks to the paratroopers who have entered my life, but will never be able to enter it again thanks to a really fucked up war. You guys were the best.
Thanks to the filmmakers who brought work my way at the exact moment my career seemed to dead-end.
Not-so-much-thanks to the man who had me arrested because he lost a fight that HE started.
Thanks to the networks for fielding the best television programming on the air since, well, the day I was born.
And last, but certainly not least, thanks to the people who are trying to make sure that 2007 will be that "Best Year" that 2006 should have been.
Some things to give thanks and not-so-much-thanks for this year:
Thanks to my friends who helped me get through a shit time in my life.
Not-so-much-thanks for the person who single-handedly put me there (not that I hold a grudge... anymore).
Thanks to the idiots who are making the "Global War on Terrorism" a de facto screw up.
Thanks to the NFL for putting a third game on Thanksgiving Day.
Thanks to Kay and Sagremor, my two cats who have actually stuck around.
Not-so-much-thanks to the asshole "retiree" CEOs who give themselves $400 million pensions while the rest of America struggles to make ends meet.
Thanks to John Kerry for informing me that I was in the Army because I got bad grades in school. I was under the impression that I held a sense of duty that many no longer hold.
Thanks to my muse for putting me back in a writer's mindset.
Thanks to my dogs for putting up with my lack of attention giving... that'll change soon, I promise.
Thanks to my sister for editing my writings for spelling and grammar at no charge.
Thanks to PH for lending me a shitload of money (five figures, seriously) to keep my head above water.
Not-so-much-thanks to Chevrolet for making the third-door latch on S-10s an easily broken piece of shit.
Thanks to the screenwriters of Casino Royale for making James Bond cool again.
Thanks to Martin Scorsese for making back-to-back films that truly inspired me.
Not-so-much-thanks to George Lucas for refusing to remaster the prints of the original Star Wars trilogy for DVD.
Thanks to the paratroopers who have entered my life, but will never be able to enter it again thanks to a really fucked up war. You guys were the best.
Thanks to the filmmakers who brought work my way at the exact moment my career seemed to dead-end.
Not-so-much-thanks to the man who had me arrested because he lost a fight that HE started.
Thanks to the networks for fielding the best television programming on the air since, well, the day I was born.
And last, but certainly not least, thanks to the people who are trying to make sure that 2007 will be that "Best Year" that 2006 should have been.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Touch and Go
Every day we wake up, we're somebody else. Our experiences today will be different from the ones that we had yesterday. Our lives are, technically and theoretically, always changing. Nothing stays the same. Nothing remains familiar. Lovers are really strangers, strangers are really friends, and enemies are really those who refuse to admit that we're all more alike than anyone realizes. Life is touch and go. We touch, are touched, wish we were touched, and we move on, sometimes not even knowing why we move on, or even what we've missed.
Touch and go.
Life was interesting a couple of years ago. I was finishing up my first bachelor's degree, activated by the National Guard, and on my way to that fun little desert that is the Middle East. In a small PX in Fort Stewart, Georgia, I mentioned that I needed a padlock for one of my bags, but didn't have the money on me. Later that day, when I wasn't near my bunk, someone found my stuff and left a brand new padlock on my bed. To this day, I have no idea who this person was. Touched. And gone.
I remember getting my dog, Jax, after I got out of the Army. I bought him a doghouse so he could stay dry when it rained and I wasn't home to let him in the house. He wouldn't go in it... not even when I put food inside of it. I talked about this in one of my classes in college. The guy sitting next to me, a tall, gentle-looking black man, said to put sawdust on the floor of the doghouse. For some reason, dogs like the smell and the comfort it provides. I never tried it, but I never forgot the advice, either. Advice from a stranger just trying to help. I feel like shit that I don't know his name. Touched. And gone.
Life moves in circles, in waves, fuck... it even moves in squares and dodecahedrons. Why is it that I am alive, able to walk (although barely), work every day, and play with my dogs and cats? Why is that my replacement in the Army no longer has his foot... or his arm? Why is that I am able to talk to my father, but refuse to because of the friction between us? Why is that several of my friends want so badly to talk to their fathers, but can't because they're no longer living? How can one person leave so indelible a footprint on a person's psyche that a script, a poem, or a song is written due to that footprint? How is it that other people are forgotten as soon as you meet them?
Touch... and go...
We are not a species that can stay in one place long. We move on, from place to place, day to day. Not because of some instinctual need for survival, but because of some higher need for more. Why are we the only species that needs, unequivocally, to love and be loved? Why do we pretend that our pleasant emotions are tied into what's familiar? Why do we assume that our hurtful emotions stem from fear and the unknown?
We are the only living thing on this planet that is capable of touch and go. The only one. Everything else is tied into a natural cycle that repeats itself over and over again, and will repeat itself until extinction or the end of time. Touch and go. There's a reason we're capable of it. A reason so simple to comprehend, most of us refuse to acknowledge it when life seems too much to handle:
No matter what happens to us in life, we can always move forward.
Touched.... and gone...
Touch and go.
Life was interesting a couple of years ago. I was finishing up my first bachelor's degree, activated by the National Guard, and on my way to that fun little desert that is the Middle East. In a small PX in Fort Stewart, Georgia, I mentioned that I needed a padlock for one of my bags, but didn't have the money on me. Later that day, when I wasn't near my bunk, someone found my stuff and left a brand new padlock on my bed. To this day, I have no idea who this person was. Touched. And gone.
I remember getting my dog, Jax, after I got out of the Army. I bought him a doghouse so he could stay dry when it rained and I wasn't home to let him in the house. He wouldn't go in it... not even when I put food inside of it. I talked about this in one of my classes in college. The guy sitting next to me, a tall, gentle-looking black man, said to put sawdust on the floor of the doghouse. For some reason, dogs like the smell and the comfort it provides. I never tried it, but I never forgot the advice, either. Advice from a stranger just trying to help. I feel like shit that I don't know his name. Touched. And gone.
Life moves in circles, in waves, fuck... it even moves in squares and dodecahedrons. Why is it that I am alive, able to walk (although barely), work every day, and play with my dogs and cats? Why is that my replacement in the Army no longer has his foot... or his arm? Why is that I am able to talk to my father, but refuse to because of the friction between us? Why is that several of my friends want so badly to talk to their fathers, but can't because they're no longer living? How can one person leave so indelible a footprint on a person's psyche that a script, a poem, or a song is written due to that footprint? How is it that other people are forgotten as soon as you meet them?
Touch... and go...
We are not a species that can stay in one place long. We move on, from place to place, day to day. Not because of some instinctual need for survival, but because of some higher need for more. Why are we the only species that needs, unequivocally, to love and be loved? Why do we pretend that our pleasant emotions are tied into what's familiar? Why do we assume that our hurtful emotions stem from fear and the unknown?
We are the only living thing on this planet that is capable of touch and go. The only one. Everything else is tied into a natural cycle that repeats itself over and over again, and will repeat itself until extinction or the end of time. Touch and go. There's a reason we're capable of it. A reason so simple to comprehend, most of us refuse to acknowledge it when life seems too much to handle:
No matter what happens to us in life, we can always move forward.
Touched.... and gone...
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