Click images for desktop size: "Untitled" by Frank Mellech I spent most of yesterday looking for work. Not for a job but work.
It was a loser but still what I plan to continue to do today.
I also spent a lot of time thinking about my puppy's blog. I need to write something for her. She's started it. Sometimes it hard to be funny. Or even just amusing.
One thing I keep thinking about is a conversation my friend and I had a few days ago. It was about actors.
She couldn't understand why actors even wanted to be actors. Who wants a career where all you do is pretend to be someone else?
At the time the only thing I could think of was for "Fame and Fortune". Note fame comes first in the list.
But that didn't and doesn't feel right. Its superficial.
Most of the problem is that I'd never thought about actors in that way before. I like actors. It was actors who got me to look past my adolescent homophobia. In person they make me laugh and are almost always entertaining. They feel things differently than non-actors, at least the best of them do.
And I've always thought that actors were always there, always a part of us.
I mean back when that crazy greek cat Antigones, or something, was writing comedies called Frogs and producing plays in pits in the ground there were actors willing to wear one of those cool masks and stand in front of a crowd of strangers and convince those strangers that he wasn't a peasant, that he was a a great and thundering god come to smite the world. He could make that audiences heart quell. Then the next night he was a poor beggar seeking a lonely dinar to feed his family and he could make the new bunch of strangers cry and beat their chests at his plight.
Actors are cool. They have a talent that I don't think can be minimized.
It was an actor who helped change the course of history. John Wilkes Booth shot Lincoln and leapt to the stage writing his own drama in real life.

Click images for desktop size: "Demon Forever" by Unknown I don't understand what makes an actor take the job. Maybe they're born to it and then they get to spend a few years suffering and working as hard as a coal miner to perfect his craft to the point where skill becomes art.
And I think a lot of being an actor is compulsion. I don't think its pretending to be somebody else. Impersonations wear thin pretty quickly. Its a willingness to be a tool in the hands of a director and a writer. A tool to espouse and convey ideas, feelings and emotions to strangers. The cheaper actors manipulate, the best of them use their tools to paint a human body that reflects ourself. They fool us by exposing a soul to us that we never imagined existed, a soul that exists only in at least 3 peoples mind and no where else until the actor unleashes it on stage or on screen.
I understand some of that compulsion. Every time I'm as broke as I am now I always think of one thing. Being in a band.
Its part of my adrenaline addiction I think. I like surfing, sky diving, rock and mountain climbing for the adrenaline rush. That feeling that evades words and rests only in a hungry brain. (except rock climbing has too much pain and fear to be a true addiction for me. I like thinking about what I did but I don't think I'd ever want to do it again.
Like the drunkard dreams of his bottle and the junkie dreams of his next fix the old and crippled musician dreams of being in a band.
Its gotten tot he point that when I listen to music I'm arranging the charts so that my cramped up little hands can play that song. Sometimes the charts in my head seem a little bit like fake book stuff but that's okay too. If I can transpose it to a lot of open chords and simple shifts instead of bouncing all over the neck I could probably get through a whole set.
I like bands. I like that moment in rehearsal when you finish a number a realize that it sounded just like a song. I like that first time on stage when the bands starts out and the crowd is continuing their conversation, shouting over you and then abruptly someone notices and says, "Hey, those guys are good!" and someone else says a bit later, "Those guys are really good!"
I like that we get paid for doing this.
I don't like the inevitable bickering that ensues. Usually the only things the band has in common is music. Most of the time you have different goals and different places you want to end up. Some where in all that the music gets lost.
It most often falls along the same lines. The front man thinks they're not getting enough credit. The lead guitarist wants endless solos to show off his most recent hard won plateau. The rhythm section wants to make a move into a different groove. The girl friends or boy friends all think that their special band member is getting screwed over.
Its fun even in its predictability.
Predictable. Like when the little girl shyly approaches you after the gig and her biggest compliment is that on a certain cover you sounded "Just like the record."
At first I thought the little girls were nuts.
Click images for desktop size: "Green Balls" by Sam Short Our version sounded nothing like the original recording. Once, in my last band we played a club out in the sticks. They wanted the Beatles and Stone Temple Pilots. None of the band except me knew any Beatles' tracks and only the drummer knew any Stone Temple songs. So we played a half dozen of each, faking it as best as we could. The crowd went crazy.
Each band member got told how we sounded exactly like the original recording only punchier, all by different people in the audience.
I know now that they didn't think we sounded like the record. We just transported them to a place they enjoyed when they first heard the song. Or they got overcome with the emotion for which the song was their soundtrack. Or, at best, we thought we were special and for a moment they thought we were stars and for that same moment they felt a joy they couldn't describe, a feeling that their own greatness was somehow a products of the bands thrashing around.
I like that too.
Maybe I could just go busking? Nobody is less critical than a passerby. I knew a lot of guys who at the end of the month would head out to the street and bash out some tunes. No worse than playing on Bourbon Street! They used to pick up 50 sixty bucks a day!
I've always been a bit shy for busking. I need a stage and at least 4 inches of platform to face a strange crowd. A crowd of strangers.
So yeah, I want to be in a band. That makes me think I've got the right to claim to understand why an actor needs a stage or a camera or a role.
Difference is that reality will smack me down like the last wave.
I'll get over it.
I watched a movie last night, "Closed Note". A japanese film that doesn't seem to be about much of anything. Its about a student who works in a shop selling pens.
In one of the scenes though she's in her music class and they're playing one of the Back Toccatas. It sounded strange until I realized they were playing it on some of those wild Japanese instruments, those fretless banjo and mandolin like things. It was cool and exciting.
There always be music. They won't miss me standing on a corner begging for change, selling them a song.
I say that with bemusement and gladness.

Click images for desktop size: "Fly" Back from the doctors.
It was a very cursory examination, except for the money part. They were very thorough collecting the money.
Oddities. My left eye is even more worthless than I thought. With my glasses on I could read line 8 of the chart with my right eye but only line 3 with my left, and the left reading was hesitant. I wouldn't bet I got any of them right.
The doctor made no comment.
At the blood test it took the the tech 3 stabs to find a vein. I'm moderately used to that. The good techs can do it in one jab but the new ones thunder about in a panic and hurt me more than if they just gave up. She prodded and twisted the needle a lot in both arms before taking the blood from my right wrist. She poked a nerve . . . I can still feel it.
Luckily I don't bleed. They pull out the needle and give it a swipe and I'm done. I made the poor woman so nervous that she bandaged me up too well. All the gauze and tape were nearly as uncomfortable as the sticking.
The X-ray was nothing. Just one full on chest. I don't have TB. I guess that's good news . . . I wasn't worried about it.

On the plus or negative side my friend got to stay with me. Which was cool. Then I even got a ride home. A part of me was curious about taking the bus home, and getting a chance to check out the new Alkaline Trio Album on the iPod.
I enjoyed hanging out with my friend more than that though.
I guess not having to make the 4 miles of walking isn't a bad thing. Saves me the strength to terrorize my dogs.
The negative part is that she took of work to meet our house guests and my puppies brother so she's had like a full vacation. I worry about her not being back in work. Its not my worry but I still do . . . worry that is.
On the way to the doc's saw an animal control truck. There was a little white samoyed yipping and running about. We stopped and watched. It had a collar on so hopefully the little guy will get reclaimed ASAP.
Click images for desktop size: "Monument Valley Lady" by Unknown We stopped to watch mainly to make sure the dog catcher didn't use a taser or tranq darts on the little guy. Foolish dog. He should have come to our house. We're just around the corner.
Still he was only about 15 yards from a busy 4 lane street so it was better for him to be picked up.
And after all is said and done we're FLAT broke. But only for 2 weeks until the next paycheck. It will be harsh but not so bad as being flat broke and not having a paycheck to look forward to.
Taxes. Yeah, taxes broke us.
But I'm home and my dogs are all feeling terribly neglected. We took them to the lake yesterday but they didn't enjoy it near as much as they did when they had to impress my puppy's brother.
We're going out into the beautiful day that is, so far, free of fireworks. I realize where I lived before that the people were too poor to afford all the stuff they set off around here.
I hate fireworks every time one of the dogs cringes.

Click images for desktop size: "Bird In Branches" by Unknown Its going to be a beautiful day today.
The sun is bright. It won't be too warm. The air is cleansed by the storms.
The house still beats empty. The loss of the little blind dog is still keenly felt.
The absence of vivacious house guests and an extra tentative puppy is still noticeable.
Th constant explosions of fireworks and mini-bombs still has the pack in a constant state of ill ease. The Gentle dog put himself in the bathroom and even closed the door to shut out both the silence and the explosions.
Still, its going to be a beautiful day today.

Beautiful day means I finally get to do some laundry. The dryer is busted. It was mangling clothes. Really mangling and ripping them apart. Now have to do the old clothesline trick.
Drying clothes in the sun isn't that big of a pain. Main thing is having to remember to put clothes softener in. Clothes dry really stiffly on the outside in nature. Fabric softener reduces that to a tolerable level.
The biggest issue, especially in a house filled with dogs, is no lint removal!
It feels like a "rich man's complaint" carping about having to haul clothes around and clip them to a rope. It could be worse. It just feels strange having my rigid schedules dictated by something as arbitrary as sunshine and nature.
You all know its my rigid schedules that let me cope with the fluid unpredictable world. So this feels different . . .

Yesterday was not eventful. Well, it was the way life has a way of always being eventful
I have a doc appointment tomorrow. Just a physical. Had to get ready for that. Two days in advance . . . I LIKE rigid schedules!
I have to eat muesli. I don't like it much but I got to eat it sometimes. One of the nuts wedged against a tooth, one of the loose teeth I've been fighting to preserve . . . mainly out of vanity.

Click images for desktop size: "Coagulation" by dDefinder It wedged and bent it. The tooth still in in there. It looks jagged and like it should be wearing braces. It looked bad before but now it looks worse and its uncomfortable.
I still don't want to just let it fall out. I don't think I can tolerate losing another part of me, even one so small. And because its in front . . .
I thought muesli was supposed to be good for me.
The giant dog disappointed. Not really. I think he was tired of hearing how good and trustworthy he'd become. He stole a bag of dried banana chips from the table and ate them. Didn't make him sick. I guess that's alright. His breath smells like monkey's.
My puppy is clamouring for an adventure. Fortunately her idea of adventure is going to the park and maybe getting pizza!
Low expectations are usually pretty easy for me to fulfill. Its the real stuff that gives me a problem.
Watched a couple of movies. Generally amusing was "Godzilla and Mothera: Battle For The Earth". It was cool because it focused on all these serious environmental issues. The earth was attacking, well, the earth, because of insane developers and fossil fuels! It had great lines in it like, "The Planet Earth is trying to destroy us because of our arrogance!"
Why the Planet Earth chose a giant moth who shoots laser beams as its agent of destruction is some speculation to avoid.
The watched a rather dreary Japanese "Battle Royale" rip off - "Kill Devil". It was pointless. Still it had two scenes that I liked a lot. One made no sense. Two guys we'd never seen before (or after) are in a cell and start to do a beat box rap and dance. It was stunningly impressive.
Then after everyone in the film is dead . . . how dreary . . . they somehow come back to life to end the movie with a totally out of place 7 minute dance routine. The dancing was modern ballet and hyper-cool. I just have no idea what it was intended to mean.
Finally. I installed the new MacOSX update:
Click images for desktop size: "Ruslane Korshunova" by Unknown Leopard 10.5.4. This appears to be more in getting Mac's ready for the 2nd gen iPhone, so I had moderate interest. I've been running it for 12 hours and it seems fine. I don't notice anymore extra stability, but its not crashing or giving me the spinning beach ball so it seems okay. I did notice it gives you some extra and welcome information when your repairing permissions (something I guess you're supposed to do every/any time you update the OS) but nothing flashy or insanely cool.
I'm more interested in the upcoming iTunes. I'm hoping it gets more stable and uses less memory while holding more securely to the networking with the AppleTV.
Just have to see.
And still a bit concerned over network and internet security in general. Since the WordPress site got hacked I had an inexplicable invasion on the iMac. Still studying that.
So, now its time to remark: Its going to be a beautiful day.

Click images for desktop size: "Adobes and Shed - New Mexico" by Edward Hopper It settled into being a grim day.
The emptiness of the house, the passing of my little blind dog, the dread of a horrible time at work, the full impact that the house guests are truly gone, the fear of poverty and the grievous fear of caring for loved ones, the other dogs and herself, her hard drive failing and discarding things she loved and worked on, thousands of recipes, photo's music and memories, have eroded my friend's pluck.
Pluck. The pulling of a feather.
I have empathy. What good is empathy or compassion to a drowning woman?
Caring for others is always a tremendous burden. Its only lightened by the success of the care. That's not very cogent . . . I'm a good negative example of that statement. The only thing I can deal with is survival.
Part of my survival is emotional - the survival of my puppy and my friend are mainstays of my survival. Without them my survival is is a hollow-less thing, a cynical stoicism that's devoid of light.
Regretfully I'm not very well equipped to help in letting anyone else survive. I can't assist. That displeases me but it doesn't throw me into depression. That's not toughness on my part. Its one of the advantages of not being very smart, I think. Smart people can envision a bigger world than I can. Intelligence lets you feel where you fit in that world and lets you shape yourself, forge yourself into a piece that allows you to fit happily into that world.
Like a lot of successful women my friend has inadvertently let her self worth become tied to her success. There's nothing wrong with that. We all do it. Some of us can even get it from the outside, like when our fave team wins a game.
I look at my friend and I see much to be proud of: The love she's generated, the care she's given to her family and to her co-workers and through her job to the world. I see a nice house and beautiful dogs, dogs that are thriving. Without her they would be dead or eking out a miserable existence. The dogs would only be surviving because that's what dogs do.

Click images for desktop size: "Windy City Sunset" by Verson Photo I see her home as filled with beautiful treasures, trophies of love and respect for others. Overflowing with her being able to take the difficult steps to caring for herself while never forgetting her commitment to the community or side stepping her precious burden of the others she's brought into her life.
I don't see her as a goddess. I've known enough goddesses to not like them much. I see her as a human being who's weathered and endured and still sees the smile hidden inside.
I don't think there is a way to ever let anyone see themselves as you see them. Ridiculous but so. Its why lesser men resort to poetry and why the real poets actually exist, need to exist.
Sleep is the poetry that we all have to heal ourselves, I think. Depressed people and the psychotic don't sleep. In sleep the brain works on healing itself through the vista of dreams. Dreams are the little stories the brain creates to lead us to the conclusions we already know but have forgotten. A whole branch of medical science exists to try and figure out what those little stories mean. Sometimes they don't mean awake what our brain intended them to mean while we're asleep.
I sometimes think that those doc's are wrong. The stories the brain tells ourselves are rich and personal. If someone feels like sharing that dream with you and telling you their story its a privilege and not a gimmick to pretend insight. And I figure if a person is smart enough to remember a dream and to be troubled by it, generally they're smart enough to figure out for themselves and to be calmed by the glorious story their own brain has manufactured.
But what do I know about stuff like that.
I feel helpless watching my friend struggle. I think that I must be a huge disappointment to her. I generally disappoint people a disportioncate amount of the time. Its to her credit that it bothers me that I'm concerned over disappointing her.
Back in the days when I needed an agent, my agent said to me, "Never trust anyone until you see what's in it for them." I thought at the time he sounded like Burrough's agent from "Naked Lunch". I thought it was sad that it turned out to be a wise saying.
I don't doubt that my friend will pull through all of this and continue on in the chirpy, happy mode she's evinced most of her life. I worry about it and want it to happen with each new morning. For her to not be worn down by life in this world, by the capitalism, by the politics, the greed and the lack of sympathy. She's been doing it and I want her to go on doing it.

Click images for desktop size: "Anime" by Tetsuya Nomura Like I said, I'm only good now at surviving. I already said it. I need my puppy and my friend to be out there and being happy. It doesn't matter much whether I'm a part of that happiness or not. I mean it matters to me and for my happiness. I want to be there and enjoy all the richness that they both offer. I'm that selfish, for sure. But it doesn't matter much for my survival. What matters is that they both continue on and keep smiling, fighting, playing and scrapping.
If your the kind of guy like my old agent you can see "that's what's in it for me".
Survival is a pretty big deal. A pretty big reason to trust.
If it weren't we as a species would be able to shut ourselves off with a thought, instead we can't even shut ourselves off by ourselves and can most of the time be talked out of shutting ourselves off with mere words with no promises.

I'm really starting to hate fireworks.

Click images for desktop size: "Waiting on the Verdict" by Solomn Abraham When I was sick last week I kept working on the movie collection.
Even then I thought it was odd of me.
I wasn't too sure I wasn't dying so in between thinking things like, "Should I interrupt?" and drawing some large chunks of inspiration from my little blind dog I pondered over matters such as, "Should I replace my copy of "Fat Tiger, Skinny Dragon? This one has 30 extra seconds of end credits . . ."
When does move fan cross into movie buff into movie nerd?
Does the classification affect anybody or mean anything to anyone but the movie nuts?
Like when I first got dragged to the Star Trek pub I remember someone viciously explaining to me that he was not a Trekkie! He was a Trekker! (This just before he went over to hit on some woman chatting her up in authentic Klingon . . . ) It was important to him but the point of it eluded me. A few other people have explained the subtle differences between kie and ker but it was well beyond me, other than making me certain I never wanted to end up as a kie . . .
But maybe the silly dwelling on the movie collection was a way of staying attached to life, to looking forward to the future. Needing to keep everything organized for tomorrow. I have no heirs and no one cares about the collection of discs except me so, clearly I was doing all this only for myself, so I must plan to be here tomorrow.
See?
I also got an email, well my puppy did . . . come on, I'm not the only macho guy out there who's puppy has her own email account. Am I?
It was from a extremely well established legit internet company pointing out that her site averaged 70,000 unique hits a month. By placing unobtrusive text ads and links I could make x amount of dollars etc . . . I'm poor and x amount of dollars can feel like a lot.
I talked it over with my friend. The conversation lasted about 3 seconds. She pointed out that ads would be exploiting kids. No place to go from there.
I know a lot of those kids. Some we met in hospital when my puppy
Click images for desktop size: "Vampirella" by Frank Frazetta was working as a therapy dog. Most of her site visitors are kids in distress, in hospital in school. Getting them to click on a link because they think my puppy is "endorsing" some dog food or pet store makes me queasy and ashamed.
My puppy is a working breed but not in advertising or sales. I mean, yeah, we've spent all the house insurance money but that's no reason to dress my puppy up in hot pants and cheap make up.
Is it?
Nah.
It still feels empty in the house. I miss my little blind dog. I still walk so I don't step on him and I reach for him when the thunder crashes so he can hide in my arm pit. Life seems thin without him.
My friend and I both miss our house guests. She misses girly talk and talking about food and cooking. I miss life and the way people fill up a space.
We both miss commiserating about my puppy's brother and wondering how he's adapting to the new environment on his vacation and how much he truly loves his new bestest friend.
To assuage the feeling of emptiness my friend made sugar free, gluten free key lime coconut macaroons. I plan to eat them all and then claim the dogs stole them . . .
One bright note I got gifted an advance copy of Alkaline Trio's new Album, "Agony And Irony". I've only scan listened to a few tracks and I'm already deeply impressed.
I don't like the hype about them being 10 years old now (as a band not as individuals . . . ) and how their music has gone from thrash to lyrical poetry . . . poetry . . . the last hiding place of the insecure and the insincere. But the music sounds more than pretty good. The acoustic (!!) demo's sound very good and listening to the full on versions is tres cool.
I only wish they were still on indy labels and not under the auspices of the RAIA. Hell, even Kid Rock has come out public against the jerks who are "protecting his rights". "Steal My Music" is a great headline. Better if he followed Radiohead and Nine Inch Nails and released his music on his own.

Click images for desktop size: "She Did It Here" by Anonymous The house feels empty.
House guests are gone. My little blind dog is still gone. No canine resurrection.

The visit was nothing but fun, except for the mad and scrupulous house cleaning that proceeded it . . . and the scary StarBucks Incident!
When my friends touched down I met them with my puppy. At first her brother and she were glad to meet then he tried to mount her (dominance mounting, not sexual - they're both neutered) and she snapped at him. Her brother took that pretty seriously.
We drove back to the house so her brother could meet the other two dogs. After the 12 hour drive to a new world I guess her brother needed to feel in control of his life again. He got nippy with the Giant Dog who snapped back. The Gentleman dog decided this was all a lot of fun and joined in! It only lasted a second but it seemed to have embedding into her brother's engrams.
We took a walk together. For some reason I had to walk all three dogs . . . and the trio and my puppy's brother were all just fine. But he stayed wary of the three of them for the rest of the visit.
We went home and got presents! Nothing better than a guest bearing gifts! I got vital supplies and my puppy got treats and MORE treats.
My puppy thinks anyone with treats and food is doubly privileged. They not only get to look upon her but feed her as well. My puppy loves her food.
We started the next morning with a visit to StarBucks. It wasn't StarBucks fault, really. I got a Vanilla Latte with skim milk and sugar free vanilla. It hit my system all wrong. I've had it happen in the past with different foods and drugs so it wasn't terrifying but it makes things uncomfortable for me.
Its the feeling that your whole body is hollow, ringingly achingly so. It feels most uncomfortable in your head and in your thorax. Its maddening.

Click images for desktop size: "Skylines" by Turi Before it got too bad we checked out a nearby pet store that someone had recommended but that I'd never been in before. They had FREE FOOD SAMPLES. I love free samples.
I spoke briefly with the store owner. She had some pictures she'd just printed out of her dogs, including one that had just passed away. She wasn't prepared to see the picture of her dog and got misty. She couldn't control it.
I plan to try and shop there.
The rest of the day was a bit blurry for me. We must have walked a lot. We had lunch and I remember some well meaning nagging about what I ate, but I don't remember what we ate.
I do remember dinner. My friend is a cool chef and he made a Carnival Of Shrimp Redux. Not as wonderful as the original Carnival Of Shrimp but still very memorable in its own right. The grilled shrimp and vegetables cut right through my haze.
The dogs appeared to have a calm truce mode going on. My three behaved as usual but my puppy's brother stayed diffident and overtly cautious around the three of them. Once he tried to play with his sister but when the other two showed an interest he backed off and went into slunk mode.
We went to bed too late. I woke the next day feeling no better. As the day progressed the haze parted enough for me to feel irritable. Some of you know what I mean, its that time when you swear you can feel the air molecules driving painfully into your skin. The hollowness lingers but the joints become real solid feeling and painful.
We went to a farmer's market, flea market sort of thing. I remember that there were a lot of Irish Mennonites there. For some reason it struck me as odd. I liked the lyrical Irish accent while they were hawking their fruit and vegetables.
After the flea market we went to the town. It was a huge effort to stay erect. My hips were screaming as were my shoulders and arms.
I did notice that there were a lot of interesting styles to the Mennonite carriages in the town. Some were junkers, some were limousines, even saw a two horse racing style buggy and a tiny buggy that looked more like a coffin then a mode of transportation. I wondered if the driver was shy or hated the world. There were only small slits for vision and I guess ventilation. All of the buggies were painted a monotonous flat black. They looked dingy against the bright sunny sky. Not secular or spartan just dingy.

Click images for desktop size: "Aladdin" by Maxfield Parrish I don't remember what else we did that day and evening. I could feel my body coming back to me. Like a leg thats cramped and fallen asleep it wakening made me irritable and hostile and resentful. No reason for it except the chemicals that make me be alive I guess.
I do remember being concerned about my puppy's brother. My Giant Dog was becoming very enamored of him in a very positive way. While the two of them attempted to play anytime that the other two tried to join in her brother would scurry back into the house. I found this distressing.
I woke up the next day and felt more like myself but still nasty and irritable. Very black thoughts. Heck, maybe nasty and irritable is my old self.
We went to a forest preserve to walk the pack. It was fun.
All the dogs got along splendidly united in their mutual desire to good naturedly kill me.
It was a long hot walk but I felt much better for it. We saw a turtle and a toad, which are highlights grand enough to make mine or any dog's week.
That evening my friends all sounded like they were having a world of fun making gluten free perogis. Perogis are Polish kind of like raviolis. They were up until 3. It sounded like they were having fun. I sat in the office fiddling about, not doing much of anything except recovering and talking to the dogs who kept coming to check on me, or who wanted me to get up and give them some sample perogis. It was definitely one or the other.
I slept well that night. The next day we went to the near by big city. Scoped out about a mile of outlet stores and the area China Town.
I like big cities. I like looking at people and seeing buses and traffic. It was okay. I was surprised when they found me shops selling Asian DVD's 10 for 20 dollars and as I looked through the racks I discovered I had all of them already . . .
That evening we enjoyed the Festival Of Perogis. They were different than the ones I remembered. But they were okay and it was easy to enjoy all the enjoyment around me. Everybody was cranked over them. My friend especially. She'd been waiting 11 years to have perogis again. They talked a lot about gluten free dough and such. The dogs kept offering to try them and give their opinion . . .
Our guest, the chef, only had one serving. He said he wanted to save the rest for my friend. She was touched by that.
The little memorial for my little blind dog showed up. Its a book of photo's is all, hard bound
Click images for desktop size: "Untamed Love" by Frank Frazetta with a pretty dust cover.
iPhoto has a very idiot proof button to push that will take a group of selected photos and arrange them within a template.
I use Aperture (although I usually use Lightroom - Adobe supports my inexpensive RAW shooting Fuji and Apple doesn't!! Apple supports RAW files natively, but each camera manufacturer has their own secret spec. Apple only bothers with the RAW formats in the 800 bucks and up class) and it gives a tighter control over the templates and design of the thing, even allowing you to go outside of the app to tweak and twiddle.
My friend didn't want to look at it. This disappointed me but makes sense. I needed the catharsis of creating it of dreaming about my little blind dog. She needs the space to deal with her own grief.
I checked the book through and it looks very well done. It looks slick and professional and exactly like the pdf file I laid out. It seemed expensive at the time, but only because we're so poor. In hand it feels very much worth it. For me at least it will be a place to always know my little blind dog exists.
Memories are not life but memories are sometimes all that survives. The little 20 page book should do that: make the memories real.
And then it was time for our guests to leave. Maybe they didn't like sleeping in the closet . . . well, it is the only room we have!
All the dogs were getting along. The giant dog had a new best friend and decided he loved our guests. All the dogs were sad to see them leave. It was too soon. My Giant Dog was committed to stowing away and visiting his best-est friends. Luckily he's pretty inept at everything except laughing and being big so he didn't quite pull it off.
So now the house feels twice as empty for everyone. The fireworks have already started so the pups are on edge. The storms and the heat are uncomfortable but for me, at least, feels better than whatever is in a "skinny sugar-free latte".
I liked having friends around. I don't even mind them leaving so long as they keep on being.

Click images for desktop size: "Desert Roses" by EvegneyFor the past days I've been working on a memorial for my little blind dog.
About 20 hours of intense concentration, which is a long time for me. It served one purpose. It didn't expunge the grief but it reminded me of what I loved about the little guy and how that love led us to nothing but fun.
The project turned out bigger than I thought. I hope the effort is justified by the end result. When its completed it should be a nice keep sake for my friend. Although the little blind dog was my friend she was her friend also.
I can't say what it will end up being yet. I just hope that when its completed she'll feel the same way I do while I'm making it.
One thing I clearly remembered is that, like people, dogs never truly leave us. When they've entered your life they remain always a part of it. Like the Southern Gypsy who saw the ghosts trailing behind me, ghosts of people and dogs. Give her credit for either being very clever or being genuine.
When I look back and remember them I don't remember so much of the tragic circumstances of their leaving. Not even much of their heroism. I remember the goofiness, the smiles, the laughs.
Dogs have emotions. They have a sense of humour. They like to play tricks on you and tell you jokes. Dog jokes are pretty stupid but dogs find them incredibly funny.
Like my first Belgian Shepherd would come to work with me at the recording studio. She got bored so set herself up as an official greeter. When clients came in she led them up the stairs to the lounge. I guess she carried on some scintillating conversation. I know that a lot of clients would come back with their friends to show off the hostess dog.
What I found incredible was that she could tell the difference between clients and salesman and guys who just wandered in off the street. They were all strangers to her so I never figured out what clues she used to tell the difference between the important people and the annoyances. My receptionist used to say that it was because my dog could smell the money in the clients pockets.
My little survivor Belgian used to steal my glasses from the bed side table every night. She never hurt or damaged them but she took them every night and hid them.
Each of my mornings would start with a search for my glasses. She always pretended to help. Being a dog she only knew of two hiding places: In her toy box or under the kitchen chair I never sat in.
She'd scurry all over the house "helping" me look. When I'd get close to them she'd run up and snatch them before I could touch them, dance around with them in her mouth and demand a cookie for being so helpful to me.
My little blind dog was the most determined dog I'd ever seen. He moved with an elegant sashaying stoicism that impressed even strangers.
With all his maladies he was suffering. He had to be but he never let it get in the way of his good times. He would teach me that the world is different when your handicapped but its still a beautiful place. Every time he pushed his way to the front of the pack to make sure he got his treat he taught me something.
Click images for desktop size: "Expedition to Hell" by Alex Iuss I need more friends then that.
Following his example made it easier to cope with my own physical discomfort. That's one of the least things I'm grateful to him for.
I still miss him. As empty as this house feels now my world would have been even emptier without him.

I have house guests coming. My puppies brother! (Littermate for the pedantic.)
We count on good times and fun even if the visit is going to be too short. Well, its the old show biz adage, I guess: "Always leave them wanting more!"
The only drawback to having house guests is the pre-arrival house cleaning. I know its so they'll feel comfortable but it always feels like paying pre-fun penance, or an attempt to deceive people that, "Yes, I always live in this high state of sanitation and sterility. I'm not a bum, no siree, not me."