A hatful of rain
USC 44 Notre Dame 21

Click images for desktop size: "Blue Flower" by Ivory Ocean When I was a little kid I remember having a baby sitter one night. She fell asleep so I got to watch a late night movie.
It was this film, “A Hatful of Rain”.
It starred Don Murray as a junkie. It was written by Michael Gazzo. He's the guy you'd probably know as the freaky voiced actor in Godfather II who is going to rat out Al Pacino but then commits suicide when his brother shows up.
That is all I remember about the movie, except one scene. I'm only guessing at the context and only guessing who said what.
I think the doper was explaining his situation.
He said that when he was a kid his father told him that to make money you had to work.
He wanted money so he got himself a shovel and went out in the backyard and started to dig a hole. When he got the hole about two feet deep he reached into his pocket and was surprised to find his pocket was still empty.
He kept digging.
He'd shovel and while then check his pocket. After a while it began to rain. He kept digging and checking his pocket.
Somehow the story resolved itself that the child was left standing there, tired, dirty and still broke holding his cap.

I remember it because the image of the boy digging and constantly checking his pocket seemed frightenly true to me as a kid.
It still does.
That's all I remember clearly, the boy and the empty pocket.
I don't know why it made an impact on me. I don't understand it. Maybe I just don't understand junkies or the justification people use to hurt the ones who love them. I don't even remember the point it was supposed to make, but throughout my life I remembered the boy and the empty pocket.
I had a very good Holiday weekend. Too good in some ways. There's that time in life where we invisibly pass over from ambition to survival, from struggle to acceptance.
I guess some people are born to that and others suddenly discover that is what they've become.
It was odd on the bus today. The streets I've passed back and forth every day for 18 months looked completely different today.
Not ominous or cheerful. Just different.
If there was emotion attached to the difference it would have been explicable and caused me no reason to be wondrous.
I was just constantly disoriented and had to latch on to landmarks of no special distinction just to have some small sense of where I was and to remember where I was going.
It wasn't a bad thing.
I was 14-2 in my picks this weekend. The loses were Titans-Giants and Redskins-Panthers. Go figure. It also looks like another potential housemate has flaked out. I'm past caring. The extreme rudeness of these people has made me glad that I haven't had to extricate myself from more telling situations than this. I'm going to keep looking but I'm going to keep raising my standards and expectations. I can understand what makes people look for housemates. Its more common in Europe. Here, in the US, it has too many flakes looking to cage a ride rather than looking to live a bit better. Then again, maybe I'm only interested in the flakes . . . Maybe I only like flakes. Don't snicker. I probably like you too.

Click images for desktop size: "Juice #30" by tab The only other notable worth sharing is that I'm going to be a foster dog parent. Other people go and rescue dogs from the shelters before they are executed for the crime of being born. Then they bring give them their shots and health check.
Then they bring the rescued pup to me. My puppy and I will train it and care for it then interview perspective parents.
My puppy has prepared a 16 page questionnaire. None of the questions are multiple choice or “True or False” either.
We get a major say in who will take the saved dog into their homes.
This pleases me.










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So we tossed the ball around and I listened to them talk. My puppy keep dive bombing us trying to convince us that chasing her and her football was much more fun then playing with our ball.

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