I think our neighbor is getting our dog stoned while we're at work.
How's that for an introduction?
Well, let me put it this way. I came home and Maxwell was super mellow, smelled like something moldy-ish that normally is semi-hidden by patchouli, and he was REALLY hungry.
And Mike and I have both smelled the wafting scents coming from the neighbor's garage for the past few years.
At first we thought it was the son partying ... but after a few bloodshot-eyed encounters with the neighbor, we're 99.99% sure it's the 50-something neighbor.
Max plays in this neighbor's yard a lot while we're at work... and maybe he got hotboxed in the garage. That's the only explanation I can come up with. Unless he made some hoodlum friends and is being pressured or something. I'm keeping watch for a secret doggy drum circle.
All I know is, our dog's got the munchies and smells like Triple Pl@y records downtown. If he tie-dyes his collar and starts living in a van down by the river, I'm drawing the line.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Totally drained
That's how I feel today.
Survived the funeral. There were full military honors and bagpipes. I don't know what it is about old guys in military uniforms, but they make me think of my grandpa and it makes me bawl.
And about the bagpipes ... I actually like bagpipes, but I've come to associate them with funerals so much that whenever I hear them, I start getting a knot in my chest that makes it hard to swallow.
There's something very raw about the sound of bagpipes, the droning and the whining. And that breath of air that it takes to get them started before the notes start to sound right. It seems appropriate for a funeral, because it sounds like the last rasping breath a person might take as they die.
It was the most genuine funeral I have ever attended. And I was very proud to sit with the family.
I was cleaning out my email inbox today after the funeral and found an email from Brian from last May. It made me cry again. But for once I'm glad that I have, like, 12 pages of old emails I haven't trashed. I'll share the most important part of the email, because I think that all of us need to realize this.
"I am thinking about things that I should think of more often. About people I love and mean the world to me. There are some things in this world that I do very well... and some that I do not. A number of people once were here, and now they are not. And I never told them how I felt about them."
Well, for the record, I'm thinking about this today, too. And I wish that we could all attend our own funerals, like Tom Sawyer. I hope Brian knows how much everyone cared about him and could hear what we all said and thought today.
Survived the funeral. There were full military honors and bagpipes. I don't know what it is about old guys in military uniforms, but they make me think of my grandpa and it makes me bawl.
And about the bagpipes ... I actually like bagpipes, but I've come to associate them with funerals so much that whenever I hear them, I start getting a knot in my chest that makes it hard to swallow.
There's something very raw about the sound of bagpipes, the droning and the whining. And that breath of air that it takes to get them started before the notes start to sound right. It seems appropriate for a funeral, because it sounds like the last rasping breath a person might take as they die.
It was the most genuine funeral I have ever attended. And I was very proud to sit with the family.
I was cleaning out my email inbox today after the funeral and found an email from Brian from last May. It made me cry again. But for once I'm glad that I have, like, 12 pages of old emails I haven't trashed. I'll share the most important part of the email, because I think that all of us need to realize this.
"I am thinking about things that I should think of more often. About people I love and mean the world to me. There are some things in this world that I do very well... and some that I do not. A number of people once were here, and now they are not. And I never told them how I felt about them."
Well, for the record, I'm thinking about this today, too. And I wish that we could all attend our own funerals, like Tom Sawyer. I hope Brian knows how much everyone cared about him and could hear what we all said and thought today.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Why?
I've struggled with posting about this for a long time. Now seems a fitting time, since it's all over.
I have to come up with something to say at my friend's funeral next week.
Yes, my friend died. I think it's the first time I've had someone close to me die who was not a relative.
He was only 44. And I knew this was coming. It was inevitable, with the events of the past two years.
He wasn't himself anymore. As time passed, less and less of the person I loved could surface for a conversation, for a glimpse of the person I became friends with. I knew he was in there, drowning. But it was like he was laying face-down in standing water and he wouldn't even get up to breathe, no matter what the people around him tried to do to help.
I'm trying to think of the good times, the hilarious stories that left my stomach aching and tears streaming from my eyes. I'm trying to remember the way he always had a tidbit of trivia about presidents and Gilligan's Island to share.
And those memories surface like bizarre pieces of a shipwreck floating in the midst of a sea of anger and confusion.
I have to come up with something to say at my friend's funeral next week.
Yes, my friend died. I think it's the first time I've had someone close to me die who was not a relative.
He was only 44. And I knew this was coming. It was inevitable, with the events of the past two years.
He wasn't himself anymore. As time passed, less and less of the person I loved could surface for a conversation, for a glimpse of the person I became friends with. I knew he was in there, drowning. But it was like he was laying face-down in standing water and he wouldn't even get up to breathe, no matter what the people around him tried to do to help.
I'm trying to think of the good times, the hilarious stories that left my stomach aching and tears streaming from my eyes. I'm trying to remember the way he always had a tidbit of trivia about presidents and Gilligan's Island to share.
And those memories surface like bizarre pieces of a shipwreck floating in the midst of a sea of anger and confusion.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
On the road again
I finally have a chance to post a blog from the road!
We're in Denver ... Mikey won two awards and we're here to pick them up.
Every time we're here, I wonder if someday we will make the jump and actually move to a "cit-y" (I'm saying it like Jon Reep here).
Then I think about how GJ is growing and how maybe the cit-y is coming to us, whether we like it or not.
This makes me think of reasons why I would not enjoy living in a congested asphalt jungle. Here are a few off the top of my head:
1. Steam coming from underground. Haven't you ever wondered what the heck all that weird steam is coming from under the manhole covers? I believe it is quite hazardous to my health.
2. Crazy African taxi drivers. 'Nuf said.
3. I can't see the ground. I never think about dirt, but in the cit-y it is located fathoms below the sidewalks and grates and parking meters. This is somewhat disturbing to me for unknown reasons.
4. I can't seem to catch a whiff of anything besides exhaust, exhaled cigarette smoke, fry grease or old-man stench. This is a problem.
Reasons to live in the cit-y
1. Don't have to plan extra 30 minutes to go to grocery store because I run into everyone I know AND their extended family
2. Can shop for lots of things. In person. As in, not online. Instant gratification = good
3. Lots of cultural events that don't involve monster trucks or roping four-legged creatures.
4. Convenient airport that doesn't suck.
5. Wh0le F00ds. Need I say more?
6. When people talk about the "gay bar" in town, it could be more than one place, unlike GJ.
Hmmm......
We're in Denver ... Mikey won two awards and we're here to pick them up.
Every time we're here, I wonder if someday we will make the jump and actually move to a "cit-y" (I'm saying it like Jon Reep here).
Then I think about how GJ is growing and how maybe the cit-y is coming to us, whether we like it or not.
This makes me think of reasons why I would not enjoy living in a congested asphalt jungle. Here are a few off the top of my head:
1. Steam coming from underground. Haven't you ever wondered what the heck all that weird steam is coming from under the manhole covers? I believe it is quite hazardous to my health.
2. Crazy African taxi drivers. 'Nuf said.
3. I can't see the ground. I never think about dirt, but in the cit-y it is located fathoms below the sidewalks and grates and parking meters. This is somewhat disturbing to me for unknown reasons.
4. I can't seem to catch a whiff of anything besides exhaust, exhaled cigarette smoke, fry grease or old-man stench. This is a problem.
Reasons to live in the cit-y
1. Don't have to plan extra 30 minutes to go to grocery store because I run into everyone I know AND their extended family
2. Can shop for lots of things. In person. As in, not online. Instant gratification = good
3. Lots of cultural events that don't involve monster trucks or roping four-legged creatures.
4. Convenient airport that doesn't suck.
5. Wh0le F00ds. Need I say more?
6. When people talk about the "gay bar" in town, it could be more than one place, unlike GJ.
Hmmm......
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