Raindrops Keep Falling On My Dog

My dog doesn't like to do her "business" in the rain. It's not that she minds getting wet. No, she would stand there in the rain and get soaked to the bone and not flinch. There is something else going on. When it is raining, even just a light sprinkle, she will just stand there and stare off into the distance. She is mesmerized by the sound or something. I just don't get it. You can lead her to her favorite spot in the yard and she still will not pee. We always end up coming back in the house soaked having not done anything. If it rains for several days in a row, she will hold it. It's truly infuriating and amazing at the same time.

It's basic biology. You have to do that stuff. Regardless of being a dog, human, or three toed sloth, you have to do what you have to do. It's what makes us all equal. Movie star, dope, astronaut, Pope. Christian, Jew, Taoist, it doesn't matter. Everybody has to drop trou every now and then.

Except my dog. She's some kind of super being. All Hail Piper!

One diet Cuba Libra please

One of the things I wanted to do with this blog is share some of the strange dreams I have. I mean why should I be the only one to suffer through these nightly freak shows. I should spread my psychoses with the rest of you . And, maybe, you will start to get an idea of why I am the way I am.

This being said, the topic of this entry is the dream I had last night. Now it is very mild compared to some of the visions I've had. I don't want to scare you too bad right off the bat. I won't shove you into the deep end of my parasomnistic pool. I can barely tread those waters myself.

DREAM #1
I am at the home in which I grew up. A quaint little house in a tiny mountain town. My family is there. We have just had dinner and my Dad is in the kitchen doing the dishes with help from our guest: the late Cuban sonero Ibrahim Ferrer. They are talking about nothing in particular while Dad washes and Don Ferrer is drying. (note: I use the latino term of respect "Don" to refer to Senor Ferrer, but my Dad's given name is also Don.) I am in my bedroom trying to get it ready for Senor Ferrer who will be sleeping there. I will be on the couch in the living room. There is a problem though. Senor Ferrer can't sleep without a pink nightlight in the room. And our nightlight has a blown bulb. My Mom is near panic and I am worried the mini mart, the only store open at this hour in our small town, will not have a replacement bulb.
Then I woke up.

Make of these dreams what you will. I have long ago stopped trying to decipher them. It would may me even more insane.

Almost...but not quite.

This weekend was strange. I had a few things I wanted to get done. Then it decided it was gonna rain, so I had to put some of them off. But then it didn't rain. So I did the things anyway. I thought I had it all done correctly but then something went wrong.

The rain caused other problems I still haven't fixed. And the stuff I did do made me sore and when you add to that the rain making my sinus's hurt, well, I had to stay home from work today. And didn't get anything done.

So, the whole point of all this boils down to this: I really wanted to take my Fiero for a trip around the block. That's not so much. Just a couple of minutes out on the "open" road. But it didn't happen. Oh, well, maybe soon.

I think it's time to write a song.

Thursday

"It must be Thursday. I've never gotten the hang of Thursdays." - Arthur Dent

Very well spoken Mr. Dent Arthur Dent. I feel the same way. Thursday has always been that odd day that is not quite Friday but much closer than Wednesday. Most days have a definite purpose. Mondays suck. Wednesdays are hump day. Friday is what everyone looks forward too. And the weekends are just great. But Tuesday and Thursday, well, they are just sort of there. I guess Tuesday is the worst. At least on a Thursday you are close enough to the weekend that you can have a glimmer of hope. It's not Friday but you can see it just over there.

I went to see the movie MOON last night. I highly recommend it.

Mowing

I've said it before and I'll say it again: as long as there are teenagers in the world a gown man should never have to mow his own yard. Why else do people have kids anyway if not to provide them with cheap labor. And if you don't have a teenager of your own you can rent one from a neighbor. Just be careful asking to borrow some guy's 16 year old daughter. This plan works better when it kid is a male but even then you should be careful how you word the request. Still about 20 bucks a week (and a cheap nudie magazine will get you a month's worth of service) is a small price to pay to not have to fight the ever losing battle of yard work.

Most of you who know me well are already acquainted with how I feel about being outdoors. I'm sure to devote an entire rant to that subject someday but for now just know I am not a fan of nature. If the gods had wanted man to live out side then caves would not been invented. So the whole idea of spending hours keeping my lawn immaculate is ridiculous. I mow when I have to but that is it. To me the yard is just someplace for the dog to poop. It's not a showpiece or a garden spot. It is a toilet.

On a more happy note, I got all the new brakes for my Fiero. So I can finally start putting those on this weekend and maybe even drive it around the block. I'm happy.

A night in the Kingsbury Run

In the mid 1930's there was a series of murders in Cleveland, Ohio. Most of the bodies were discovered in an area known as the Kingsbury Run. It was a terrible place, befitting the terrible things that happened there. The killer was never caught and due to the nasty things he did to his victims he was nicknamed "The Torso Killer".

Despite the dark subject that inspired the title of this blog. I'll try not to make my entries too dreary. But I can't promise anything.

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