Call it a Social Experiment

We dog sat this weekend, for just a couple of hours.

My wife's parents were journeying north to drop off her sister at College.  Yes, summer's over.

Anyway, the dog:

He's cute... and quiet.  Thankfully quiet.  And really sleepy.  All the time.  He snores like my dad.

Anyway, the dog, we want a dog, no question about that.

But it was so damned interesting, how the dog just integrated himself into our lives:

He came in, took a quick tour of the house and hopped in to bed and took a nap (it was 7 am or so).

No fighting, no fussing, no barking, no peeing... nothing.

"This is my new life, now, I guess.  At least they don't own a kennel.  Oh well...  I'm sleepy."  At least, that's what I imagine the thought process is.

The dog my parents owned, Rocky (creative, innit), he was cute, too.  But a brat.

And if you ever took him anywhere that he thought might be his new permanent home, there was barking... and biting and pissing all over the place.

And he'd do that for a week and a half, before he'd finally succumb to the inevitable.

But here's this dog.

Fucking Ghandi. 

Really? REALLY?

There are limitations to polite conversation.  Especially during that awkward silence when we're waiting for your unbearably and inexplicably slow computer system to pull up the information I've request.

You're a nice enough guy, really.  But I don't think you should be telling people that you're a reformed drug addict.  Good for you, though.  Really.  But you're 32 years old, and I know more about your life than I know about my brother's.  I don't need to know that you're straightening yourself out.  Or that you got your G.E.D. at 29.  

Especially not if you work for the company that runs our security systems.  

Especially not if your company has done a good job of screwing the pooch on synchronizing the database.

Especially if that's going to create 3 hours of worthless work for me.

Snatch back your brain

When I was younger (I start a lot of posts that way, don't I?),  I used to keep a notebook by the side of my bed.

At this young age, I still believed in the magic of poetry and that just writing made you accomplished.  At that point, you believe you can be anything, not because you've been told, but because you still imagine.  You imagine you'd be anything.

At this point?  A poet/songwriter (at the height of goth rock, they were one in the same).

Round about midnight, maybe later, something... well I'd describe it then as electrifying, but now it seems more... tepid.  Like water.  Water you're going to submerge yeast in before you'd bake bread.

It was the base of something more... something consumable... but before... it was just tepid water.

The next day, whilst I was supposed to be studying and "finding myself" at high school, I'd formulate a poem from those bits and pieces... or sometimes, you could let it stand alone.  It's poetry, you can get away with that shit.

Jewel did.

That's the dream.

You play like you want someone to read it and identify that segment of themselves in your work, but really, you just want money and fame.

Someone to buy thousands of copies in your books and treasure them for two days until they realize that you're full of it.  And you got their money.  Then they'll sell it on Amazon for a penny plus shipping.  That's what it was worth to them.  A penny and shipping.

It stopped for a while.  Years in fact.  It was like sleeping and not dreaming.  

A lack of inspiration.

And yet, last night.  It happened again.  But it was different this time.

It was music.  A song I'd never heard before.  A choral piece, I think, but I'm not sure.   I don't remember.

I didn't have a fucking music staff to write on.  

...Not that I would have been able to...

Time is Ironic

I have a thought for you today:

We invented time as a reason to say "you should be better than you are."

Discuss.

Jeremy Struck a Chord with Me Today - Middle School Minor

His post, eerily echos a current read.  Not that you'd want to relive your own middle school days, but it's worth the read, if only to revel in the reflected pain of your childhood.  From someone else's less balanced and hopefully more pathetic perspective.

Enjoy your girlfriend.  Are you going to bring her to the ice cream social?

Hold hands?  Go to a Sock Hop?