Nobody Knows What It's Like To Be The Bad Man...

It takes a lot of courage sometimes to do the right thing even if, in your heart, the task at hand is the toughest thing that you have ever had to do. Take, for example, the breaking of another's heart...

If You Believe, They Put A Man On The Moon...

When I go to the moon, I will bring with me the following items:

1) A spacesuit - Duh.
2) A six pack of tacos - Well, a guy's got to eat.
3) All those quarters paid to me by every person who told me that going to the moon was the worst fucking idea ever.
4) A twelve pack of Miller High Life - I guess because I'm on the moon and therefore high. On life. Um, really.
5) Every master copy and recording of the song "Hurdy Gurdy Man" by Donovan because I hate it so very, very much. For no real good reason, just because that song must be buried deep beneath the moon's crust.
6) A pickaxe and a shovel - so I can mine for riches, or to hide the bodies.
7) A pogo stick - so I can jump into space with one mighty hop of pogo-enhanced strongness.
8) A rock with a very long rope - so I can climb back down after pogoing back into space.
9) A 1980 Buick Century - just because it'd be badass to drive an old clunker on the moon.
10) A better list - because this one is beyond reaching for something to blog about.

Been Down So Goddamned Long...

Ya know, for a state that prides itself on its hospitality, there sure are a lot of assholes here...

I totally got birded by a seventy two year old grandmother today. Perhaps it is just the fact that I've never personally witnessed a seventy two year old grandmother giving anyone the finger, let alone myself, but I admit that I was quite unsettled.

You picture your sweet ol' granny. Now picture her scrunching her face in a look of utter vicious contempt as her gnarled middle finger slowly raises to its zenith.

Lovely picture, eh?

All I knew was that someone's Meemaw needed a time out. The very idea, Grandma flipping the bird at someone. Being vulgar is a pastime for young people, not the sport of our Elders, right?

Then again, vulgarity seems to crowd itself around major thoroughfares in Austin. I swear, this town is becoming more and more like that cess pool Houston every day. Half the asshole drivers in this town have one hand typically on the horn while the other is outstretched flying the flag of the Highway Badass. It's rather odd because Austin is one of those towns that is besieged by those of a more hippie laid back lifestyle, so it's damned weird to see a "peace and love" granola eater blaring his or her horn and yelling "get out of the way, you @#%$@#$^%!"

As a rule, I generally abstain from such displays of fury. There really isn't a point to getting pissed off for one, and two, you never know if that middle finger is loaded or not.

Nor do you know where that middle finger has been... Frightening thought, neh?

Not back on it, Joe, still on it.

Almost six years ago, I met Katy in a parking lot in front of a Houston Petsmart.

I was working in Houston for the summer and just happened to pass by on the way back from lunch. Not sure what possessed me, but I stopped to look at the puppies that were playing and sleeping behind temporary chicken-wired fences beneath a shady oak.

There were three different fences, each containing a group of puppies sorted by breed. The first group were beagles and since I had grown up with a beagle-type dog as a child, I spent a goodly amount of time playing with them before I even looked at the other breeds.

I had wanted a dog of my own for quite a while, especially now that I had my own place and the beloved beagle mix that I had grown up with really belonged to my folks and one of my brothers. I have to admit, I was rather biased towards the familiar.

Then, my eye caught the glance of one of the puppies in the adjoining pens. The puppy laid there, head on its paws, with an expression that practically screamed, "when are you going to come play with me?!?"

I regarded the puppy for a few moments. It had the sweetest brown eyes that contained a glint that said, "I'm a little mischievious, but I swear to God that I'll love you more than the air that fills my little puppy lungs."

I stood up and its eyes seemed to follow me as I approached its pen. I am reminded of Anne McCaffrey's concept of Impression, where you look into the eyes of of the freshly hatched dragon and you are paired for life, except that the 'dragon' I was staring at was a baby female Golden Retriever.

I picked her up and began to scratch her behind the ears. The puppy closed her eyes and leaned into my hand, almost cherishing each stroke. I sat down beneath the tree and began to pet her and say various things that people seem to say to puppies or kittens that they deem adorable.

She yawned sleepily and began to curl up into my lap. The breeder noticed that this puppy seemed to have taken quite the shine to me and smiled. "I think she's found herself a friend," she chuckled knowingly.

"I wish," I replied, "I don't know if my apartment will allow big dogs or not."

The breeder considered this for a moment before asking, "Well, when's your lease up?"

"Three months," I mumbled as the puppy closed her eyes and yawned again. I couldn't decide if this cuteness was something that the breeder had taught her puppies, or if the particular one I was holding was using her little puppy wiles on me just because I'm a sucker for things cute and adorable.

"Well, I suppose there are other places that would be more big dog friendly, huh?" the breeder grinned. She could tell that I was going to have a hard time letting this one go.

I thought about my situation for a moment. The place I was living in at the time was indeed a hovel and not really the type of place that I imagined living in beyond my lease. A temporary stop between Points A & B, I suppose.

But a Golden?

Those cute puppies grow up to become cute biggie-sized dogs. How could I possibly think that I could manage a big dog? In an apartment?

"Well, I could get off my lazy ass more and go for walks," I chastised myself as I regarded my slowly expanding waistline, "A Golden would be good for getting me out of the house..."

Just then, the puppy put the icing on the cake as she burrowed deeper into my stomach and gave this little sigh. That sigh wasn't just one of content, it was one that said, "Can we go now, Dad?"

Awwww, damnit...

I became the proud owner of Katy, who quickly became my best four-legged friend. While we may not always see eye to eye on matters of behaviour and whom exactly that steak on the counter belongs to, I wouldn't trade my Golden pal for anything.

We've been together through some tough times, some good times, and a lot of times either playing in the water, playing fetch for hours at a time or just falling asleep watching TV.

While I've been through some personal crises of past years, she's been there to see me through. If the loyalty of a dog counts for something, then mine deserves a metric tonne o' cash.

We've been through a lot together and have moved to different places over the years. As we prepare to move again, I'm glad that she's with me. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Fearless

You say the hill’s too steep to climb
Climbing.
You say you’d like to see me try
Climbing.

You pick the place and I’ll choose the time
And I’ll climb
The hill in my own way.
Just wait a while for the right day.
And as I rise above the tree-line and the clouds
I look down, hearing the sound of the things you’ve said today.

-Pink Floyd, Fearless

Just a little thought for the day about overcoming adversity.

There are times when the task ahead seems overwhelming. Times when your enemies close in for the kill.

And there are times when it's just time to run out to the 7-11 and grab a Slurpee.

Either way, you can set out to do great things and if you try hard enough and are successful, you can tell your enemies to suck it. For if there is anything more rewarding in life than throwing a hard-earned victory into the face of your opponent, I'd like to know.

Good sportsmanship, my ass. Tell me, was it sportsmanlike for that lady in the H2 to yell "Hey, fucknut, it WAS MY TURN, YOU ASSHOLE," at me when she clearly had a stop sign and I did not?

True story. Happened to me today as I pulled into a Wal-Mart parking lot, no less. Some people have some anger management issues, or was it the fact that there are people on this Earth who derive such pleasure by inflicting misery upon others?

Perish the thought.

I have no idea why some people are just wired to fly off the handle like that, but it's scary as hell. But what can one do? Yell, "Hey, lady, look at the signs a little closer next time!"? Seriously? No, way, she's probably packing heat.

You bet your fur that people who drive H2's and feel the need to hurl random colorful metaphors at innocent civilians are packing a 12 guage at the very least. I'm only hoping that she also had some medicine in there to calm her down, because lord knows that stoned-mellow drivers are tons better than raging psycho drivers. At least on paper.

Anyway, you have to take the nutty with the sweet sometimes, but that doesn't mean that you have to put up with it. Nope, eventually they'll get theirs. Hooyeah!

Eventually.