It's good to be a kid again

We had a hard time keeping the really tall kid in the striped shirt out of the sandpit.



After a while, we just stopped trying. After all, it was a winter afternoon, the sun was shining, and we didn't have a care in the world.



Visit Steve. That big kid can shoot a cactus.

The Word (smithers)

A friend of mine recently posted an article about the possible mental health benefits of psilocybin mushrooms. Some scientists believe the chemical compound found in the fungus can reverse certain types of depression. So we had a brief exchange as to whether the mushroom wouldn’t make one vomit profusely, actually intensifying whatever sense of depression one was feeling at the time.

I’m not saying my question sprang from any personal experience, or that her answer did either. After all, either one of us might want to work for Rite-Aid or run for president someday.

Then again, judging from our last two or three presidents, it appears one can admit to a couple of drugs on the resume. If memory serves, these drugs would be cocaine and marijuana. But the language of the admission is vitally important. For example, a candidate would never say he had taken a few bong hits in his time or snorted nose candy. No, they have to say they once, “experimented” with drugs. Because this brings to mind a scholarly and clinical environment, where the inhaler is surrounded by people in lab coats carrying test tubes, rather than a roomful of undergrads in ripped denim shorts waving a straw from MacDonald’s.

Which then led me to think of an easy way some people could dress up a few things on their resume. They could say they experimented with shop-lifting, for example, or experimented with breaking and entering. Newt experimented with whatever the male equivalent is to nymphomania. He also tried monogamy, several times, but each of those experiments proved unsuccessful.

In any case, the admission always has to end with an apology and a word from our lord. God is the vital ingredient. The whole thing has to wind up with God and God’s forgiveness. So far, God has been unavailable for comments.

A Very short dog tale

When my dad died, I left a guy, bought a house, and got a boxer.

My very first dog was a boxer, when I was a kid of maybe 4 or 5. At that age, I had a lot of time to myself. Can’t say how much exactly, but in retrospect, I expect pretty much. I remember dialing the number of neighbors we once knew in far off towns and states.

“Hi!” I’d say.

“Why, my goodness, is this Karin?” they’d answer.

I would call the operator from time to time. He or she was always nice, and I’d ask if they had ever seen a boxer with pink nose. Our boxer had a pink nose. One operator in particular that I remember answered, “Well, no I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dog with a pink nose. Where’s your mom. Can I talk to her about your boxer?”

I don’t know how long this operator and I discussed boxers and pink noses, but I do recall it was a very satisfying conversation.

My boxer’s name was Box. Likely I was to blame for that, but can’t say for sure. I do remember his dog house, which was a perfect replica of our house, same colors, design, trim and everything. My dad built it. It had a mud room, and a main room, with a rubber flap in front that you could push up on to its roof.

When there was rain and lightening, and this was Seattle so probably almost all the time, Box and I would sit side-by-side in the main room, my arm around his shoulder, and it seems his was around mine – but that’s not physically possible, is it? In any case, we watched the weather together.

And sometimes, when the wind would change – south to north, we’d get drops of water on our face. And I’d lick his face and he’d lick mine. Is that gross? It didn’t seem so at the time. It doesn’t seem so now.

When my parents brought home a new baby, another family came to take my dog away. They arrived in a station wagon, and it took some work, getting Box in the car and keeping me out. But much as we struggled, Box and I, we knew this wouldn't turn out well, that ultimately, we had no real say in the matter. Finally, there he was, locked inside, leaping from back to front and side to side. They drove him away and we never saw each other again.

Many years later, and actually many dogs later, I got another boxer. Sometimes Phoebe and I would sit on the front porch when it rained, and we’d watch the weather. I’d have my arm around her shoulder. And she had her arm around me. Or so it seemed.

There's a perfectly wonderful boxer who needs a home, and Petrea at Pasadena Daily Photo and I hope to guide as many eyes in his direction as possible.

So visit Patch to meet Vinnie, a dog who is practically perfect in all possible ways.

Big cocks and other birds at the Arboretum

While the glamour boys copped some rays


The young guns spread their pin feathers. "Hey baby, come back to my place? I've got a wine cooler with your name on it."


"Please baby, please baby, please baby."


"Are you a model? You look like a model. A super model. I've got the keys to my brother's car and my parents are out of town."







It was a beautiful day, but I don't think our little cock got lucky.

As the crow flies

They're enthusiastic, intelligent, and socially evolved. They’re also loud, messy, and opportunistic.

They’re crows.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been seeing more and more crows around Altadena over the past couple of years. Some mornings my camphor tree plays host to 50 crows -- that is, if they can win the daily battle against the parrots for squatting rights. The parrots can out scream them, but my money is usually on the crows. They seem better organized and more patient. One particularly successful tactic is the stealth attack, which startles the parrots into a state of orgiastic hysteria.

Ordinarily I welcome birds to my yard; the more the merrier, but I always had a thing against crows, maybe from living in the Midwest. But the more I learn, the better I like them.

Crows are all over Altadena, but then, they’re all over everywhere, and can claim relations in every continent except Antarctica.

They believe in close knit families. You might say they take family values to extreme – perhaps absurd -- lengths. The kids are spoiled, coddled, and remain emotionally immature for quite some time; apparently many will hang around the house sponging off the parents until well into middle age. The parents don’t seem to mind,
More on Patch

Overheard, while walking the dog

"Jessica!"
"What?"
"Are you still on the phone?"
"No!"
"I thought you were going to help me plant the lettuce!"
"I am!"
"Well then, get out here!"
"Okay!"

...

"Jessica!"
"What?"
"Are you still on the phone?
"No!"
"Don't lie to me -- are you on the phone or not?"
"I'm almost not!"

Drug of Choice

Internet addiction causes changes in the brain similar to that normally seen in people addicted to alcohol and drugs such as cocaine and cannabis.

Sufferers have a hard time reining in their use of the Web, and typically spend unhealthy amounts of time online, to the point that it impairs their work or family life. Denied access to computers, Web addicts may experience withdrawal symptoms

-- CTV News, Discovery, and Fox News

I find this news so distressing, I immediately google “Internet Addiction." There are 40,000 entries, including a link to Wikipedia, where, I'm sorry to say, the data looks pretty darned solid. But I like to do my own due-diligence. I cross-check with NYTimes.com, Economist.com, and a guy who blogs from his basement in Omaha. The last vehemently disputes the findings of the other two. He suggests the truth is buried somewhere in Obama's birth records, easily accessible if we all don helmets covered in copious amounts of aluminum foil.

Continuing with the research, I post “Do you have an internet addiction?” to my Facebook Friends. I’m working through the 30,214 replies. The jury’s still out, but most of them say “no.” What a relief.

Except, I suddenly notice, among my Friends there are only 10 names I recognize, and I played dodgeball with half of them.

Now I’m on Amazon, looking up Cannabis. All things being equal, I figure I'll choose my own addiction. I’ve found 50 dealers -- 16 new, 28 used, and 3 collectable. At first glance, Amazon is more expensive, but they promise next day delivery. Plus, the second-hand markets sneak in lots of shipping and handling costs.

What’s a body to do? Thank god for Yelp.