Wednesday, September 26, 2007

wag the cheese

i want to take Sam Beam home with me and nuzzle both sides of his brain. that mountain man chin of his might get in the way, but i think we can get past it. as previously stated, i'm irrationally in love with the Shepherd's Dog, save one or two songs that don't quite hit the mark. he could probably write a ballad about marshmallows, and i would be tempted to string a few from my rear view mirror.

okay, i'm back.

every now and then, usually when i'm feeling exceptionally sorry for myself, i get reminded of how much there is to appreciate in life right now. even as i write this i'm having a hard time buying my own lines, but i'll type the hype and maybe some of it will sink in. i work part time in a pediatric clinical research environment. for me, this doesn't mean much more than paper shuffling, but every now and then i get a shot of perspective. while walking from my office over to the children's hospital yesterday, i spotted an expectant golden retriever being led into the main entrance. my first thought was of course "seeing eye dog" but a quick inspection of his(?) handler made me realize that this was a different sort of working dog. his duties (ha. duties.) are singular in nature: spread cheer by way of slobbery swipes of the tongue and unconditional tail wagging.

steel yourself for the cheesy resolution: i was instantly jealous that this dog wasn't bound for my affection (i'm secretly pining for a dog but it will have to wait) and then i realized that the hospital is filled with children who haven't laughed in days because they can't see any humor past the tubes in their noses. i have no idea how canine visits work, but i'd like to think that somewhere in that hospital there's a kid waking up right now thinking about the wet nose that pushed its way into his/her hand yesterday.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

dog breath

something short to prolong the data entry that's sitting at my elbow...

this picture is from a street in downtown philadelphia somewhere between the visitor center and the edgar allen poe museum. the house, one of several that poe lived in during his phillie residence, is interesting enough, but not something i'd go too far out of my way for (again). the tour guide was well versed in restoration timelines and poe's brief stint in the house, but i had a hard time concentrating because he seemed to be creepily fascinated by one of the young girls in the group.

but wait, i had no intention of mentioning lecherous irishmen.

what i really mean to say is: buy the new Iron & Wine album.

Saturday, September 22, 2007

special delivery

My monthly Sun magazine was hand delivered to the front stoop with the following note attached:

"J**, hey --

Your copy of The Sun has been traveling around Atlanta, first coupled with mine for some reason & delivered to my home address [***] where I'm renovating, & then forwarded to [***] where I'm staying until the work on my house is done. But since I'd be forlorn without my monthly copy, I'm driving this back down to you --

(Pastor, Emory *** Church)"

Having my own personal magazine Samaritan was confusing (I reread the note 3 times) and heartening. There's no logical explanation for my copy of The Sun being delivered to this woman. Our addresses bear no resemblance. Our names don't even begin with the same letter. Having just finished Eat, Pray, Love, I was immediately struck with thoughts of signs and omens. Am I supposed to seek out spiritual advice from this woman? Is my magazine saga the beginning of a cosmic journey into higher levels of consciousness?

or is it really just another botch job care of the Atlanta Postal Service?

Thursday, September 20, 2007

bobbing for acorns

it's only fitting that my last post has a picture of me wiped out, whereas this post should have a picture of me squinting at the computer with a fat cat perched on the arm of the sofa (if anyone was awake to capture the moment). wait, that's not quite right. a fat cat spilling over the arm of the sofa would be a more accurate description. either way, i can't sleep and neither can the squirrels inhabiting the "upstairs." they must have tapped into their winter stores because the ceiling is creaking like there's a family of walruses up there instead of a few slap happy nut-stashers. the upshot is i've caught up on my flickr maintenance (2 new sets from the latest beach trip). the downward spiral is looking like a mole carrying enough baggage to fly to Texas tomorrow morning.

perhaps i could just bike to Texas on my new set of wheels... after i get a new bike seat that is, because today's ride to the Emory pool was a tad bit uncomfortable in places that require more comfort.

[insomnia = scattered train of thought]

in the last month of highway driving, i've seen 2 pig trucks, one chicken truck, and a dead cow chained to a flatbed. both pig trucks were spotted somewhere in the middle of south carolina on I-20, which brings me to another point about the palmetto state: there's no water in the soda fountains at gas stations. there are thirsty cheapskates in this world that just want to drink free water as they're forced to watch innocent animals being carted off to their deaths. the strangest and somehow least disturbing sight (probably because of its oddity) was watching the limbs of the dead cow bob up and down as the tow truck exited the highway (somewhere in NC).

smart move to talk about dead animal stories when you can't sleep. i think that's my cue to move on to plan B:

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

bike a la mode

this is what i look like after doing 7 massages in 2 days. what's that you say? there's a hairy goiter on my rear? no, no, that's just the fat one reigning supreme in my time of weakness.

i'm reading "Eat, Pray, Love" (along with 300,000 of my closest friends) and have just stumbled upon something that i want to tattoo on my forehead: monkey mind. it's pretty self-explanatory, but i'll give you the gist in case you happen to be one of 7 people not reading this book (i feel like such a fad book monger). basically "monkey mind" means your thoughts jump about as if swinging from rope to rope resulting in never quite being present in your own experience. take it one step further by applying it to emotions and you have that warm and fuzzy bipolar teddy bear that you can nuzzle on the bathroom floor at 3am.

what i'm trying to say is, i haven't been posting regularly because i'm too busy chasing my own tail and no one needs to read about that (unless it's written in a new york times bestseller).

as always, i shall now buffer the misery with something exciting. what you are about to see is my newest mode of transportation. it will be arriving on friday, when i'm somewhere in the dead of north carolina en route to my mom's for the weekend.

Thursday, September 6, 2007

infield fly rule

i keep flitting through other people's blogs (anonymously stalking many individuals) and getting impatient with the ones that haven't been updated since my last obsessive round of clicks. a bit hypocritical of me since i haven't done any writing of my own in almost a week. so here you are my one true reader, here's something new to read:

the family weekend was a success. 2 brunches, 3 over priced beers, 1 foot long hot dog, and a trip to Alon's Bakery. the seats at the Braves Game were incredible: 3rd base side in the shade, halfway between 3rd base and the left field foul pole. sadly the Braves flubbed the game (the end felt near when the mets hit 2 home runs in one inning), but we had a good time people watching. as it turns out, baseball isn't america's past time. eating is the true epicenter of all things american. fearing ejection from the ballpark, we did our part to blend in with the natives. we left a respectable pile of peanut shells, hot dog wrappers and empty beer cups in our wake as we filed out of the stands (because the 3rd most exciting thing to do at a baseball game, after eating and taunting the pitcher, is litter).

unworthy movie of the week: Small Time Crooks. we finally fast forwarded through the second half of woody allen's stuttering and arm waving to a very predictable ending. oy.

library books currently sitting in a pile next to me: several short story collections from Robert Walser and Michael Chabon's "Yiddish Policeman's Union" and "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay".

now if i can only stay awake long enough to read...