A volunteer from Invisible Children called me yesterday as a follow-up to see if I enjoyed the Displace Me event back in April. I gave her my honest opinion, as they are planning next year's event and want to improve. I basically said that I had really high hopes for the event, which were then dashed for several reasons. She asked me to elaborate, so I did. I ended up telling her the following:

1. Publish a schedule of events ahead of time. This year they kept the schedule under wraps and kept saying how we'd be in awe if we were "surprised." I saw no point to the secrecy of the schedule once I got there. I was expecting U2 or something to show up. I got there at 3 PM as directed and found out that 3 PM - 7 PM was when people were supposed to be "setting up." This meant I spent about 20 minutes putting up my cardboard hut, ten minutes laying down with my head next to my "window" dying of heat stroke, and ten minutes wandering around looking at other people's campsites. Had I known the thing didn't kick off until seven, I would have gotten there at 6:45.

2. The water/food collection and subsequent distribution was pointless and poorly planned. Not only was I miserable, but then I had to find a boy to bring me water. Boys had to have girls bring them crackers. It was basically mayhem and unless you went in a big group (which most people did except for MeanRachel), it was impossible to get any food or water.

3. The entire event was allowed to be too cliquey. When I told the girl this and she goes "Thank you for your honesty." I think she was surprised by my suggestions. I told her that I expected more individuals there and when I realized that everyone was camping in huge groups, I felt like an outsider. I told her that in an actual displacement camp, I doubt anyone one is rolling up with their buddies from school or church and living next to each other. I'm sure people are scattered about and forced to assimilate with their new neighbors. I told her they should do more team building exercises as a group, because one of my favorite parts was when the entire group of people were doing the filming for the video. I told her they should brainstorm on some more ways for the entire group to work as one.

"Peace is not just the absence of armed conflict. It is a world in which basic needs of the majority of the planet are met." - Jody Williams, Nobel Peace Prize Winner

Since I am on a hiatus from the boot, I decided to let M drag me swimming with her and her coworker this afternoon. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be - mainly because we didn't go to some yuppiefied pool. No, we headed over to East Austin and it was great. There were only one or two other people swimming laps. Aside from swimming laps (if you can consider me splashing about in a zig-zag line while getting water down my ears "swimming laps"), we also jumped off the diving board once. I hadn't done that probably in about 10 years. Man, diving into water doesn't hit you the same way as it does when you were thirteen, does it? Rather than feeling like a knife cutting through butter, I felt more like a spork slamming into a pineapple.

I think I'm getting old.

I suggest you come to Austin, if you have half a brain.
It's been raining for two months, from Round Rock to Oak Hill
If precipitation is your drug, come and get you a pill.

Last night was good times. Somehow we managed to (sort of) accomplish everything we wanted to do: we wanted to start the night at 219 West at their late happy hour, go to Prague to check out the rumored stripper pole (which immediately improves any photo op, and by "improves" I mean "discredits") and "stay in Grownupland," according to my older, wiser roommate M. Grownupland is what we call 4th & 5th Street, since they're not a full out frat-fest like 6th is. The problem is that the IC is not in Grownupland, so I sometimes venture back to the land of youth.

We got to 219 at about 8 PM. 219, which you may recall from skirt night back in early June, has one of our new favorite bartenders named Duck. It's essential that functioning alcoholics have a large network of bartenders, including one named Duck. In June he made us this amazing champagne and grapefruit juice mimosa which he named "Duck Love." So we decided to see what other drinks Duck had up his sleeve. He made M some sort of raspberry martini using gin that was actually incredible, and I hate martinis. And for having gin in it, it didn't taste like my grandmother, so I was impressed with that too. I enjoyed my new drink of choice, the greyhound, which Chrisy got me started on. It's basically vodka and grapefruit juice but you can get it with a splash of soda for a little extra kick. Duck made mine last night with Absolut Ruby, which was even better because the vodka made it just a bit sweeter.

Okay I just dedicated about 500 words to talking about drinks, so I'll stop myself there. While we were at 219 we met a nice man who knew a ton about wine and let us try one of the pinot noirs he was drinking made by Acacia. It was actually really good and he pointed out it smelled like lavender, which it did.

Then some random guy wandered up to us and I promoted MR.COM to him and promised I'd put this picture up with a witty caption.


The night was a success. I managed to be a productive citizen of the world today, too. Perhaps Grownupland isn't so bad after all. Maybe people with essential hypertension belong there.

But the glory of the IC is that you can always go back in time with a song.

"What the heck happened last night?"

An entry is forthcoming.

But when you carry around shrink-wrapped bags of sugarcane all night, you know it's going to get a little OOC.*



And now, after my Funk Fest morning (er, afternoon rather) and watching Uncle Bruno play (they rocked it), I am going to do my most favorite activity: the late afternoon nap.

*OOC=Out Of Control

Gingy (in reference to some girl doing a sort of Cotton Eye Joe/bootieshakin' fusion dance): Uh oh. Someone took hip hop lessons.
Summer (in reference to the dude staring at us while we danced): This is usually when I turn around and say "Are you eyeballing my girlfriend?"
John (neighbor across the hall who is also a bartender at Brown Bar who we ran into on our way up the stairs tonight): You have the most awesome cat in the world, I'd love to kidnap her.
M (in reference to all of our neighbors loving Chubby Charles): It is sort of odd that all our neighbors are obsessed with her. But she is a classic looking cat.

Peace! Good luck tomorrow, worker bees (and by worker bees, I mean "me.").

I'm calling it. This girl (Colbie Caillat) is going to be a big deal.

Stroke of genius while driving in the rain to work today:

I should try to get onto MTV's MADE with the goal of becoming a piano bar pianist.

Thoughts?

I got this emailed to me by AustinFit magazine...and actually found it pretty fascinating. The picture above is a generated image of what the Austin skyline will look like sometime around 2010, based off of the plans for the twelve new buildings under construction.
For comparison, the picture below seems to be a fairly recent shot of the current skyline (albeit taken from the west side of the Lamar & Congress Avenue bridges rather than the east).


What's really incredible is how the Frost Tower (the big white diamond-shaped one, to the non-Austinites reading this) dominates the skyline right now. I still haven't gotten used to the Frost Tower's appearance on the Austin scene and it seems like it's been well over five years since it was lit up. The future skyline dwarfs the Frost Tower, and makes the electric blue building look like tiny! Onwards and upwards, I suppose, since the days of Babylon

Most of the new additions to the Austin skyline will be condos and lofts, which I know every twentysomething like myself is hoping will saturate our market with downtown condos when they all open in 2009/10 and suddenly they'll be incredibly cheap. But for as many people as I see moving here, I don't know if that's how it will actually happen.

Anyway, I spent a long time poking around on the website for the Future Austin Skyline, which has an interactive javascript version of the skyline where you can click on the buildings to learn more about each one and when it will be open. You can even order a Future Austin Skyline poster (seems a bit premature to have framed on your office wall, don't you think?). Weirdos from Austin might want to check it out by going here.

*Note: This was not staged. This is just the incredible edible Harry.

Little too busy. I guess this is supposed to be a good thing.

Do I seem tense to you?

If you miss me...check out BlogConQueso. I'm satellite posting over there as well.

Dear Sun,

Thank you for coming back out, on a weekend no less.
I missed you. I'm thankful the apocalypse is not here just yet.

Feel free to stick around, maybe even until next weekend.

Respectfully,
mr

No, no, this isn't a post about Harry the dog. Rather, I have noticed lately that most of the blogs I read [ed. note: Google Reader is the most wonderful thing since mood/status RSS feeds on Myspace] are all talking about the newest Harry Potter book.
This is an issue for me, because I don't read Harry Potter and never have. There are several reasons for this:

1. I don't enjoy the sci-fi/fantasy genre. Fiction is a big enough stretch for me without talking snakes and flying goblins.
2. I hate bandwagons (case in point: ACL Fest-although I would love to see The Killers show, Lord of the Rings, Titanic, Amy Winehouse).

Seeing as HP falls into both of those categories, I have managed to avoid reading any of them. I think I saw part of the first movie when I was in San Diego and I watched it with the girl I lived with. But other than that, I just don't have a taste for the phenom. As my Great Aunt Sylvia would say, in her New Zealand accent, "not my culture."

When my sister and I were young -- probably younger than the demographic they were aimed at -- we read Baby Sitter's Club books at the same rate with which we ate ice cream sandwiches. I only started reading them because my sister did. Those of you who never read them need to know the set up -- a gaggle of eighth-grade girls started a "club" of baby sitters, where they would hold meetings (way too organized meetings) and deal with their dramas at home and at school. Every chapter surrounded one of the girls, whether it was Claudia the Asian dyslexic who loved junk food and played the role of the treasurer, or Kristy, the type-A sporty overachiever who was the president and started the club to begin with. Each chapter was precluded by a little three-paragraph introduction written by the girl who the chapter was about -- the genius of the book was that they used a different handwriting for each blurb, defining the girl with the hearts hovering over every "i" or the large loopy script that mimicked the girl's space-cadet attitude.

I was so young when I started reading those books that I distinctly remember having to skip over Kristy's, Mary Anne's and I believe it was Stacey's introductions, for one very simple reason: they were written in cursive instead of print and I couldn't read (or write) cursive.

My mom hated the BSC books because of the candy-popcorn style in which they were written. I don't know why she was always shoving Robert Frost in front of us as eight year olds, but for whatever reason, she thought we should read more appropriate literature. I do remember the large influence the descriptive style of each girl's outfits and hairstyles had on my sister and me. My sister, always the artist, would draw intricate family portraits of girls and boys wearing the same outfits outlined in the books: yellow and purple polka-dotted sweaters, over purple leggings, finished off with gold bangles and hoop earrings (uncanny how the styles have come back around, it seems). I preferred to mimic the author's writing style and remember penning a 90-notebook-page epic about a family of eight who goes on a cruise to Hawaii and all of the daughters get ponies when they arrive at their new home. Even under the cloud of BSC, I was still horsecrazy.

But back to Harry Potter. It seems too easy to blame my mom for tainting me on bandwagons for life or becoming a snob when it comes to reading lists. But I do think that my desire to read fun fiction -- like the ever popular, SATC-influenced books out there right now that stemmed from The Devil Wears Prada bandwagon -- was snubbed out at an early age. I remember it took me my entire fourth grade year to read Watership Down. What an incredibly strange child I had to have appeared to be, cross-legged in the corner of the darkened room next to the window on the last day of school, my peers watching The Lion King while I followed a different sort of animal story.

Tonight, after reading another blog talking about the newest HP release, I was on the phone with my mom and asked her if she'd ever read Harry Potter. Her answer was unsurprising: she'd read the first one to see what all the fuss was about, deemed them poorly-written and unimpressive, and moved along to some other Booker prize winner. "It appears to me," she said, "that anyone who reads them isn't very well-read and reads them because they're easy to read and they make easy cultural references that anyone can understand." I rebutted with evidence that many well-read people on my blog roll were also reading the Harry Potter books. She dismissed this. From well-read to spell-read, perhaps? "Had they read The Gammage Cup, they wouldn't be reading them. They're like when you read the Baby Sitter's Club books. The same things."

For the rest of my life, my mom will reference The Gammage Cup. I picked it up at Half Price Books when I was in fifth grade. I vaguely remember reading it and remember the general theme of the storyline. It was the closest I ever came to fantasy fiction. I loved it. Afterward, I guess my mom must have read it to see what I was gushing on and on about. My mom also was enamored with it -- there were certain descriptions of events in the book that were so beautiful and poignant. I remember specifically a description of a babbling brook, which managed to change the way I have looked at creeks ever since.

I found an article from 2001 surrounding The Gammage Cup talks about a character, Muggles, who also makes an appearance in the HP books:

A rising tide lifts all boats, they say. The rising tide caused by the phenomenal success of J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter books has indeed lifted the boats of many writers of children's fantasy. One of the oddest cases is perhaps Carol Kendall, and her book The Gammage Cup. This is hardly an unsuccessful book: it was first published in 1959, and it was a Newbery Honor Book. It was reprinted at least as recently as 1990. But when a writer sued J. K. Rowling over supposed similarities between her obscure 1980s books and the Harry Potter books, notably including the use of the word "muggles", some unexpected attention was paid to The Gammage Cup. For it turns out that long before either J. K. Rowling or her suer, Carol Kendall used "Muggles" in this book. To be sure, Muggles in The Gammage Cup is a character name, but nonetheless, Kendall's book is certainly proof enough that the word has a long history in children's fantasy.

My mom uses The Gammage Cup the same way she uses the BSC books: as leverage of what I have read in my life that was noteworthy versus what I have read in my life that was not. Perhaps she's right -- I guess when I'm on my death bed, I won't look back and say "I wish I'd read those Harry Potter books." I hope I don't regret the bandwagons I've never climbed aboard.

When all is said and done, I don't plan on reading any Harry Potter anytime soon. Unless I happen across a copy and I have a chunk of time that I feel like dedicating to witches and ghouls.

Or whatever it is that those books are about.

Late July back in 2007.


What a very special time for me.



'Cause I (sort of) remember what a night.


Oh what a night.


You know I don't even know what happened


But E-DUB got kicked out of Blind Pig.


What a lady. What a night.

The world's most productive doctor's appointment went down today in South Austin. After an intensive questioning session, one EKG, one chest x-ray, seven days' worth of antibiotics (turns out I do have an ear infection), and an invitation to return for blood work on Monday, I am cured!

Not really but we're going to pretend.

Everybody's working for the weekend, after all.

Has anyone here ever made a time capsule and then totally forgotten about it? I used to make them all the time, but I don't know if anyone else was as insane as me, so I'll explain the sentiment. When you make a time capsule, you are so excited for the date (however far away) when you get to open it. Usually if you're a kid, you open it a month or so later and it's somewhat anticlimactic. Then you stick it in your closet and find it ten years later and it's pretty awesome.

Well, back in December Mrhe and I were talking and for some reason (I'm pretty sure spiked hot chocolate and a Bear Grylls marathon led us to this) decided it would be this hilarious prank to ghostwrite an entry on each other's blogs and sort of write a caricature of the other person's blogging style, to see if anyone noticed.

We thought it was going to be way more controversial than it was -- we thought everyone was going to be commenting "I KNOW THIS ISN'T YOU!!" We were so convinced that people would actually notice and care that we decided we were going to post them at the exact same time. The other rule was that we couldn't look at the entry prior to posting.

So we both typed up our blogs for the other and emailed each other the HTML. The next morning we waited with bated breath for everyone to start catching on.

No one ever did.

We kind of chuckled about it and chalked it up to our excellent writing skills and moved on.

Until tonight when I was looking for the word "croissant" to see how many times it came up on 2GD.com, I remembered our prank.

It became funnier tonight, months later, than it probably ever was. So, dear readers, I am going to let you in on it.

Here was my blog on Two Grim Dudes, written as MRhe.
And MRhe's appearance on mine.

There you have it! Punk'd, blogger style.

I found this on YouTube, and thought I'd put it up for JTD because the kid's a 9 year old drumming prodigy and MRhe because the kid has a BoSox shirt on.
It's somewhat hypnotic.

You know how they say "when it rains it pours?"
Well, if I was one of those people who dreaded jury duty, I'd be a little more put out by my jury summons today. However, it has been a lifelong dream of mine to make a jury (you think I'm kidding) and in fact, in the two other times I have been a juror, I have been excused despite my "I have no opinion whatsoever" statements. The first time I was called to jury they excused all of us, because they didn't have any defendants (they all plea bargained). The second time, probably about a year ago, I actually made it into the courtroom (and had a very A Few Good Men moment where I said "So this is what a courtroom looks like" as I walked through the double doors). However, I actually knew where the intersection of Loyola and Ed Bluestein was (Travis County Exposition Center also known as horse show mecca, holla!). Evidently that was where the wreck had happened (yes, this was traffic court my friends) and the defendant's lawyer wasn't enthused at the idea of a cholla like myself actually knowing where the ghetto is.
According to my impaneling process, I could be called to duty any time between tomorrow and October 2nd. Luckily, I remembered Labor Day weekend fell during that time and blocked off some days around then where I have "schedule conflicts" (surely they don't want a drunk and/or hungover juror?) and also remembered that we are going to our annual conference in San Francisco the last weekend of September, so I blacked out those dates too (and the week before because I figure it will be hellish trying to get loose ends tied down).
So keep your fingers crossed for me. I could use the extra $6 a day.

---

Update on my cold, because I know you're wondering. My ear still hurts but not as bad as it did yesterday (perhaps it's because I didn't subject it to seven straight hours of live music last night). Today I mostly just coughed. Which was a problem because I had everyone and their dog calling me (old industry joke, you know). Nevertheless, I actually finished just about everything I wanted to get done today and let me tell you, it was a lot of work. I have three people moving to Singapore, three going to Bangkok and three going to Hong Kong -- all next week. And one delinquent turtle. Not to mention all of my other clients. And Harry. It's really borderline out of control.
Tomorrow, in an incredible showing of foresight, I am scheduled to go to the doctor. But not for my rebel cold. The good news is that I'm sure an internist can diagnose the common cold, so maybe I'll also get some antibiotics that will cure me for the weekend. I am going because Dr. Goldie talked me into seeing to an internal medicine doctor after telling me that I could have kidney, liver or heart failure. Did you know that if your blood pressure is 150/90 you might have a problem? I certainly did, but chose to ignore it. That's how I roll. I also blame my back problems for this issue.
Anyway, I made my appointment and now it's time to go be told some lame thing like "Drink less" or "Don't stress out."

I'm going to be disappointed if I get anything less than a kidney transplant out of this.

Dear Cold,

I'm sorry for ignoring you and slapping you in the face with a trip to the IC last night. It will never happen again (at least not this time around).

I hope you forgive me in time for the weekend and take the chicken noodle soup I just fed you as a sign of my respect for an ass-kicking summer cold like yourself.

Regards,
mr

This is what it sounds like when blood relatives party.

Let me just state for the record, as I'm sure someone (ahem: my mother) will probably point it out, that perhaps going to the Saxon Pub and then going to the IC is not the best idea if one is riddled with an unknown virus.

However, a runny nose never seemed to slow me down before. And it didn't seem to last night, either. Or even (early) this morning.

Daylight brought about a different view.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have an ear infection that needs some attention.

From my Johari window:

stewart thinks (I am): confident, spontaneous, energetic, silly, idealistic, responsive.

Small problem: I don't know a Stewart.


Or...do I?

I apparently wasn't the only fifth grader who had to watch this 1984 series starring Ben Affleck.
These hooligans did a modern-day remake, which is made more funny by its poor scripting and randomness.
And p.s. I have a cold. Who would like to take the blame?

(Warning: Very Sex & the City post below. Read with a cosmopolitan in hand)

There is a certain time in a newly single girl's life where she suddenly realizes that perhaps this wasn't the worst thing that could happen and that maybe shaving your legs regularly isn't such a burden after all. After recovering from The Great Existential Crisis of 2007 (sometimes awful things happening in rapid succession are similar to ripping off a band aid), I decided that I'd been focusing on only the negative things of the crisis: the three-inch layers in my hair, keeping my apartment cleaner in anticipation of more entertaining, and the fact that I am now going to return to my drunk dialing ways of 2005 for my entertainment.

But there are some great things about being unexpectedly single, not having a dog and your roommate also being recently single. First and foremost: We can leave town whenever we damn well please.

Since this is the first time in the history of the M&MR Roommate Franchise where we have been single concurrently, we decided that it was necessary for us to GTFOA (get the f-outta Austin). A phone call to Natalie, who goes to med school in Houston, and we were set.

I'd never had the opportunity to go to Houston and actually enjoy myself. My trips were limited to the Greater Katy area for horse shows. The only remotely exciting thing I ever did on my many weeks in Katy over the years was go to the Alamo Drafthouse that they built along Mason Dr. and buy a ticket for one for the next showing. This was a good plan except for that the movie was that terrible box-office bomb with David Spade, The Benchwarmers. Yes, I bought a ticket for The Benchwarmers and sat down by myself and proceeded to get tipsy off of three beers.

So you can understand how I might have been looking forward to seeing the actual metropolitan of Houston and spending some time there somewhere other than riding around in circles on a horse or in a hotel room watching Seinfeld.

We drove up to the H on Saturday afternoon. M wanted to stop at the mall, so we met up with Natalie. We went to their somewhat impressive two-story Forever 21, but apparently this is not the place you want to go when you are Temporarily 23 and sporting a haircut that makes you cringe.

(I don't think that I mentioned to my readers that last Saturday I got the world's worst haircut, due to a miscommunication between my hair stylist and me. I think I might have to break up with her too. But just imagine a mullet.)

After announcing that my terrible haircut didn't deserve any new clothes, we gave up and headed to a restaurant called Taco Milagro for dinner. This place was actually pretty cool and I wished only later that I'd gotten some queso for BlogConQueso reviews. At any rate, I had some great chicken tacos. The place itself was like an upscale Taco Cabana. Me gusta.

We then headed back to Natalie's apartment, where M also used to live, in a different unit. We then plotted the night out. I take for granted Austin's wonderful 4th/5th/6th/7th districts, where a bar to suit your fancy is just one stumbling step away. Natalie's friend had recommended we go to Midtown to a club called Hue. So we caught a cab and off we went to Midtown.

When we drove up to Hue (at about 10:30 PM), I felt like I was in some bad movie. We had our cab drive by slowly and realized that there was basically no one there. Men were standing in the parking lot as if they were supposed to be valeting/directing traffic, but there were no cars! Crickets. Our cabbie suggested The Red Door which was around the corner, so he dropped us off there instead.

The Red Door reminded me a lot of a mix between Union Park and Foundation (which I think might have shut down?). The coolest part was definitely that there was no sign, just a red door hidden in the corner of a building behind a (surprise) Mexican food restaurant. We wandered inside and basically looked around and said "Yup. It's a bar."

After standing inside for a while, we decided we were going to walk outside and go down the street to where the cabbie had pointed out another bar a few blocks away. We weren't sure how far we would have to walk. So out we went, and then - aha! - there were about seven men standing, waiting for the valet. Perfect.

I marched up and tapped the blonde one on the shoulder. This led to us being invited to go with them to Escobar. They said it was six blocks away -- definitely not within walking distance. Apparently I tapped the right group of people on the shoulder, since they had a giant Tahoe. Off we went.


We pulled up in a strip mall. And when I say a strip mall, I mean a strip mall. With valet parking, and then a line of people standing waiting to get in. I can now check "See people waiting in line to get into a bar in a strip mall next to a Korean sandwich shop" off my life list.

The clown car emptied, somehow the velvet ropes parted and we were inside. It was all very SATC meets Knocked Up. The place inside was pretty weird -- everything seemed to be made out of plastic and had lights shining through it, including the tables, dance floor, bar top, and bathroom doors. The ceiling was mirrored. The people we befriended had bottle service (it turned out to be one of the dude's birthdays) and this provided a night of free drinks, which I can always get behind.

We managed to take a decent picture where you almost can't see my mullet, so that was also great news.

This is where things got a little insane but the following may or may not have happened:

M & MR had to share a bathroom.
MR dropped her glass.
M, MR & N decided to guess everyone's occupations and the losers took shots.
It required 3 different vehicles to transport us across Houston, but we were all together in each one (that's a little riddle for you).
MR tried to convince a tour bus to take us from the Houston newspaper building to wherever N lives, and failed.
MR & N were propositioned in a parking lot.
N dropped the entire contents of her purse after fleeing said propositioners.
MR had to be back in Austin at 1 PM to go look at a horse with Chrisy.

All in all, it was a good time. I am now officially exhausted. This week work is going to be pretty busy for me too. And I believe there is a run test tomorrow morning. So I am going to sleep.

Oh and because this would not be a SATC post without a question at the end: Are we the new bachelors?

So much could be said about this...but I'll just let you speculate.

I just received an email with the subject line of: "Lock up your sons..."

Followed by -- "We're going out!"

It's going to take a whole lot more than an existential crisis to keep me off the internets, folks.
Just to clear some things up, as I would like to stop explaining this to people:

I am now single. And I have a cat. And a keyboard I can't play. And a total of two meals I can cook.

This might scare some people. But not me. My neighbors don't seem too happy about the installation of Mean Rachel's Ivory Kitten (current "3 AM knocks on the door" count: 2). Mean Rachel's Ivory Kitten cat, Chubby Charles, doesn't seem too impressed by being half of the equation of me being a "crazy cat lady."

But, like I always say, when life gives you cats, you just catwalk your way out of it.

And so on we go.

For a *certain* grim dude.
And anyone else who has a job.

This thing's almost as old as I am. Some things never change. A point to my mean mom for sending it to me. Print this sucker out and put it in your top desk drawer next to your flask. Refer to it as-needed (in moments of insanity, manic freak-outs, ragefests, etc.).

I figured this would be the best way to let those of you who don't know that Gus died this afternoon at about 1 PM.
He had started getting older and grayer over the years but it seems like he went from elderly to old very quickly. About a month ago, he started having thyroid issues and lost about 20 pounds. At the end of June, my dad took him to the vet and they determined that his lymph nodes were swollen, and that he probably had lymphoma. The only way to test for this was to take out one of his lymph nodes, but due to his weight loss we weren't sure he would even survive the surgery and come back from the anesthesia.
We decided just to let nature take it's course, and it turned out to be the right decision because the cancer spread quickly and this weekend, two weeks later, he was unable to stand up. Even last week he was still able to move around and go outside. It's amazing what a week can do. Now, he had curled up in the bathroom and hadn't stood up for three days. I went to see him last night and he could hardly raise his head, but still was wagging his tail and looking around. His back legs no longer worked. This morning my parents and I decided to call his regular vet, who came to the house so we wouldn't have to move him.
We decided we didn't want him to go from being uncomfortable to being in severe pain. We made the decision that it was selfish to keep him lying on the floor, unable to eat or go to the bathroom. So with us petting him, he drifted off to sleep. The vet said that he filled the syringe with enough sodium pentathol for an 80 pound dog (he was down to about 50 pounds). By the time he injected 20 pounds' worth of the drug, Gus was gone. It was most definitely his time.

I know that Gus was a part of many peoples' lives, and I am so glad that so many of you were able to share him with us.

I will miss how happy he was when he was at the barn, wallowing in the mud and turning completely black, or when Brooke & Megan threw him and Frieda an impromptu "wedding." I will always remember how he was the "Walmart greeter," always ready to say hello to anyone who came through the barn. He loved everyone there so much.

He was my best friend since I was thirteen, and I will miss everything about him.

We'll miss you, Jeeps.

Sleep Jeeps
June 25, 2004

Sleep, Jeeps --
The day's been long
You've run and chased
And carried on.
Go to the world,
Far, far away
Where you trot through fields
And sniffle the hay.

Sleep, Jeeps --
For tomorrow is soon.
Sleep quietly in dreamland
Under the moon
Nestled high upon
Your cushioned bed
With squirrels and jackrabbits
Afloat in your head.

Sleep, Jeeps --
Neatly fold up your paws
Tuck in your tail
As your deep breath draws
Your eyes may be tired
As you lay down your head
But let "Sleep, Jeeps" be
The last words you hear said.

We're on a hiatus, people. Back whenever.

I'm headed to K-Town after work and by "headed to K-Town" I mean I'll be "livin' da' dream in Killa-leen" (c). The best part of this 4th of July, aside from Bush's commutations for liars, the war in Iraq, and continued civil rights violations in Uganda, is that we get to come in at 1 PM on Thursday!


Don't forget to put your freedom flags out tomorrow and wave what your momma (and forefathers) gave ya!

We made the New York Times today, pizzos. Peep it here.
Surely that means I can retire.

If anyone who reads this blog is still supporting Bush, they should go kick themselves in the ass because today's events are absolutely unacceptable.
Seriously.
I know I had embargoed watching the news, since it only seemed to make me unhappy, but I'm going to have to move away from DrunkRachel.com for a second and have a little ragefest.

Bush is the biggest piece of shit president in the world, and if there was any doubt left, this sealed the deal.

Because I am too appalled to even write about politics anymore, a poem from Calvin Trillin (this was pre-Bush pardon).

On the Tributes to Scooter Libby That So Underwhelmed the Judge

Calvin Trillin

The jury found that he had flat-out lied.
Before the judge's sentence was applied,
Supporters of poor Scooter were awhirl.
So Kissinger and Wolfowitz and Perle
Wrote letters, as did other grand highfliers:
Support of lying from some famous liars.

I'm almost overwhelmed by the amount of recapping I have left to do. When you go on a four-day bender, it's a tall order to both your physical stamina and mental recall in order to remember all of the various successes (four nights in a row at the IC) and failures (still not hearing "Brick" played at the IC). I'll try to do my best and back up a little bit here.

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Thusday, Shirikins was in town from LA. I had promised her at 3:30 AM that I would manage to drag myself out again, even though I felt absolutely terrible all day Thursday. However, I came home from work and took a 2 hour nap and then rallied enough to drag myself, Shiri and my sister downtown.
We spent some time at Firehouse, where we got to talk to Paul and Paul was able to continue to swoon over Shirikins. I managed to run into a dude I met at Apple bar back in January and have almost the exact same conversation with him that I had in January: "I have a boyfriend. You never see him because he's in Iraq. No, it's not great. No, I don't support the war. Sure, I support the troops. If by "support the troops" you mean I drink with their wives. You can read about it on my blog. You should go to my blog. Oh, you think blogs are just online diaries? We'll you're just a real-life asshole." And so on.

After a couple of hours at Firehouse, I dragged them to see "Austin's Best Arms" Mr. BigArms. This was a pointless excursion because we basically stood in the street talking to Mr. BigArms and then we decided that was lame so I herded everyone to the Ivory Cat.

We had a good night of boozin'. I remember bits and pieces of it, but honestly that was Thursday and this is Sunday and I don't know how anyone could ever expect me to remember what happened. I do know that they had a different drummer there that resembled Lyle Lovett. I also know that Kenny Luna basically ignored us again. Oh! So, the thing about the guy who paid $200 was that he showed back up that night! All of a sudden, KL says "Kevin's here!" and Kevin himself rambled down to the stage and grabbed the mike and sang "Keep Your Hands to Yourself" once again. I had to calm myself down. The thing is, the guy could not be a more terrible singer. You know those people who stand on stage and hunch over the mike and kind of wobble back and forth? Yeah, that was this guy.
Anyway, I realized that the only way I was going to feel better was if I launched a pencil at Kevin when he was done singing. I still didn't feel better so on my way out, I stopped where he was macking on some chick and said "Hey Kevin. You sang even worse tonight than you did last night" and walked out the door.

Sometimes I wish I were a dude so I could toss money around and get my way without immediately being considered shallow.

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Friday was GREAT! First of all, we had a statewide internet outage where we couldn't access the internet at work, so we got to leave at noon. I wanted to sob with happiness. Mainly because I was still exhausted from the Wed-Thur. cumulative hours of sleep adding up to about 4 hours.
Then it was time to get cleaned up and go out...again. Shiri, M and I met up with their friend Yael and my sister at Trudy's for some margaritas and dinner. M told me I should try to wear my sunglasses the entire night downtown, so I accepted her challenge. I decided not to accept the other half of her challenge which was to tell people that I had recently signed with a record label, for fear that someone might actually care enough to ask me to sing and I would have no way of convincing them that my voice was not usually that terrible.