Saturday, September 10, 2016



Other people's dawgs.

This petite specimen was named after Wilford Brimley.

He's also got plenty of followers and we're sure you'll see why.

We're loathe to critique our Creator, but this business of great big pups not living as long - by far - as their teeny canine cousins is - well, just wrong.

We had Earl for almost seven years: Congestive heart failure took him before major aches and pains wreaked havoc on his happiness. And he was 'only' about 135.

If you don't care about furniture, if you can handle those all too early goodbyes... If your knees - or higher - can endure the agony of massive wagging, then canine gigantus are for you. (So's made up Latin.)

And in things related and not...

Lab and lab mixes are the highest population of thrown away dogs in shelters because people don't realize that it takes larger dogs longer to mature. They need exercise, patience and love. They've chewed things up, gotten loose, need way more exercise than many people realize or are willing to give them. So off to the pound they go.

If you rescue one of these guys - one someone else has thrown away - there are special angel points for you somewhere down the line. Not to mention the right now angel points of seeing the look in that dog's eyes knowing he's got a home.

And, yes, this is being sent to someone who decided just that today after we saw a very sad, very big dog earlier. My friend, you're not fooling me for a minute. Here's why:

You had as many good excuses as anyone I know for not getting that dog. To say that I'm amazed you decided to do it isn't about underestimating YOU at all: It's about realizing everything you'll have to do to accommodate that great big sad afraid to be happy puppy in your world.

I can't remember being so proud to know another human. And I know some stand-up people. Oh - and the fact that you could've adopted him there today with media present and made it about you isn't lost on me. That you're going there early tomorrow with the stipulation that it's a private event is - awesome. And the proud thing? It just doubled.

Thursday, September 8, 2016

Postcards From Heaven

Does anyone know where this is, please? It's not a quiz. We'd like to know. It popped up as a random screensaver without any ID.

Either there is a teeny tiny elf running on this path or those are some giant arches.

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Cheetah is real worried about his mom being gone a lot this week.

Oh all right. This goes with the last post. There'll be hell to pay. Which will be so ironic that it'll be funny, so that's OK, too.

For starters, there is a word for someone who recommends a particular video or whatever and won't post the thing itself. But it isn't a nice word and since it doesn't define me entirely, perhaps I ain't that thing.

But still. What's weird - plenty - but I'll try to be specific.

Weird: my enthusiastic yet usually inward disdain for bunches of people gathered to believe, praise, etc. Because childhood attendance at segregated houses of worship.


At the tender age of ten, I walked out on a sermon. I had spent the night with my best friend and church was part of the deal. I actually walked miles to my grandparents' house from the church just because that smiling, creepy pastor said that black people should worship with other black people and white people should worship with other white people. I really thought I was making a very big statement. Little Miss Freedom Rider or some such. Later, I realized that they probably just thought I went to the restroom. Kids, huh? But church. I think of who's not invited to the party. Look. I know that all white people aren't 'that way' but ones who gather in hands-up bunches seem to be. Maybe I need to ask forgiveness for my assumptions. Maybe change them. Eeeeek.

What's supposed to be the Only Thing there is: how to we treat one another with the highest loving regard and, who knows, maybe even take planet earth out of the chokehold we've got her in, as her gasping cries reverberate in this part of the galaxy and beyond.

This video stops before that thing I just wrote. And I'm asking that you'd treat this like a buffet: take that stuff you want and leave the rest. There is more than gravy here. I have a vegan buddy who gags at the sight of meat. He just does. Always has. His Mama said he 'got born that way'. But the vegetables were so good at this little diner back in Georgia that he started going every day for lunch even though it meant seeing the body parts and gravy and such at other tables.

And one day he told me this, "I listened to people talk about things that I don't talk about much. Things I don't have to listen to. My family's really screwed up and no one talks to each other. For years. But there people would disagree with each other and then say, 'Pass the gravy'. Then I knew what was wrong with my family. We had no gravy to pass.'" I didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't about the meat or gravy. But as I write this, I'm not even convinced.

I think I'm passing gravy by adding this link. You don't have to like it, but for God's sake, please don't stop coming over.

This is for Sue and her sacred orb photos which are miracles I needed to see.

But y'all can't blame her for how far out this post is gonna be.

That's on me...

And the illustration for this post would be Rockwell Kent's "Drifter".

Because it is the image of wonder.

You gotta look it up.

I'm not linking it.

And this, too, which is what this post is about.

Lou Giglio is a fiery pastor who's said and believes some things that make him maybe less of a vessel of hope than his religion allows.


He did a mash up of stars and whales singing that added something to that chest of hope I keep near. Like my own breath and all priceless memories. Then I'm thinking maybe... in his own capacity to worship the unrefined splendor of our Universe, in that audacious range, his own notion of Love and what's fucking OK will get bigger. Maybe.

Which is Exactly.

The same thing I'm trying to do...

For I saw in that awful captive moment when I judged him for judging gay people, that I had become as small as what he believed and perhaps even less because I was freed from those ideas of hell a long time ago and that's about half of what's still in his equation.

So there is that crack, that splinter from the jagged spaces piercing what was sanctimony. And I can't yank it out by myself.

But God. Is that so big absolute thing that excludes no one, embraces all, that never burns His own children.

That really isn't a big frowning white guy in the sky but the sky itself and maybe even in me when I accepted a friend request from the girl who bullied me long ago because she doesn't remember. Of course she chokes the timeline with that write Amen if you agree crap and I unfollowed but didn't unfriend.

Because I'm as far away from perfect as Lou is.

And I'm even farther away - as far as that quasar with a bass line.

God waits patiently until we stop fire throwing.

And then.

We're all just right there with those sacred whales and the music of the spheres, first chair and front row tickets all at once.

No, this wasn't a poem.

I just broke it up to see the splinters better.

Monday, September 5, 2016


It's been a while since we were on a large project for more than a day or two. Your kind thoughts as we embark on something big and little at the same time is appreciated more than 26 letters can say.

To reiterate: We aren't being coy. The public relations department of the production company/network handles all announcements, however minor, in the scheme of things. Besides, this is the kind of thing that'll tickle loved ones more than anything.

It's still inventing a character based on the words someone else has written, with something specific in mind. As we do that flesh origami fold of becoming her, high five to our friends who have called or written to say..


Thanks. We needed that.

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