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I have rescue dog. A pure bred rescue dog, but a rescue dog none the less. We bought her with $50. She now an old rescue dog, and her vet bills have made her price to be much closer to a pure bred dog now. But we love her enough to pay it gladly to keep her in top form.

She lives to eat, and eats to live. Nothing complex there.

The very first battle with the dog, when we got her was over the midnight poop! Turns out that this was just a tantrum. The dog didn’t like sleeping alone in the living room. Once we figured that out, and let her in the bedrooms, midnight pooping stopped, completely.

Secondly, the dog started bonding to me way too much! With a houseful of people, and her being a family dog, we had to do something. Particularly, once she didn’t like me ever leaving, even to go to work. So what we did, was split up feeding of the dog (once she’s a total chow hound). And that worked, she became a family dog, and now shares the love. But at the expense of privacy. You never who’s door is going to be pushed open in the night, as she will float from room to room, depending on where she believes she will get the best rest. Get up to pee, and you can almost hear behind you, “I’m out of here!”

Well, here we are in the middle of summer, the dog days. And my dog is panting so hard, much harder than before, but she really old for a little dog. She holds to her routines though, we must do the same things every day, for the dog to feel her value. But the other night, much to my surprise (because I’m doing chemo- and the dog doesn’t like the smell- either do I, but I think it will follow me) the dog decided to sleep with me anyway, on a hot night. Well, now I can’t sleep because of her panting and wheezing. So I took off my CPAP (it’s a machine that blow air in your head all night mostly to keep you from snoring), and dangled it over the side of the bed. And sure enough, with just that tiny breeze, the dog stopped panting. Doesn’t work on my snoring, fills my head with boogers from hell, but her panting is another story? Well there’s just no way to share a CPAP with a pup- that almost as gross has the boogers from hell.

So, I get up, and turn on my fan. Only the fan doesn’t work, turns out it’s not plugged in, do to a room rearrangement. So I move it over to the computer table, set it on the floor, plug it in, and aim it at the barely sleeping, now annoyed dog, who instantly stops panting, and goes back to sleep, and I get my CPAP mask back for all it worth.

That’s right, now I have to run a fan all night for my overly pampered pure bred. But I got my CPAP back, and the boogers from hell too, and a good night’s sleep.

Krista is a blond girl of maybe 20 years old, who seems trapped in another century all together. She is slender, average built for the lean girl type, lacking any alluring womanly form, once she’s always mummy rapped in clothes that belong on a Mennonite peasant. Only her slender hands, and soft featured face pop out of cloth that seem an inch thick, and made to protect an armadillo from attack. Her dress, extends from her neck strait down to below her knee, where it overlaps with thick socks, that flow down into her shoes, from who knows where, maybe her neck as well? Her blond hair is pulled back so tight, it seems waxy and oily, there are times I just want to scrub her down, and not for sexual reasons! The only hint of personality in all her beige and white clothing, might be found in her socks, but only on the most special occasions. Meanwhile, Krista sparkles with a bright personality and intelligence, that seems to still have a hint of tomboyishness to it, but she is clearly all girl now. And for that reason, in spite of her smile, and her charming character, she seems a tragic person that needs liberating and educating (at a top university). Which you know deep down inside, is just not possible. Krista will always be a little quaker girl, living far too structured a life. More servant than talent, just because she’s female.

On the other hand, look at the rest of us 21 century humans, actually living in chaos. Most of dress like 8 year olds, in t-shirts that say something repugnant, and ugly baggy shorts or blue jeans, and sneakers that seem 8 times too big for our bodies. We are repulsively fat, aging quicker than avocado in a basket of bananas. We look like slobs because our lives are completely undisciplined, and selfish. We drink wine coolers and whatever todays hot training wheels in a bottle might be, all weekend long, while ordering delivery pizza, like that’s living it up? And we’d sooner be shot in the head, than ever write a letter to someone, when cellphones are just so convenient, and easy to send pictures to Facebook and Twitter. And we pride ourselves as being as dumb as a rock, but abundantly full of common sense by the pure love of God.

I’m no fashion plate, or intellectual. Just another middle age escapee by social promotion, hot head, that seems more and more violent and angry as his standard of living continues in free-fall all the time, and his abilities decline. Who has to continuously to remind himself, that it is his duty to himself, and everyone around him, to everyday, find a way to improve himself and his world, even in the simplest little ways. It is better to laugh, than turn negative and bitter. It is better to be the uncommon man. STOP, smile and laugh, at the absurdity of it all, it’s worth it! It is better to be slow to temper, in and at everything, once it’s not going to change anything for the better- really (trust me)!

There is no doubt in my mind, that I would love to see young Krista in a spaghetti strapped red dress and pumps, showing some bare shoulder and leg, with her hair WASHED and down and flowing, really throwing her hips into her strut, going off to meet some nice young man on date, like a 20 year old should. But it will never happen, and who am I to judge, really? I hope that young couple owns some bolt cutters and a crowbar, or she’ll never get felt up.

There is no woman, in two centuries, that I’ve seen less of than Krista, with the only exception being women in burkas! I wonder how she would react that cable TV commercial for that dickie like thing to cover womens boobs on low cut tops? It’s one my personal favorites that even makes me blush a little!

Ironically, Krista will always be defined in my head, by the most common thing you hear her colleges shout at her as she passes; “Slow down, Krista!” If only that were possible?

You can’t make this shit up! Crack me another beer, would ja, there’s got to be somebody playing golf on TV somewhere? **Burp! Ah!** Damn it, what’s the number of Domino’s, again? Ewe, I think I feel myself getting skinny. Is that a rib? No, no, just a new roll of fat! **Burp!**

Way way way back in the stacks of dust, dead and prayer books, and endless rambling epic poems, and other useless UFO information, with the centuries old bookworms no one has ever seen, and along with embossed fake Jesus images made in the 10th century by monks playing with the coffee stains, is the myth of the Egg that stands upright, only June 21 (the Apocalypse, no eclipse, no, no, Summer Solstice), only on the exact equator, only at exact high noon, all on it’s own. The more you want to replicate the trick, the more complex the conditions of moment always become, funny how that happens?

Well, I believe this trick originates out of ancient Egypt, it might just be the world’s oldest trick? The performer seems to be able to do this trick at will anywhere and any time, to everyone’s surprise and horror. How? Well by replicating all those completely impossible to humanly accomplish things at will, anywhere on the globe, just by being tapped in (special to God). Or by being the only sober man in the room. Or by spilling a little sand under the egg. It’s a sand trick! It’s those trying to explain the trick that keep piling on, and on, and on, to explain why it’s impossible- when clearly it is possible.

It’s always been the world stupidest trick!

In the modern world, the trick has evolved just a little tiny bit, in that sand was replace with a common table element (dust, rock, metal, whatever), called iodized table salt. But today the only one that is willing do the trick, are mischievous bartenders entertaining farsighted middle age people who aren’t getting laid tonight away, who have never heard of the world oldest, impossible, stupidest trick ever! I’m pressing that big 5o myself, you could even use kosher salt from the rim of my Margarita to fool me now, just shovel it down there. Hell, you could use a bag of rock salt on me now!

Salt is the world’s oldest preservative, they tell me. It must be, it’s kept this stupid trick alive!

What’s my point? Valerie Bertinelli is on the F’in cover AARP magazine!!! SOB- membership in AARP starts at 50, you know? Am I that old? Where are my glasses? I’ll be back in 20 minutes, unless this palming trick doesn’t work! Damn that old cougar looks good- I think? Maybe it does make you blind (eventually)? So do as I say, not as… And maybe drink some carrot juice.

Harold Stemple was a lonely old man, who took up with talking to his favorite cactus like he was a friend. At first the cactus tried to ignore this bizarre behavior, quite certain that at any moment the aged ape would begin tasting him for one reason or another. But alas head tilts and jesters did not bring about any attacks, though there were some close eye examinations, and some occasional shaking and flicking.

Day after day seem to start with the same routine, and after a while, the cactus actually started learning a word or two from the old man’s vocabulary. This did not add to cactus’s comfort level though, because this was still very bizarre behavior after all. So the cactus tried to turn away, only to discover that it was root bound, and therefore unable to do so. Once cacti can not talk, the favorite cactus tried to think his thoughts to the other cacti of just how lucky they all were not to be the target of this unwanted conversation. And he was absolutely right, the other cacti saw no need for him to try and talk to them, any more than having the water provider, talk to them. So they too, tried to turn their backs to him, only to find that they too were root bound and unable to do so, as well.

It should not be assumed that the unsocial behavior of the cacti made this an unhappy garden. It was a happy garden full of life and blooms. Although, the petunias always liked to be talked at, even by untrustworthy song birds. But Harold had nothing but obvious observation about them, he saved most of his conversation for his favorite antisocial cactus, to the jealously of the petunias which he was totally unaware of.

Pretty soon the cactus started to get smarter and think; “Good Harold morning. Pick me don’t up, and alone me!” He would try to telekinetic put into the human’s brain, to the entertainment and criticism of the other cacti, who as well were unaware of the fact that they were getting smarter too.

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There is no point or end to this story. It’s only a ramble inspired by one of my favorite painters Carl Spitzweg, and all of his old men befriending cacti. Strangely if there is loneliness involved there a cactus involved in his paintings? My personal favorite is “Suspicious smoke” (not pictured here, but in the link), because if you’ve ever had a wildfire headed toward you, then you know why- it is a perfect representation of this kind of horrible event. Carl Spitzweg is kind of in the class of Norman Rockwell, in that many of his painting are kind of comical illustrations of people. Even if you don’t find them particularly funny, they are complicated enough to entertain me for hours, unlike Mr. Rockwell who actually bores me. It is a worthwhile waste of an hour or two to look up Carl Spitzweg Paintings on Wikimedia Commons.