A dog named Charlie Brown

You like a good dog story, right?  Well, here's one of my favorites.

My girlfriend Becky and her family had this little mutt named Charlie.  And because their last name was Brown, the dog's name was actually Charlie Brown.  But whereas Charlie Brown the Cartoon was a sad sack, Charlie Brown the Dog ruled the streets of upper Oak Hills, because he was part terrier.  And you know how terriers are.  All bark and swagger.

Charlie Brown the Dog also had a genius for picking out the people who didn't like him.  And then he would torture him.  One of these people was a short round music professor in our ward whose feet used to dangle from the piano bench when he sat on it.  Maybe I'm remembering that wrong, but he always looked a little like Mr. Toad from W in the Ws to me, and (of course) Mr. Toad had feet that dangled.  I say that affectionately.  I loved Mr. Toad in W in the Ws.

Anyway.  Said music professor hated Charlie Brown the Dog, and Charlie Brown the Dog gloried in those ill feelings.  It's like he kept watch all day, so that when Mr. Music Professor went for a tiny walk, Charlie Brown was there to ruin his life.

One night when Mr. Music Professor went for a walk (and I like to imagine that he went at night so he could fly under the radar and escape Charlie Brown the Dog's notice) Charlie Brown rushed him, which scared Mr. Music Professor so badly that he fell down.  Which, okay.  I know that's not funny.  It's not good for dogs to scare music professors and make them capsize while on evening walks.  I'm not THAT insensitive.

However, Mr. Music Professor's response was funny.  To me and Becky at least.  While he lay there on the ground, flailing about, he roared at Becky's mother, "SHEILA BROWN, YOU ARE NOT A CHRISTIAN!"

I think this may have been a little bit funny to Charlie Brown the Dog, too.

Look what Ken Cannon and I did yesterday instead of going to the Great Basin National Park

We went to the Spiral Jetty where we walked on water!  Because it was all salt!

This is Ken Cannon going, "We walked on water!  Because it was all salt!"

This is me saying, "Julie said I would look skinny if I popped my leg."  Thus!  Leg pop!

This is where the water was supposed to be.  But it's all salt right now.

More not water.

This is Ken going "Look!  I'm standing on the Spiral Jetty!"

This is me--worn out from all the rigorous leg popping.

Yeah.  That looks like water right there.  But it's not.

I think I took this picture by accident.

Hey, Aliens!  The pool party is that way!

One day I am going to write a ghost story

Because I love ghost stories!

Meanwhile, I'll enjoy the Halloween by reading other people's books.

Have a nice weekend, all y'all.

Bumper stickers

I just saw a bumper sticker with the Gandhi statement that an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.  Which, of course, reminded me of the Seven Psychopaths' Gandhi riff, that goes like this:

HANS:    An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.

BILLY:   No, it doesn't.  There'll be one guy left with one eye.  How's the last blind guy gonna take out the eye of the last guy left?


This, of course, is a question I have struggled with for my whole life.  I expect the same is true for you.

Miley and Sinead

Today Sara (Happy Birthday, Sara!) told me about Sinead O'Connor's recent open letter to Miley Cyrus, so naturally I was interested.  As I noted over on fb just now, the f-bomb gets lobbed frequently and with great effect in said letter, so if you're squeamish about that, be forewarned.

But I have to say O'Connor's letter really impresses me.  I've given this subject a lot of thought, because it seems clear to me that the post-feminist notion of out-there-in-your-face female sexuality as being somehow empowering for a young woman is wrong-headed.  To me it feels like old-fashioned exploitation in a new shiny package.

Someone like O'Connor can say that much more forcefully and with more credibility than a middle-aged Mormon lady, right?

Rock on, Sinead.

A thought about blogging every day

As you know, I made it a little goal to blog every day during the year of our Lord 2013, and I mostly have.  Many of the posts are fragile, skimpy little things--probably not worth the paper they're printed on (or the internet space they occupy) (or whatever it is we say these days), but the exercise has been invaluable to me.  Here's why.

Historically whenever I've sat down to write, I've felt a LOT of anxiety.  Like enough rushing anxiety to shoot my eyeballs right out of their sockets.  The exercise of writing every day--even just a little bit--has made it easier for me to sit down and get busy on other writing projects.  I did not foresee this as a result of my daily experiment.

And now when I tell writing students that you need to practice every day--just like basketball players or pianists--I will be speaking from experience instead of talking out of my hat.  (Or whatever it is we say these days.)

More meter!

Well, all that ranting I've done about parking meters has turned itself into a column.  Awesome, right?

Meanwhile, I have been assigned a new editor at the Trib.  My previous editor, the fabulous Lisa, has a lot of new stuff on her plate due to the recent shakeup, so I'll be working with someone else who I've been told is fabulous, too.

Change always makes me nervous.   Inside I'm still that kid who had a hard time saying goodbye.  To anything.   But change is also an opportunity.  This I have learned in lo these many years of living.