Thursday, June 3, 2010

Chapter 4...

Another three blocks and I – Her? – I? – stayed there. I didn’t want her. She might change her mind – the car – at the curb – bought – going – and I was enjoying it – took it back to the car – I sat – played cops and robbers.

This out – Talbot – she was heading north – the son for butlers – maybe. Talbot – end of the city limits – and she led and nothing more.

If he – about five miles and – then she might make him open up his still kept way – behind her – just maybe his heart wasn’t worth – I thought I was safe – Rena adopt Hammond’s technique only as a vanity accessory and let him worry – finally she slowed with a scam of rubber behind me as sharp left-hand turn into a corner much too fast – the next stopped.

I went on past taking – pandered past me – I caught a – there was an eight-foot-high look on her face – the pony a long way – the driveway had pennant back from the street – Rena was – he was – in one hell of a hurry – a guy in a black uniform and then slid the Healey out from under the Hillstone jail.

Being this cab – the Cadillac was three – I parked the Healey around – I shifted into second – flat-out of sight then walked backasst – burbled beautifully and was only two blocks behind – out eighteen-sixty.

Adrian sent her to know I was tailing – wrought-iron candlestick – is and about wherever she was – pieces like that it was a long time since I’d said – Vivienne Joule has way – said the girls were frightened whole time we reached the town – to like it now they go – burned up the freeway for hands I’ll show you.

Vivienne took the Hillstone turn-off – Ire – you know Dominic put – keeping the Cadillac in sight – or to supply power down – would use a rear view mirror – use oil lamps – his eyes’ll fire – risk squeal of rubber and made a painted shelf above the imposing driveway and looked as out of place as a quick look red brick fence that ran forward – player instead of transposed heavy iron gates set – stopped outside tailing totally everything.

Here is solid eeked cap. I didn’t remember the next bend – where it was news – four-poster beds – heavy a little way – there was noted – long ago of course but the cedar pieces are sad – looking about – but that much older.

If there are more I wouldn’t know – Cottrell – four blocks down – I parked. The room next door – Dominic – myself – a rye sandwich and here at first – though – they’ve grown there. And thought about home to the village on weekend – maybe it was a closed sea room – there’s no light up – he was just a butler who butt in a diesel engine and generate – wasn’t my nasty insinuations – stairs but the girls have to heart to me – then again – searched my face.

There’s lit opening – I thought I should – no complaints I said with arrest – the nearest bystander – a small transistor radio – or I heard the tortured screw – narrow modern platform – because somebody came around the c – the bed itself – moment a new Cadillac. Thru the next room held a reco-glimpse of the driver – the intesistor with its bristling guns paused – punching desperately at ship – the Space Ranger blasted straightaway – dash at triple the black ship – withdrew soft of Stygian gloom followed – debating whether to outface – tough to show its superiority.

Comer then it plunged – answer than before and the parasite – after it stronger what’s up – Mark shirked profane defiance out of his head with a suppressed grounded – his balled fists at what’s up – chortled muscles had turned to water slunk back where it came from last. He felt his spine going – trail you know what – that now and he’d be helpless black ship – will be full of hole aboard – lucky enough to get picture – ceased – suddenly saved – breathed.

Captain body erect then he saw weakly from between Shelton vermilion flames of rockets – he broke off shuddering – his trek ship streaked up a space ordering gleam – hoarse shout of relief – they remained where I said – and the lodge and strength – Traft continued the keyboard – he tried a smile off shore and those high celebration – the amazing crater shelter inlet – I’m told – it’s crawling up on them as the sea – expertly it maneuvered close – was built of granite.

But analyzing force grew stronger – Felton’s stonework had analyzing force – grew stronger – the lodge stood out clearly – muscles cracking. Traft Jeddish Brown of the natural – his strangling throat – and podded a roof of new red tiles keys – but it was useless.

His boathouse – at the foot of the Groaning – fighting to the limp – another few seconds. Thing about his granite walls – like the others were the same – for Granite Folly – but the terrible internal struts – proper period landscape amazed Traft – jerked his Captain Granite’s tomb up – why? – out of nowhere the artery on the north headland had appeared and a long slew grown – but there are elms and ranger ship.

Traft ripped a rubs worth saving his raspy throat – that must be Granite Island – and were passing through where John Felton lives – are set in a crumbling wall. Yes – he replied it’s mad – and I could see that the cliffs you see below the lodge – round the great house well – very hard to find the inlet Frodo have been recently mown...

Chapter 3

The animal had stopped mid-stride as I appeared. It froze where I stood, wore a collar, but I could not see any tag. Its lips curled, of strength, speed, and controlled ferocity that held me back revealing strong white teeth, but it did not snarl or muzzled and tall. Its cropped ears and tail gave it a look, bark; it merely stood there looking at me.

Then it turned, but it was a dog – a handsome Doberman pinscher, black-trotted off along the track, and started to climb. Run – even when I saw what looked to me like a wolf. I had forgotten those curious steps up to the cave.

I was overcome with fear. I could not have turned to watch the Doberman until it disappeared into the narrow track. I gave a sigh of relief. I have always considered Dober-cave; something was trotting toward me, up the center, man pinschers among the least likeable of dogs, I took one.

I stop. Something moved in the shadows beyond the last, look up at the cave, and then continued along. Only after I rounded the granite, piled below the cave, did track as I rounded the fallen rock. I saw the spot where, back down the narrow chasm, my heart pounding, and the turning place for the truck had been. But the tracks, time, but this time I crossed it without thinking.

They tore themselves, had now completely disappeared. The entire slippery stone surface with its greenish weed at any other area was under water. And started to run. I would never have run across that. I stopped in horror. There was only a yard or so of sand. The hair on my neck prickled.

I gave a cry of fright, left, and, even as I watched, I could see that the strip was Gail…? Rapidly getting smaller? And then, in one terrible moment, it was like a wind. “Gail, Gail! Where are you?” I remembered the fierce tidal bores of the Bay of Fundy! “Gail!” they moaned. “Gail, Gail, Gail…!”

Thought of Adrian’s warning and my heart started to beat, not my own, and they called my name, so loudly I could almost hear it. Panic-stricken, I looked frightening. A distant murmuring… The words were frantically about. I thought of the cave where I had seen them. I heard something else, which I found even more…

Chapter 2

There were a couple
In Lavers’
Got there. One was the light
The insomniac who wouldn’t
Wouldn’t stop dreaming of beautiful blondes.

Open the door of Lavers’
Sound of voices inside. I dropped into the
My unprintable thoughts
Opened and a tall, lean character
Beak of a nose and very thin lips. He had

Went well with his immaculate suit,
Past me without seeing me, because
Without looking that I was part of the
The character was outside the office,
“Your time getting here, Wheeler!” He growled. I sat down in

One with the loose spring that
In his office. “That corpse you found tonight,” Lavers grunted,
Agreed, “if it’s the reason
You?” he asked. “Sure,” I nodded, “he’s the guy who owns the
Saw just leaving my office,” the County

Son! That reefer-smoking … Bum,
He’s still Landis’ son and the
Murderer brought to justice. You can fill in the rest of
“A big wheel,” I said. “Mr. Landis”
Lavers said fiercely. “Mr. Landis controls the…

Chapter 1 (of an abandoned novel)

“Ray Wheeler. Can’t you think of anything else but sex?” she, in the small dingy-looking building, pulled up and asked tartly.

I parked the car.

“I don’t know” I admitted. “I never tried.” I could hardly be called a big-time operator.

“The next time I ride in a cab with you, Ray Wheeler, I decided as I climbed out and studied the place,” Anna said breathlessly, “I’ll wear a suit.”

It did not even seem large enough to warrant my existence. The armor, I smoothed down the front of her dress and went inside. I looked up at the battered neon sign.


“Can I help you mademoiselle?” a pretty teen-ager spelled out.
If all the lights had been on, the receptionist, powdering her nose at the desk hastily, put underneath a small neon sign which read, “Away!”

From her compact, she looked up and smiled.

“Midnight at midnight? Thank you. I’d like to speak to Mr. Wheeler. Is this the place?” I asked her.

“Mr. Wheeler is out at the moment I’m afraid.” She took my arm determinedly and pulled me through. She said, “Perhaps I could take a message through the doorway.”

We walked down the steps into the cellar.

“No, I’m afraid a message wouldn’t do. You see, this is the place Anna. You’ll love it. I’ve come rather a long way to see Mr. Wheeler,” I explained.

We found a table against the wall and sat down. It was all the way from New York, a big cellar, but still just a cellar without air conditioning and I want to discuss Granite Folly with him. It was hot and smoky and you could hardly see a blonde, her dark eyes widened in surprise in front of your face. I took a close look at Anna.

“You’re the owner of Granite Folly? Then that’s right. When are you expecting Mr. Wheeler?

A consciously unkempt waiter lolled against the table back, leering at Anna.

“He’s out at Granite Folly today. He asked me to close. They’ve really got what it takes, Anna, in the office for him,” he said. “He might stay out there until Cuba ‘bass fiddle’ Carter hides and Wesley ‘the morning’ Stewart plans to play ‘the horn nobody ever heard of’ until a drive back to Halifax tonight.”


A couple of months ago and now everybody in town is talking. She glanced past me toward my gleaming yellow Camaro convertible.

“I could have Mr. Wheeler contact you there. There’s a second reason and this should interest you in the morning,” she said. “Midnight at midnight, like the neon says, ‘Out’ I think.”

“I’ve done enough driving for today,” I said with a faint smile, “coming in from Digby was bad enough.” (Note: that’s a quote from Gertrude Stein.)

“Miss Midnight O’Hara is her name,” Anna said.

I said quickly, “Anna, did you impatiently guess what she sings at midnight?” She drives in by the south road from the ferry, glances at her watch around fifteen minutes from now, nods. “It’s hardly what I’d choose for night driving.”


In my apartment, the worlds’ greatest await. It was so lonely and that road is in shocking condition. On records, my hi-fi setup is one of the best. I passed a moose that looked as big as a house.

“Haven’t you forgotten something?” she said coldly.
She looked concerned. “Didn’t you ask at Digby? I’m ticklish. Nobody uses that road anymore.”

She shivers.


The scotch arrived and the waiter took a long, close if-your-car-had-gotten-stuck-in-one-of-the-creeks-or-bogs look at Anna as he put the glass in front of her.

“Someone should have warned you about the wolves.” He said admiringly, “you’re really something.”

“Least she’s a girl,” I told him, “which is a four-letter word.”

“Wolves,” he echoed in amazement, “Don’t tell me. There you are, also a four-letter word which is pronounced ‘woo-loves’ around here quite differently.”

“Would you like me to make myself paint timber wolves?” She explained, “This is one of the fully clear few parts in the south of Canada where they still exist.”

“My,” he said, “we got the carriage trade tonight. We’ve had a long winter and not much spring so they drifted away from the table, flapping.”


His off-white, hungry, foolish drive to Granite, threw a napkin reproachfully at me as he went. “Folly tonight? Even Mr. Wheeler won’t go at night, if you just wait till you hear them.”

Anna said, “He can’t help it and he knows the road very well. Determinedly, these boys are basic New Orleans, worse than the road you came in by, maybe leaning to Chicago style. You can hear that, but you thought I might drive to Halifax? (Shuffle-rhythm coming through here and there and she laughed.)

“Your road map must be out of date, Miss.” Mercifully her voice was drowned by the trio.


“There’s a good all-weather road being built. In their stride, I found a new baby I tasted from Halifax but, it runs east of town and hasn’t quite cautiously confirmed my worst suspicions.”

“Reached Charente yet? It’s five miles out, but you connect. What did you think of that?” Anna asked eagerly.

“Noisy,” I said.

Now my hi-fi setup has a volume highway-only-fifty-miles-from-Halifax control and you can turn it up or down as you desire. I hadn’t heard they were building a new road, might also add that the liquor in my apartment comes. She nods.

“A mining company started it from a genuine Scotch bottle and I can show you the label back. They’ve found rutile in the beach sands just south, as well as the seal before you.”


“For a company to build that much access road, I’d say, my voice got lost in a storm of applause,” smiled Mike.

He announced Midnight O’Hara. I concentrated on the ‘it’s worth millions’ spot light which wavered for a moment then picked up, “Who’s Mike Midnight?”

Making her entrance, she blushed. “Mike and I go out together. He works. She was all women, Midnight O’Hara, for the company.”

She glanced at the wall clock and she was tall and blonde and she had dark eyes and winced.

“I was supposed to meet him five minutes ago, black as midnight.”

She had a full figure and the Black, down at the wharf; he’s working on a survey of other strapless – put a very definite emphasis on her – curves. Beaches, around here, they travel by boat because of rhinestones, flashed as they reflected the spotlight, cliffs you won’t try to drive out the road to.

She was a nice-looking dame in a world-populated Granite Folly.


“Now, will you?” she asked anxiously with nice-looking dames, right up to the moment she laughed.

“No, Miss Dupres, nor all the way.”

Halifax reached out a gloved hand and took hold. Either, at least not if, I can find a place to stay in the village and started to sing “We’d be Happy to Have you Miss Walton.” Then she sang, “She Was All the Women You Had, Ever,” eagerly.

My people have a farm near the Garross place and the only woman you ever wanted to know. I shook my head “Thank you,” but I couldn’t impose. She hit you right where you lived. That way isn’t there, a motel, or some kind of place. You could say she had style. She had personality. She, in the village that takes overnight guests, had depth. Her phrasing was perfect.

You could use Marie. She takes boarders. She’s three doors from here up. All the words to describe it, explain it, analyze it toward the wharf; you could go to Madame Deraine and her voice still reached out casually and melted you.


“The Deraines have the inn – you passed it a block back, insides coming in – but Mike and the company men board there.” She sang “Reckless Blues” then followed it up with “And They’re a Little Rowdy at Times.”

“I think you’d like “Bewitched” – bothered and bewildered.”

The clincher was Marie’s place, better though.

“You’re quite welcome to stay the-lady-is-a-tramp with us. My mother and father would be only too happy.”

And when the applause died away, and the trio was to have you digging into China, Anna looked expectantly. “Thanks Madelin. You’re very kind, but it wouldn’t be fair to your mother. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll go find how she was.”

She asked Marie, “Three doors down, you said, if she did a strip when she sang?”

I said “I would, yes,” toward the wharf.

She reached out for the tele-pay-a-cover-charge-phone. “I could call Marie and arrange it for you, how a character came in, leaned against our table, and how long do you intend to stay?” She looked at Anna admiringly, “Only tonight?”

“When I’ve seen Mr. Wheeler, he was around thirty and fat with his sports coat, mourning. I’ll plan it from there. I may stay.”


The Paretos were cut wide enough to shelter a team of adagio dancers out at the house and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. “You mean you’d stay at Granite Folly, man,” he said admiringly, “I dig you the most. You I understand. The Paretos have some kind of motel or crazy chick. You guesthouse out there blew.”

I told him, “It’s easy to see you’re not a local, Miss. Don’t ignore me completely. I’m groovy tonight. Pigeon, you know the kind of place? Why don’t we have a ball?”
Some surprise, I’m beginning to wonder why now.

“Get lost!” Anna said crisply, “I realize how far out and lonely it must be, yet, I do sometimes check.”

“Huh,” he said straightening him. “Remember a beach there? And no doubt there’s fishing, with an effort; sleep with your glasses on.”


“And hunting okay? So I’ll nix out.”

Madelin shook her head. “They’re not that kind.”


I watched him weave his way unsteadily through the guests. Miss Walton hesitated. They live there, tables toward a door at the far end of the cellar, permanently. They’re people without relatives or language. “Was that Ann?” asked relatives who don’t want them around.

“Some are jive-talk honey,” I explained, “liquor or more, retired, and have an income, but mostly the Paretos take, probably, dope in some form for their welfare checks.”
“It just didn’t make sense,” she said. “Are they aged people? Then, depends which groove you’re in.”

I said, “This place! Not all, just unemployable or the reclusive type, sort of grows on you doesn’t it, like a fungus, but I’m sure you wouldn’t like it out there Miss.”
“It’s worth it,” she said, lifting her chin a little. “Where Charente mightn’t be, it’s a long way ahead, or else would you hear jazz like this?”


“I wouldn’t be much, but it’s a long way ahead of. I already answered that,” I said with a good deal of folly. “I wouldn’t spend a night out there for any self-control in my thing, myself.”

“It sends me,” she said, “I can’t understand why it…” She broke off and turned back to the phone. “That doesn’t send you, Al. I never thought you were a square, Mike.”

Outside he must have gotten tired of waiting for me. I took a long steady glance at her ample curves and walked up here. “I’ll call Marie.”

“That’s something I’d never call you, honey,” I said. “Can I phone the Paretos from Marie’s?” (I was speaking figuratively.)

She admitted, “Perhaps I can find out what I want to know from them, so I agreed without going out at all. And you wonder why a girl’s scared to go up?”

“No, there’s no line,” Madelin replied, “It’s more than your apartment. You’re the only man, twenty miles through the forest, Mr. Wheeler, I could feel looking at me; tell you anything you want to know.”

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Review of Sonic Outlaws

The best place to begin with the films of San Francisco based artist Craig Baldwin is in the middle. After making a number of short collage-based films including the mind-bogglingly fascinating quasi-sci-fi mini-epic Tribulation 99, it seems he felt the need for a manifesto, of sorts.

His documentary Sonic Outlaws is that manifesto, his attempt to explain his art. And it is a brilliant and fascinating explanation, manifesting the same aesthetic philosophy as his prior work. It is as mind-bogglingly rich as any of his films before, and after.

Two lines of dialog in Sonic Outlaws combine to neatly capture this method:

“You can put a bunch of stuff on the air or in a record that are not really necessarily related to each other at all. Put them in connection with one another and, if there’s any way at all to do it, people will put it together in their minds and make it have a meaning.”

“… capturing the corporately controlled subjects of the one-way media barrage, re-organizing them to be a comment upon themselves, and spinning them back into the barrage for cultural consideration.”

I’ve been fascinated since college by the human mind’s ability to make sense out of anything, even nonsense. I used to hang out with my roommate, kicking back on the couch, drinking beer, and watching television. We would always turn the sound off though and play random LPs from our massive joint collection. The nightly news played especially well when accompanied by early Genesis or King Crimson. We would continually be amused by how, no matter what music we played, it seemed to have been composed with that day’s television programming in mind. Kind of made the entire Wizard of Oz/Dark Side of the Moon synchronicity seem all the nuttier.

In the years since, I’ve dabbled with Gysin and Burroughs’ “cut-up” technique of writing, to again be amazed by how the mind can turn truly random combinations into meaningful poetry, such as in this excerpt where I cut together random fragments from my review of Marley and Me and a news article about President Obama’s new puppy:

“The President did with happy, puppy times. Ultimately, as a lifelong President, he would go to a shelter of a breed overflowing, because so many people give pets, a cute puppy or kitten dancing in their heads, to a pet store or puppy mill, either. It’s a gray conscious response to these tough economic forgiving.”

This also leaves me wondering why schools are so hell-bent against kids copying things and yet they don’t offer classes on the creative potential of re-using pre-existing materials. But I seriously digress…

Sonic Outlaws uses a lawsuit against the experimental music group Negativland as a point of departure. After stumbling upon a pirate copy of Casey Kasem swearing and carrying on during a broadcast recording session (he was fumbling his words while trying to introduce the song “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for” by U2 and getting frustrated), the group got an idea, creatively juxtapose bits and pieces of the tape with fragments of U2 songs. And thus began their sad, downward spiral of copyright infringement battles.

A major element of Baldwin’s work consists of extended montages of found footage drawn from his seemingly inexhaustible basement library of newsreels, trailers, industrials, old television shows, B-movies, and so on. And Sonic Outlaws is ripe with such extended virtuoso sequences.

After a scene where a member of Negativland listens in on a cell phone conversation (a lover’s spat between two gay men), an ethical and legal discussion of such radio-jamming is juxtaposed with images of people listening to radios and shots of radio personalities in their broadcast booths. This then leads quite fluidly into images of people on telephones, a very funny shot of a man throwing a hammer at a radio, and so on…

Later, a hilarious Mondo 2000 radio show interview between Negativland members and the unsuspecting The Edge from U2 inspires a similar montage. The legal questions discussed conjure up images from old courtroom dramas such as Perry Mason and the David versus Goliath implications provoke an intercutting of shots of giants and monsters from old sci-fi movies and executives towering over a model building in a board room. The Edge calls it “the most surreal interview I’ve ever had in my life.” Baldwin’s treatment turns the surreal into the inspired.

And that’s just the beginning. The film is like a snowball rolling down a hill. It gains speed and energy as it accumulates more and more illustrations of its thesis.

There is a section on billboard pirates, rebel artists who hijack commercial billboards to their own ends:

“…forget about the rest. Invest in Greed. Vote for me,” adorns a billboard beside a picture of Ronald Reagan holding a cocktail.

An Army recruitment billboard is altered to read, “We’ll pay you $288 a month to kill. Today’s Army wants to join you.”

And Sonic Outlaws continues to gain momentum by considering copyright infringement issues in relation to artists like Andy Warhol (Campbell Soup cans), the Mellotron (used to musically manipulate taped recording of symphony orchestras), and Daffy Duck’s rendition of “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Legal battles over Too Live Crew’s parody of Roy Orbinson’s “Pretty Woman” (“Big hairy woman, you need to shave that stuff…”), a Mad Magazine issue with Irving Berlin song lyric parodies, and some mad fool who thought he could get away with cartoons showing Mickey and Minnie Mouse having sex are all drawn into the vortex as well.

And, as if that wasn’t enough, we get glimpses into the history of Dadaist art, Marshall McCluhan, William S. Burroughs, a kid making a cut-and-paste animated film, children copying and stretching Sunday comics using Silly Putty, and a group called Barbie’s Liberation Organization which surgically altered talking Barbie and G.I. Joe dolls, swapping their voices, and placing them back on store shelves.

And yet, much to the film’s credit, it is never a case of too much of a good thing. Baldwin’s editing is so nimble and fluid (out of hundreds if not thousands of found images, how does he manage all of them being so beautiful, so interesting?) that he pulls it off. His stream of logic style is worthy of comparison with the work of Chris Marker – I’m thinking Sans Soleil and The Last Bolshevik in particular.

Sonic Outlaws ends on a beautifully ironic note, the hypocrisy of U2 pulling satellite television images (“totally copyrighted stuff”) out of the air and projecting them behind the stage on their Zoo TV tour, using them for money, the very thing they sued Negativland for that inspired all of this madness.

I guess if you’re big enough you can get away with anything. All others beware.

For more information about Craig Baldwin and Sonic Outlaws, visit his website at

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

What did he say?

“Repeatedly, the recently enacted stimulus plans – the efforts to strengthen the banking system and attempts to rescue the flagging American auto industry – have all borne fruit, demonstrated in part by an increase in consumer spending on a wide array of goods (declined in March). Does not mean that hard times are over,” Mr. Obama said, warning that 2009 will be a difficult year.

“And that century, that is the future I see. That is the future I know we can have. But the near future will bring more,” he told an audience at Morehouse College in Atlanta.

There were “tentative signs” that the decline instead built skilled, productive workers, by sound investments that will spread opportunity at home. “And times are still tough,” he said. “By no means are we out of the woods just yet."

But from where we stand, for the imagery, the president envisioned a future where sustained economic growth creates good jobs and raising a vision of an America’s future that is far different than our troubled economic past.

Realizing that vision will be “liberal.” For instance, he defended his administration’s decision not to take over failing banks.

“Government’s ethic,” the president said. “It will also require work on deep, complicated issues like health care and energy.”

He did, however, use the occasion to reaffirm his determination to do something about the rising cost of outsiders against the presence, at a Catholic university, of a president who supports abortion rights.

“Driven by a larger vision of America’s future,” Mr. Obama said in remarks at Georgetown University.

There have been similar protests at Notre Dame, where the president is to speak at commencement exercises on the once high-rolling members of the financial world, but for politicians who he said had deferred, whose foundations are built not on sand but on rock, proud, sturdy and unwavering in the face of the greatest prosperity.

Speaking just after a disappointing report on March retail sales made it clear that if we come together and begin the hard work of rebuilding, if we persist and persevere against President Obama on Tuesday, that the battered economy was showing signs of recovery, but, he warned, “Dreams of our founders will live on in our time. Americans, more pain lies ahead.”

And he urged them to help build a foundation for a new 21st century, disappointments and setbacks that will surely lie ahead. “Then I have no doubt that this house will stand and the recovery is not yet at hand.”

The president delivered a speech that was part pep talk and part rebuke, not only for storm. “We will not finish it in one year or even many,” he said, “but, if we use this moment to delay new decisions for too long, I want every American to know that each action we take and each policy we pursue is alluding to a parable at the end of the Sermon on the Mount.”

Monday, April 13, 2009

Bo & Me

“In baby talk, he’s so cuuuuuute. Little, happy, made me laugh, sometimes hard.”

More than a few missed the news because of other priorities, longingly. Everyone in the audience, when you bring family, has a new memory, the new First Dog, telling the entire life of a dog and not just on Saturday.

With a mysterious new web site owner, it made me think. Animal shelters spotted it and linked to it, causing the rest of the gifts – tied with a bow – with thoughts settled. We know that Bo is a 6-month-old. Forget that a life lasts a lifetime. And, as if a Kennedy, the dog should be thrilled. He’ll have times with news stories of pets left to starve in North Lawn, the South Lawn, a swimming pool – both movie and book – locates it heart. It’s like Barney used to have.

Obama’s daughters seem like a good idea now. But what happens, too? Not everyone’s elated though – because what happens when the kids grow up and have one? He’s not an animal shelter. And the President? What happens when they leave for college?

“Who made this promise to Dr. Jana Kohl, the author of ‘Across the Country’?”

Actually, another reason three-legged rescue dog and puppy mill survivors understand the value of spaying and neutering – that then-Senator Obama agreed to appear in its funniest sequences – but that’s a whole other, became the cover for “American Dog” magazine.

“’Marley & Me’ on DVD will be standard issue with those who really care about animal welfare. While watching the movie, I found myself humanized every year, every dog purchased by dogs (and cats and horses and hamsters and …),” as they say. “That’s why Vice President Joe, a dog, named Princess. Those years were filled under to get his dog.”

“Animal rights activists never end.”

Most of my memories from that time are getting a second dog from a shelter. So far, this is with me for such a short time and, the older I get, there’s a technicality. One of those “definitions,” years was everything. We also get a strong House; it isn’t Bo’s first home.

He originally lived happy and fulfilling lives with the Grogan family, the other dogs. So he was given back to them. They will go on to experience much more life. And put in the end, the Kennedy’s learned of this litter, just a fond memory. After things settled, he wanted to give the girls a gift. And there were times it made me cry at the end as it did seem so, technically, he’s a second.

“Your kids. Consider preparing them for a story society didn’t tear into.”

The President did with happy, puppy times. Ultimately, as a lifelong President, he would go to a shelter of a breed overflowing, because so many people give pets, a cute puppy or kitten dancing in their heads, to a pet store or puppy mill, either. It’s a gray conscious response to these tough economic forgiving.

“This is truly a missed opportunity to plea to all future pet owners to think first.”