Huh

So I guess my computer thought it was being helpful when it deleted all the files off my iPod sometime last night. And while I appreciate initiative, I would have liked a little notification so I could have maybe, say - reloaded the roughly 19 GB of music and podcasts I had stored on it, instead of sitting here poking it, staring at it and wondering how in the hell I'm going to pass the time this afternoon.

Sweet Jesus, I may have to work.

Trash Talking

The gray skies reflected my mood perfectly; I wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away. Unfortunately, the world still revolves despite my wishes otherwise, and so I had to emerge into it.

At the top of my errand list: the library. Generally, the library cheers me up - all those books, all those words, knowledge and characters hidden away, waiting to be discovered usually causes my heart to grow a size or two.

Why was I in such a funk? I couldn't say; the holidays were rushing up ever closer, and the fact that it was Sunday meant the weekend was drawing to it's inevitable close and the thought of a full week of work just made me want to curl up in a ball.

So there but for the grace of God I went, and of course I arrived ten minutes too early. So there I stood with about 20 other bibiophiles, students and wayward souls.

As I leaned against a pillar thumbing through a book, the voices rang out nearby:

"Is this yours? Here, I think you dropped it."

"What the hell are you doing?" replied a second voice.

I looked up to see a tall, lanky middle-aged man who looked as if he were still living in the '60s - and couldn't be happier, standing next to a dark blue, beaten-up sedan. The driver of the sedan shouted out.

"Don't throw things in my car, man. What's your problem?" And he threw a scrap of paper out the window at the aging hippie.

The hippie, nonplussed, picked up the scrap, tossed it back into the car through the open window. "I don't have a problem; I don't like litterers."

The paper shot back out the window. "You throw that back in this car again and you'll be sorry!"

Back in the window. "There's a bank of trash cans just right there. Use them!"

Out the window, and followed by the driver's side door opening. A younger, thick guy around my age stood up. He was wearing a shirt the same color his car once was and a deep scowl on his face. "Stop messing with my property, man!"

The hippie pointed to the ground. "This is your property too! I'm tired of people messing with my property! Why aren't you?"

The guy stomped around to the hippie and stood in his face. "I don't like litterers either, but I don't like you messing with my stuff."

"I'm just cleaning up after you."

At this point, a third man enters the scuffle. "Good Lord! Here -- I'll pick it up. Why are you acting like this? There's kids around! Just pick it up and let it go!"

He stepped between them and picked up the offending scrap and carried it to a trash can.

At this point, the car owner began appealing/attacking the crowd. "I don't like litterers either, but this is wrong. I'm going to have security ban you and you from the library!" he said this while pointing at the hippie and the samaritan.

People started giggling and rolling their eyes. "The holidays must be getting closer," a woman muttered - loud enough for everyone to hear.

"I don't like trash and litterers either! Why don't you just mind your own business?" the car owner stared whining.

The doors opened and he stormed into the library. Everyone else followed.

Throughout all this, I stood there, leaning against my pillar, trying not to laugh at the utter ridiculousness of the situation. I might have tried to stop the fight had it happened, but I didn't feel any need to get involved otherwise.

However, something cheered me about the exchange. Maybe it was the triumph of the rational people over the goofy litterer. Maybe it was the way the hippie handled the situation. Or maybe it was the fact that I wasn't the only one the holidays were apparently getting to.

In short, I think it helps to know that nothing helps a foul mood to know that there's always someone grouchier and moodier than you.

Or maybe I don't like litterers.

I followed the crowd into the library, took care of business and moved on with the beginnings of a smile on my face.

Goodbye Trudy

You were a great dog; I miss you already.

Only the Strong Survive

Your results:
You are Apocalypse

You believe in survival of the fittest and you believe that you are the fittest.


Click here to take the "Which Super Villain are you?" quiz...

Choices

The situation finally came to a head two weeks before Christmas. Trudy, while always a little shaky on the housebreaking thing, was treating the house like her own personal commode. When you fear to tread inside your own house without shoes, it's time to do something.

So I packed her up on a rainy Monday evening, where the vet told me I had a few options remaining:

• Running MRIs, CTs and other mega-expensive tests on her so they might - might - be able to determine what's wrong. This doesn't mean a cure - just an explanation.
• Try giving her new drugs, which if history is any indication, would only help for a few months at the outside.
  
• Grin and bear it.
  
• Have Trudy put down, because she's nearly 15 and this situation is not going to get better.
  

Realistically, it's what I expected to hear, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with.

I can't really afford to run the tests on her, and really, they'd be useless; I know what's "wrong" with her - she's old. At times, she stares off into space for several minutes at a stretch, and she goes through stretches when she acts completely confused by the world around her. It's during these stretches that my dining room, sunroom and landing become minefields.

Giving her the new drugs is simply putting off the inevitable. See the whole "nearly 15" thing.

Grinning and bearing it is becoming less of an option. Darcy is moving in this Spring, and it's not fair to her to have to put up with this. Nor is it fair to me or Trudy; I have to take the time to clean the floors, and I can't help but feeling like it's a little unusual to spend several minutes after work every day trying to figure out where she relieved herself in the house.

So there we are. I could have done it then and there, but I didn't want to have her put down going into the holidays. (Of course, as we stood in the parking lot as rain soaked us through and she refused to get into the car, I wondered how the vet would react to me dragging her back in and saying "it's time!" I held off.)

The hell of it is that she's been great the last week, but we go through this - she'll be great for several days or a couple of weeks and then she follows up with two weeks of constant crapping. And the bad days are starting to outnumber the good ones.

I'm going to miss my little friend. Over the past two-plus years, she's alternated between complete pain in the ass and the best friend I could want. But she's always been good-natured, very sweet and protective. At this point, I've been trying to make her last week as enjoyable as possible.

I called and made the appointment for Monday; I'll leave work early, pick Trudy up, take her to the park for the afternoon, then we'll say goodbye.

A Good Ocean View Can't Be Beat

What do you say?

We all put some money together and purchase a sovereign nation. I like it!

Oooh! Oooh! I want to be emperor!