[I originally wrote this on today’s date in 2007.]
Okay, so I’d like to talk about the SPCA for a moment if I might.
As many of you know, I’d been kicking around the idea of getting a dog for quite some time now. I’ve had the “you’re a single guy, have a backyard (of sorts), drive a Jeep, go to the park/beach/camping pretty often…where in the hell is your dog?” conversation more times than I care to count.
So last weekend, I decided to swing by the SPCA and give the matter some practical application to go along with the theoretical.
To be honest, I’d expected this trip to be horribly depressing. I imagined wandering by little fluffballs in cages, all whining tiny puppy prayers for kind people to show up, love them, and finally take them home, wherever that may be.
And just the thought of that was enough to make me mostly cloudy with a chance of lachrymal rain.
But!
When I got there I was completely surprised.
Now it’s true that there were sad puppies everywhere. Yes, they put their little paws and cold noses through the cages, in the hope that someone might stop and pay attention to them. And yes, this was heartbreaking.
But nearly every time I’d stop to look at their information, they’d have a big red “ADOPTED” stamp emblazoned across the center of their name card.
And this made me smile, kneel down to play with them for a moment, and quietly whisper some variant of, “You’re going home little guy. Good luck.” when I was sure there was no one around to hear me.
Yes, I know. Shut up.
So as I’m ambling along I happen across a pair of the saddest brown eyes you have ever seen in your life staring up at me from a curled ball of black Labrador Retriever.
“Ahoy there.”
A flash of excitement flickers across the brown eyes, but the rest of him stays curled up, having obviously played this game with more than a few people as they passed by.
I kneel down, and this is all brown-eyes needs to get wearily to his feet, and press his nose to the fence.
He looks up at me calmly.
I look back.
And there we are.
Me sitting on my heels, fingers extended between a gray chain-link fence, gently touching the dog’s head and ears.
The dog sighing, his black head lowered pitifully, and occasionally glancing up to give me an “I have no idea who you are, but please don’t go,” look.
Can you see us?
Yeah, I could too.
So, without any further gilding of the lily, I’d like you all to meet “Jib.”
This was taken at the Houston SPCA, just minutes after we met.
Jib…meet everyone.
[END]
And now, 9 years later, here is that very same puppy on the morning of his “birthday.” (We celebrate the day I brought him home, rather than all the painful stuff that came before.)
We’ve each saved one other’s lives more than once, and I don’t know what my life would look like without this big guy standing faithfully next to me.
I love you, puppy.
Happy birthday.
j.s.
Posted: June 27, 2016 · Leave a Comment
Slow Weekend
And after the past couple of weeks, I definitely needed one.
There’s something to be said for simply lounging around your house (you know, that thing that you already pay so much money for?), on the weekend.
Instead of leaving home and blowing coin on random “activities,” you can do things like spend a little time in your playhouse…
You can hang out on your treehouse/slide for a bit…
Or you can work on the sampling/crowd hype for that Polly Wolly Doodle/La Cucaracha/Where Is Thumbkin remix that’s been kicking around your head for weeks.
You could pose for pictures on the couch…
Just before dropping into a “Marlinspike Hitch” yoga pose and falling asleep in Dad’s lap for an hour.
In the end, I should really just enjoy this time while I can get away with it. Because soon enough the house won’t be good enough for a little girl, and she’ll start demanding to be taken places.
j.s.
Posted: June 24, 2016 · 1 Comment
Balenci-Dada
The unthinkable has happened. I have devolved into dressing like a father.
That’s right. I’ve been rocking the “Dadcore.”
Meaning that I wear the jeans/polo combo (with sneakers) to work…
And yet I still feel it necessary to change into a pair of Under Armour “tech pants” (which is a nice word for “pajamas”), and a lightweight tee when I get home.
Because, you know, you can always get more comfy.
On weekends I sport cargo shorts and t-shirts like they’re my uniform. I’ve even been known to occasionally put shoes on. You know, if we’re “going out.” [i.e. To the mall, Whole Foods/HEB, or Babies-R-Us]
It does occur to me, though, that I don’t have to look this way.
It’s not like it’s any more difficult to dress like this:
rather than looking like this:
Adidas to Armani, Hurley to Herrera, Dockers to Dior…
It all boils down to one simple question.
Do you care?
Because complaining about the price differential between these brands, which is the first tent people tend to cower under when discussion fashion, is utter nonsense. There are very easy ways around paying full price for designer clothing (which might make for a halfway decent blog post, come to think of it), the simplest of which is using off-peak sales and/or clearance centers.
What’s more, very few people can tell exactly who made that gingham oxford button down shown in the first picture. Could be Tom Ford, could be Target. One costs $400. The other is $12. And of those who can tell the difference, even fewer give a damn.
In the way of full disclosure, I pay way more than $12 for my t-shirts. And I know for a fact that the Under Armour undershirt worn by every dad in America runs almost double that price.
What I’m saying here is that price isn’t a determining factor. It’s just a convenient excuse. So that leaves us, once again, with the same question…
Do you care?
And if you don’t, that’s cool too. Own it. Run with that Sandler thing and don’t look back. After all, you’re in good company there. It’s not like there’s a jacket/tie requirement to get a good spot at a changing table.
But as for me? I think it might be haute time for me to get back to wearing what I wear well. And if that means that I’m the guy scouring the clearance bins at Katy Mills?
Well, I am that guy.
j.s.
Posted: June 23, 2016 · 2 Comments
A/C, You See
Another day off has been sacrificed at the altar of central air conditioning.
I got a call this morning that said 1-Hour Heating and A/C was running late and they would be here as soon as possible. Which was news to me, since this was actually the first call I’d received about it. (They never set up an appointment with me in the first place.) I tried to use this “inconvenience” to bump the process to Friday afternoon, but naturally they were entirely booked through the weekend.
Today it is, then.
They arrived at about 3:45 and thus began, The Tarpenining.
And so now I’m sitting here at my desk upstairs, typing for you guys, with the sound of two guys disassembling, reassembling and/or beating the hell out of an A/C unit just above me. The temperature is creeping steadily upward toward the 80s, Alex is going insane because he’s locked in the bedroom, and the dulcet tones of an anti-moisture fan is adding its lovely chorus to this din of suck.
Thankfully, Jen went to her mother’s house with Daphne for a playdate at 2:00, so at least they aren’t having to sit through this.
I can only hope that this is the last home issues we’ll have to worry about for a little while.
I hope.
j.s.
Posted: June 22, 2016 · Leave a Comment
Happy Birthday, Jib
[I originally wrote this on today’s date in 2007.]
Okay, so I’d like to talk about the SPCA for a moment if I might.
As many of you know, I’d been kicking around the idea of getting a dog for quite some time now. I’ve had the “you’re a single guy, have a backyard (of sorts), drive a Jeep, go to the park/beach/camping pretty often…where in the hell is your dog?” conversation more times than I care to count.
So last weekend, I decided to swing by the SPCA and give the matter some practical application to go along with the theoretical.
To be honest, I’d expected this trip to be horribly depressing. I imagined wandering by little fluffballs in cages, all whining tiny puppy prayers for kind people to show up, love them, and finally take them home, wherever that may be.
And just the thought of that was enough to make me mostly cloudy with a chance of lachrymal rain.
But!
When I got there I was completely surprised.
Now it’s true that there were sad puppies everywhere. Yes, they put their little paws and cold noses through the cages, in the hope that someone might stop and pay attention to them. And yes, this was heartbreaking.
But nearly every time I’d stop to look at their information, they’d have a big red “ADOPTED” stamp emblazoned across the center of their name card.
And this made me smile, kneel down to play with them for a moment, and quietly whisper some variant of, “You’re going home little guy. Good luck.” when I was sure there was no one around to hear me.
Yes, I know. Shut up.
So as I’m ambling along I happen across a pair of the saddest brown eyes you have ever seen in your life staring up at me from a curled ball of black Labrador Retriever.
“Ahoy there.”
A flash of excitement flickers across the brown eyes, but the rest of him stays curled up, having obviously played this game with more than a few people as they passed by.
I kneel down, and this is all brown-eyes needs to get wearily to his feet, and press his nose to the fence.
He looks up at me calmly.
I look back.
And there we are.
Me sitting on my heels, fingers extended between a gray chain-link fence, gently touching the dog’s head and ears.
The dog sighing, his black head lowered pitifully, and occasionally glancing up to give me an “I have no idea who you are, but please don’t go,” look.
Can you see us?
Yeah, I could too.
So, without any further gilding of the lily, I’d like you all to meet “Jib.”
Jib…meet everyone.
[END]And now, 9 years later, here is that very same puppy on the morning of his “birthday.” (We celebrate the day I brought him home, rather than all the painful stuff that came before.)
We’ve each saved one other’s lives more than once, and I don’t know what my life would look like without this big guy standing faithfully next to me.
I love you, puppy.
Happy birthday.
j.s.
Posted: June 21, 2016 · Leave a Comment
Catching Up, Cooling Down
So remember how I said I wanted to take a day off later this week?
Turns out today’s the day.
Although I can’t say it’s been exactly “restful.”
Our upstairs air-conditioner began to lose the battle versus the Texas heat last week, and the temperature up there was reaching the high 70’s in the evenings before (thankfully), cooling back down just in time for Daphne to go to bed. And while this was a fortuitous chain of events, I knew it wouldn’t continue for long.
I knew this because I’d played this same game last summer. Every night the temperature would rise as the sun baked against the bricks on the front of our house, and each night the A/C would struggle in vain to cool things off.
The culprit is a perforated evaporator coil in our Lennox A/C unit that’s leaking Freon.
I bandaged the problem last year by giving it another shot of coolant in the vain hope that it would take another 5 years for it to run out.
Not so much…
It was gone in just over 10 months.
So now we’re having to replace the entire evaporator coil in there.
*sigh*
It’s difficult to say you’re “lucky” when your A/C goes out, but I would be remiss if I didn’t concede that this is a rather timely failure. If it’d gone out 5 weeks from now the entire thing would’ve cost us about $3,000 more that what we’re currently having to pay. (Our warranty for the unit expires in August.)
Good with the bad, I guess.
Still, that kind of thing is hard to see when you’re cutting large cheques for stuff that just worked the week before.
j.s.
Archives