Eight Feet Deep

Wow! Still no word about Vivi the missing whippet show dog. Maybe her, its, escape at JFK Airport a couple of weeks ago is just an extended vacation for the show dog. I’m sure a show dog needs rest. See something different. Maybe it changed identities with some mutt and now is hanging somewhere in Jersey.

Psychics that have been called in and/or have volunteered to locate Vivi may have their strong feelings. But they’ve not yet produced anything. Maybe Miss Cleo can help. For a price. Don’t you think she would help? In a fake Jamaican accent. For a price?

I have no reason to disbelieve psychics. I’ve never been involved in any way with a psychic so I can’t say whether their psychic powers are real or are bulls**tsky. But I hear all of these psychics coming on these big cases — cases where people are missing or are presumed dead. I hear of them on high-profile cases like Jon Benet Ramsey or the recent missing Vivi, a case we’re all concerned about of course.

Just think about this a second. If psychics are really all they’re cracked up to be, then why don’t they help the regular person, the everyday schmuck? Why don’t they intervene when we’re going to have some a**hole on the freeway mess up our day? Why don’t they show up before we go to work and tell us to take the day off because otherwise our boss is going to ruin our day? Why don’t they tell us when we’re about to say something stupid to one of our friends that causes a dustup and causes a round of hurt feelings?

If their psychic powers are so great, then why don’t they put those powers to use with things that matter in everyday life. For you see, there is a lot better chance we’ll f**k up some way or have a day that is f**ked up than we’ll end up being kidnapped or even that we’ll be a show dog missing in New York City. I’d be happy to know what happened to the $5 bill I lost somewhere last summer. Miss Cleo, what’d I do with that five-spot? Huh? I’d buy you a … well, there isn’t much I could buy you with $5. Forget about it.

Dude! This pizza tastes just like condoms.

It seems as if the pizza guy just misspoke. Domino’s Pizza founder Thomas S. Monaghan said that strict Catholic principles will not have to abided by to live in the Florida town he is building. Monaghan — no doubt a crusty religious guy — had said earlier that the town he was building around Ave Maria University would be devoid of porno magazines, condoms and original sin. The American Civil Liberties Union threatened to sue the pepperoni off his pizza, although I don’t know if that was a factor in his backtracking.

I wonder if this means the Domino’s in Ava Maria will deliver porn and condoms with your pizza?

Imagine that you were once a big rock star. Now imagine that 30 years later nothing has matched that triumph since. That appears to be the case for Gary Glitter, known for “Rock and Roll (Part 2), its chants still echoing from inside U.S. sports arenas.

Glitter’s child molestation trial has opened in Vietnam. That the trial is happening in Vietnam is surreal in itself. The fact that its glam rock guy Glitter is just plain sad if it is true. He already has been in hot water for possessing child pornography and now this.

Oh well, he never was much of a rock and roll god to me anyway.

Day 14 and Vivi the show Whippet remains missing. Meanwhile, I have my own dog problems. I’ve come close to being attacked by dogs twice in the last three days.

I was out for a walk Sunday on Harrison Avenue when this dog that looked otherwise friendly came running at me. It began barking and snarling at me perhaps a foot or so away. I don’t know what type of dog it was. It wasn’t a so-called “dangerous” breed, a term with which I have issues. It was a really pretty dog but it had a bad case of the “territorials,” I suppose. I managed to pick up not more than a twig and threatened the dog. It backed off and I got home with all of my parts intact.

This afternoon I was walking down Evalon Avenue when this momma pit bull accosted me. This dog was, like the one I saw five or six blocks away on Sunday, showing me what big teeth it had. I found a somewhat flimsy stick near by and thrashed at the dog but that only seemed to piss the dog off even more. Finally, I guess it got tired and I was allowed to leave with all of my parts intact.

In the Waco suburb where I lived prior to moving back to Beaumont, I had made a habit of carrying a broomstick with me on my daily walks. The stick had been given to me one day when a genuinely bad ass dog came after me. All I could do is swing my hat at the dog. That fortunately set off a car alarm and a guy inside the house I was walking by brought me the stick.

I would hate to have to start toting a stick around with me for my daily walks. I don’t particularly like to use a stick for walking and I like even less having to use it with which to threaten a dog, or even strike a dog if I am attacked. The favorable solution to my problem would be for those people keeping these dogs to have them in a place that is both safe for the dogs and safe for the public. Otherwise, they should call the Humane Society and put them up for adoption. I don’t want to hurt a dog and I don’t want one hurting me either. It’s a pretty simple proposition.

Happy Fat Tuesday. I spent a good portion of my time this Fat Tuesday at the Michael DeBakey VA Hospital in Houston. It’s never fun waiting to see the doctor and then waiting some more, which is kind of the accepted pastime at the VA. At least I got to see a nice Mardi Gras parade.

While in the hospital lobby this afternoon I heard noise-makers blowing and looked up to see a long procession of wheelchairs. These wheelchairs were decorated with various Mardi Gras trimmings and the wheelchair occupants were in bright, festive costumes. The many VA patients in wheelchairs rolled through the lobby handing out beads as I figure they weren’t allowed to throw them — if indeed they could throw the beads — since these were mostly older men and women. It was a pleasant 10-minute or so diversion for me and I think it seems like a fun activity for people who probably don’t have a lot of fun in their lives.

The other diversion there this afternoon was a man whom I shall call “Mr. Unstoppable.” This is, as in can’t get him to shut up. He was a friendly enough guy, a Vietnam vet, who just came up to me started talking and didn’t quit for quite sometime. His conversations went from railing against the “chickenhawks,” those who talk a good game about getting our country into needless wars but have never served in uniform, to baseball. I guess I liked the guy mostly because he ranted about someone who makes me want to rant — Sean Hannity. Although, this man called him Sean “Hannigan.” He also said he listened regularly to Rush Limbaugh on the radio “because that man is a fool. He’s up there saying all this s**t for all these years and he’s high as a kite!”

Encountering a Mr. Unstoppable can get a little tiresome. But on the other hand, you really don’t have to do a lot other than nod and say “Uh huh” so it’s not really a conversation as such that might otherwise wear you out. And when you are waiting around at the VA hospital, the last thing you want is something to wear you out.