There have been muffled criticisms, here and there, that I don’t write anymore. I just “make fancy links,” as one fan put it. Perhaps he or she was correct. I don’t write much these days. I'm very busy. I’ve got this job they make me go to, every day. When I’m not at work, I’m studying hard for the GRE, which is coming up for me here pretty soon. I’m confident enough about the math part, being one of those ‘mathy’ kinds of people, but my knowledge of obscure and/or archaic English vocabulary is apparently woefully lacking. I don’t even know what ‘insouciant’ means, let alone ‘perspicacious’ or ‘meretricious’. But, statistically speaking, my knowledge of these words—or more specifically, their antonyms—is an excellect predictor of my chances of successfully completing graduate school. So I’ve got these flash cards, and I spend some time every day memorizing them. Or, rather, I spend some time every day looking at them in sequence while my mind wanders off into the more remote corners of itself to listen to virtual birds chirping in the trees or stare at its feet and count the hairs on their toes.

Then there's the puppy hunt. We’ve decided to get one, even though our landylady has technically refused to allow it. She’s over 140 years old, so we’re thinking we’ll be able to convince her it’s my nephew visiting from Detroit. We’ve already bought the crate and the food and water bowls, the chew toy, the rope toy, and the leash. Now we just need the dog. The adopt-a-stray business has been revolutionized by the internet. You can just surf over to sites like www.petfinder.com and put in your zip code and some basic puppy criteria, and out spits a list of adoptable puppies in your area—complete with adorable enlargeable photographs—and the humane societies and/or foster homes where they currently reside, awaiting their ‘forever homes’, as it goes in the lingo. The part I didn’t expect when trying to adopt a stray or unwanted pet was the multipage applications and strict adoptive parent screening. Certainly a shelter wants to ensure that they are not giving a pet to an irresponsible owner, a dog fighter, a junkyard in need of a guard, or an Asian bistro. But to reject a potential adoptive dog parent because Beatrice can only go to a home with a fenced-in yard and another canine friend? I’ve never been made to feel so unworthy by people for whom I was at least in part trying to do a favor. Some of the questions on the most recent two-page application I received are clearly no-brainers designed to weed out the ones who didn’t bother to think ahead about what pet ownership entails:

• Do you understand that some of the dogs may not be housebroken and that changing the environment of the dog may cause the dog to have accident and or destroy accessible household items?
• Are you willing to take the time to housebreak and train the dog? ____yes ____no

But some are a little more invasive:

• Are you employed? If employed, where and for how long?
• Have you ever been convicted of a felony or criminal charge or been put on probation?
• Please list references that are familiar with your life style (one that is a relative, one that is an employer (if employed) and one other)

I suspect that some of the foster parents have become slightly too close to their wards, guarding them as jealously as the father of his only daughter from potential suitors. So instead of applying to these ‘rescues’ and other premium pet shelters, we’ve been going a little further out of our way to find sources of unwanted animals that are more amenable to actually finding homes for the them. And that takes some time.

Then there’s the whole getting married thing. My upcoming wedding does not rank third behind the GRE and getting a puppy in terms of importance, so don’t go jumping to conclusions. But it’s far enough off that the daily time commitment to planning the thing, these days anyway, is fairly low. Ask me again in April and I might have another story to tell.

In the in-between hours, therefore, there’s just not a lot of time to write, and furthermore, since the nasty hot nastiness of the nasty hot summer has dwindled into purty darn nice weather, I’ve been out enjoying that, taking weekend trips to exciting places such as the beach and whatnot, entertaining out-of-town guests, spending time with my lady friend, etc. And I don’t see many of the complainers maintaining websites and posting creative, well-written essays regularly distilled from the raw material of their lives. “Fancy links,” indeed. Harumph.

I guess I'll never adopt a pet. I won't even use a credit card at bookstores because of the stupid Patri0t Act, there's no way I'd pour out my soul onto one of those applications.

You know, now and again the idea of having a blog has appeared on my creative radar. I write quite a lot in my journal, which is private, but some of the writing could be edited for blog posts. I am stopped by the fact that Everybody could then read what I write. As a result, I have become hypersensitive as to how I decide what I say to who and how I say it to them. In some instances, it's the same story, different vocabulary (e.g., God, Spirit, Divine Being, the stuff that holds the molecules together). In others, there are some things I just don't tell everybody (e.g., my family of origin & work friends) because they'd either 1) pat me on the head and smile tolerantly at me when I talked with them at holidays or the watercooler or 2) not return my phone calls. I have asked myself, should I stop worrying about what the fuck everybody thinks of me and damn the torpedos full steam ahead? Or continue offering bits and pieces of myself flavored in ways I judge that are palatable to the audience? When ya put it that way, there is no choice. Oofdah!

to quote our mutual friend, mr. cupal, there are 24 hours in the day, and if that is not enough, you can give up sleeping and get another eight hours.

i think it's reasonable to WISH (even aloud) that you would write more because you are such a good writer and slip in those sly asian bistro jokes when nobody's looking. but it's not reasonable to NAG exactly because as this isn't something we, your dear readers, pay for-- well, it's like nagging for a gift, right? lemme see the pockets! lemme see the pockets!

move your wedding date back to february; i would like to attend & that's when we'll be there.

I have a phone number for some people that are coordinating all of the dogs being rescued from the hurricane. If you are interested I'll pass it along on my space. Sorry you are tired. I started work today after 9 weeks of major down time. I am tuckered. Buenas.