Zorro Dog isn’t feeling well today, and I’m worried about him. He’s got some swelling under his left eye, and in dogs – especially in small dogs – such swelling is generally related to an abscess in the third or fourth pre-molar. Because chihuahuas have such small heads, their teeth are much closer to their brains than say, those of a rottie or lab, so if the abscess bursts it can lead to brain infection and death. (Actually, even if it doesn’t burst infection is a serious issue – dogs can lose eyes as well as teeth from stuff like this.)

Dental issues are fairly common in toy breeds. Because their mouths are so small, getting a toothbrush in there for regular cleanings is a challange.

Then there’s Zorro’s medical history. My plucky little street survivor has a history of ideopathic epilepsy, and while he hasn’t had a grand mal seizure since 2002, he did have an “absence” seizure just last Tuesday, during a storm.

Oh, and let’s not forget that he’s got a stage three heart murmur.

So, we are stressing – I am stressing – over the fact that we can’t bring him in until Saturday, and I don’t want to wait that long, and this is also going to be horribly expensive – his last trip to the doggie dentist was around $500 – and he’s ten, so he’s a senior dog, which has its own issues.

We’ve made the “no extraordinary measures” decision already, and I’m probably worrying over nothing, but it’s upset the entire tone of my day.

I predict you will dream about at least three of the following things in the coming week: a flying carpet, a genie’s lamp, the food of the gods, a wizard’s wand, healing ointment, a silver chalice, and enchanted mud. “So what?” you might be saying. “What do dreams, no matter how fun they might be, have to do with my pursuit of happiness in the cold, cruel world of my waking life?” And I say unto you, Leo, that these dreams will mysteriously transform your psyche in such a way that you’ll be able to accomplish magic that may have seemed impossible before.

(from FreeWill Astrology)

…to tell y’all that I got too much sun today, and am feeling like sleep is more important than doing a Thursday 13 before morning. Mine will probably go up around noon.

We’re featuring the letter N this week.

Ta.

After a soggy spring and a fairly rainy early summer, we’ve had a few days in a row of high temperatures soothed by gusty breezes. While I was accustomed to the constant wind when we lived in South Dakota, I always find it surprising here, and yet, it’s because of these breezes that the last two days have been almost idyllic, despite being hot.

The fact that I have a sparkling clean pool in my back yard, one that is not so much kidney shaped as curved like the perfect fantasy lagoon, is also a factor in my enjoyment of the current weather. Yesterday, and again today, I spent a good half hour of my lunchtime splashing about in silky smooth water that was only slightly cooler than my own blood.

I am a Leo, a fire sign, and yet I am in my most creative element when I am in water. It doesn’t matter what the source is – a bubble bath, the shower, the pool, the ocean, rain – it just has to be wet. Well, wet and clean. I grew out of the splashing-through-mud-puddles phase when I was about ten. Also, I’m terrified of what might lurk within Texas puddles. We do seem to have an over-abundance of creepy-crawly creatures.

There is an element of challenge in my current swimming routine, however. You see, pink hair and chlorinated water are not things that should ever be combined for any length of time, and I was unable to find a bathing cap – I’m certain they still make them – so I could protect my hair. I therefore use a polystyrene foam “kick board.” It’s blue, and looks kind of like an alien face, and it gives me just enough lift that I can kick from one end of the pool to the other and never get my hair wet.

Yes, I really am that girly.
But you would be, also, if you spent $250 and three hours having your highlights done.

I am reminded, in my head, of when my grandmother used to take me to visit her friend DotG, when I was a very small girl. DotG – Mrs. G. as we called her, had a lovely above-ground pool. (She also had a porta-potty in her mud room, so that swimmers wouldn’t traipse through her house.) Tuesday – or maybe it was Wednesday – was Salon Day. Any other day of the week, we (me, sometimes a friend, often her grandchildren) would splash like crazy, but on Salon Day, there was a mandatory hour of Splash-Free Swimming. Most times, we all sat on the astro-turf covered deck and watched as the Grandmas took their turn in the water. Sometimes, we stayed in the pool and tried to stay under water for as long as we could, or we’d dive under the big blue floating chair she would sit in.

And if an errant drop of water touched her hair?

Banishment for the rest of the afternoon.

Mrs. G was serious about her hair.

Me? Not so much. I won’t dive without a cap, but I’m not going to refuse to swim, either.

But in the back of my head, I see Grandma and Mrs. G on the deck, whenever I splash.

I say… And you think…?

1. Voices :: carry
2. Have to :: try
3. Machine :: ghost in the
4. Seventh grade :: distant
5. Beach :: house
6. Roommate :: air freshener
7. Cyclone :: Dorothy
8. Theater :: of the absurd
9. Pregnant :: pause
10. Phoebe :: Saturn

Like this meme? Play along here.

I’ve mentioned before that I like horror movies. That’s not entirely correct. I LOVE horror movies. I love entering the world of nightmares, and allowing myself to be scared, even though I know the blood on screen is really corn syrup, powder, and red food coloring (with a couple drops of green added if you want it to look more visceral). I love the collective release of breath from the audience when a lead character manages not to be killed – this time – and the completely girlish, but also completely real, screams that come when someone finally buys it in a mass spray of blood, guts and gore. Movies, after all, and horror movies especially, are all about the willful suspension of disbelief.

My favorite horror movie ever is actually Wes Craven’s original A Nightmare on Elm Street. To me, nothing is scarier than the notion of dying in your dreams, and having it be real. I liked one of the sequels – the one that bent reality – Wes Craven’s New Nightmare – but the middle movies were disappointing, and we won’t talk about Freddy’s Dead. I also liked the original Halloween series and have nothing but good things to say about a quiet little John Malkovich film called Shadow of the Vampire.

Knowing all this, it should come as no surprise that I’m completely excited about Halloween the movie, which is Rob Zombie’s remake of the John Carpenter classic.

Zombie tends to be a lot more gory than Carpenter was, so I’m expecting the murders to be more brutal, and bloodier, but I also know he’ll bring a sort of rock star showmanship and sensibility to the film, with fast-paced imagery, and a darker tone over all, so that the violent scenes really pop, like fireworks against a black sky. He’s also stated in interviews that he likes to know the mind of the killer – the shaping forces that make you realize a serial killer is all lead character Michael Myers could ever have been.

From the trailer, it’s obvious that Zombie has honored the original as well as re-imagined it. Parts of the original score (the piano music) remain, and the relationships are the same. What is different is that there is a real-world grittiness to the tone of the film – making it a horror film, and not a cheap flick to be ignored.

Rob Zombie’s Halloween will be in theaters on August 31st, 2007.

Always on Sunday I wake to a flash of “we have to visit Grandma,” even though she’s been dead for almost six years now. While my relationship with my grandfather was closer in many ways, my grandmother was also a constant part of my life.

I hear her words in my head, used them on another blog I keep, just a few days ago. “That’s dear,” she said in my brain, as I noticed the price of avocados today ($1.79 each). She would have made one of those inverted hissing sounds that occur when you inhale through your teeth. The sound of disapproval. She might even have decided not to buy the avocado. I chose to buy it anyway. Other people buy shoes, I buy vegetables.

(Okay, actually, I do have quite the shoe collection.)

Always on Sunday, I wish we had a physical Sunday paper. My favorite newspaper is not the New York Times, but the San Francisco Chronicle/Examiner dual Sunday edition with the crossword puzzle and the pink pages. I love the pink pages. I enjoy the comics. I do the crossword in ink.

But we rarely actually took the time to read the paper, and they would stack up, unread, wasted money. I read news online, and follow CNN, but printed news is more visceral despite the lack of color video clips. Power of the pen, and all that.

Always on Sunday, I call my mother, even if I talked to her more than once during the week. It’s a ritual. We each have a mug of something – tea, coffee, whatever – and we chat as if we were sharing a table. It’s the one day of the week where we’re not talking about work.

Other days of the week, I might talk to my step-father as well, but never on Sunday. Sunday is just for mother-daughter bonding.

Always on Sunday I try to write at least one letter to someone. Lately, it’s been the day I write to my adopted soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan, but it used to be personal correspondence. There’s email, and IM, and text and phone calls, but none of that approaches the magic of a physical letter, with colorful stamps, odd paper, bad handwriting. Letters represent the human condition so much more than anything technological.

Always on Sunday, I find myself a little more thoughtful, a little quieter inside. I have a personal rule that I don’t like to do things outside the house after about seven PM on Sunday evening. It’s important to have quiet time before the business and busy-ness of the work week begin on Monday morning. Sometimes we do the church thing, but recently I’m finding more value in just spending time alone with Fuzzy and the dogs, alternately napping, reading, and puttering on our computers.

And Always on Sunday, I miss my grandmother, because she used to hate Sundays. She said they were for families. She never realized that she and my grandfather, after their children had all grown up and moved on, were still a family, if only a family of two.

Fuzzy and I are also a family of two. Four if you count the dogs, which we do, though others may not.

But I love Sundays.

Earlier tonight, I’d written that I wasn’t feeling into going to ComedySportz tonight, but as soon as we were in the car, I found myself excited. I knew, going in, that I wasn’t scheduled to play, but I also knew that our sound guy and his wife, another player, had a medical issue, and had to miss the show. When I got there, I found out that another player had also called in sick. One of the guys scheduled to play already was pulled to do sound, and I was put into the liners.

Instead of having teams of three with a DJ (designated jokester – a player who floats between teams), we had teams of two with a DJ. This meant everyone had to work a little harder.

Continue reading →