Sal's dog died. He was playing on the highway. Dog's name was Daily. Got named that because he took a shit on the carpet every day when he was a puppy. Sal was plenty upset. Having your dog die will fuck up a few days for you every time.
I have had a couple dogs die on me. I was able to tell them both how much I loved them and how cool they were before they were gone. It was some sad shit.
The Hammer should be with me for a long time yet if all the homeless people's shit she eats does not kill her. As long as the Salvation Army is not poisoning the homeless with their hand-outs she should be ok.
Like most dog owners I am hoping President Obama buys a dog like mine for his girls. That is the way people who have dogs think.
And by the way, the spontaneous illegal Anarchist demonstration outside the gates of the White House last night was the highlight of my November 4. One of the things outlawed in Orwell's 1984, if I recall, is unsanctioned joy. There was no dancing in the streets in 1984. There sure as fuck was on November 4.
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This was my favorite, I think (in Seattle): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0qL-CgzQ0FY
The reaction to Obama's victory sure dwarfed the sanctioned joy Americans participate in when somebody wins a Super Bowl or bombs Baghdad.
Sanctioned v. Pure....
Sounds like a great thematic underpinning for an Orwellian novel of the nearly, not-quite Gibsonesque future.
Or some such thing.
stephanie--
That video is now my new favourite too.
Thanks.
.
I shall never forget the line from Who Has Seen The Wind (W.O. Mitchell) on the effect of the passing of the main character's faithful pet dog.
Somewhere within Brian something was gone, ever since the accident it had been leaving him as the sand of an hourglass threads away grain by tiny grain. Now there was an emptiness that wasn't be be believed.
Just had lunch with my old sweetie, Gail. She lives right where one of SF's big spontaneous parties happens. It is grand to be old. She thought it was too noisy.
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