About dogs

I love watching people walk their dogs. There seems to be three distinct scenarios -- 1) dog and human are almost one as they traverse the neighborhood; 2) the dog is totally digging the cold or snow or wet weather and the human can't wait to get back indoors; 3) the human really wants the dog to get with the program and enjoy the walk but the dog is resisting it.

Late this morning, I got a good look at scenario #3. We had a quick, summer storm and a girl (about 10) and her dog were caught in it. She was carrying her sodden flip flops in one hand and the leash in the other. Her wet hair was plastered to her back and she was enjoying wandering around barefoot in the rain, looking in store windows and getting progressively more soaked. Puppy, on the other hand, would find teeny tiny dry spots under shop awnings and stubbornly try to stay put.

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: Daddy's Back

If you're not familiar with today's song, you can hear it here. 

1) Crazy Sam's dad often traveled for business, and always remembered to bring her the little complimentary soaps or body lotions he got from the hotel. When you travel, do you bring back souvenirs? Send post cards? I send cards. My nephew, age 13, tells me I'm the only person he has ever received a postcard from. I think that's kind of sad. I also try to bring back something little for everyone at the office. It helps us feel a little more like a team.

 
2) When you fly, do you prefer window or aisle? Or doesn't it matter? Aisle. Gotta be aisle.

 

  3) According to Askmen.com, Jim Anderson (Robert Young) of Father Knows Best is the best TV dad ever. Who is your favorite TV (or movie) dad? I always wished Sheriff Andy was my father. He listened to Opie and seemed to enjoy his son so much.

 
4) Sam's father was the family disciplinarian. What about you? Do you consider yourself a rule maker, a rule follower, or a rule breaker? I live by myself, so I guess I'm all three.

 
5) Sam's father was the one who gave her driving lessons. Think back to your first few times behind the wheel. Were you a naturally good driver? Oh, I sucked. I'm a terrible driver.

 
6) This week's featured artist, Kenny Loggins, was born in Washington state. Have you ever lived in, or traveled to, any of our northern border states? (For those of you not as well versed in geography as Crazy Sam, that's AK, WA, MT, ND, MN, WI, MI PA, NY, VT, and ME.) Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania and New York.

  7) As part of the duo Loggins and Messina, Loggins performed the song "House at Pooh Corner." Do you have a favorite character from the Winnie the Pooh books/movies? Eeyore. No contest.

 
8) The mercury is going to start rising. How hot is too hot for you? 85º? 95º? Or are you one of those  "the hotter the better" people? I HATE hot weather. If I was in charge of the universe, the mercury would never top 80º.

 
9) To celebrate Father's Day, Sam is giving away her father's favorite candy: LifeSavers. Would you prefer a roll of Wild Cherry, or Butter Rum, or Winter Green or Peppermint?  Wild Cherry, please.

It arrived!

My futon arrived today, safe and sound, and I'm very happy with it. (I'm sitting on it right now, in fact.) But I spent so much time fixating on how much to tip the delivery men. They agreed to haul my old sofa to the dumpster in exchange for "a couple bucks." How much is "a couple bucks?"

This is why I hate tipping!

I asked around at work and the guy in the next office said he always tips workmen $20, or $10/guy. That seemed a little low to me. But then again, they didn't specify what "a couple bucks" meant. So I gave them each $13. That's $26 for taking my sofa and cushions (which were embarrassingly filthy, btw) down to the dumpster.

$13 doesn't sound that much better than $10, but $26 sounds more fair than $20. WHO MAKES UP THE RULES FOR TIPPING?

Image courtesy of jannoon028, FreeDigitalPhotos.net

"Checking in."

"Hi. Haven't heard from you in a while." So began this afternoon's email from my best friend.

I always wondered, in a purely intellectual way, how his sulks end. I mean, I can't be the only one he
goes silent with when he's angry or upset. But, when he's done this with me in the past, I have always gone out of my way to keep the lines of communication open, to make it easy for him to resume contact. This time I didn't. We've played this game too many times, he and I.

It isn't that I don't still admire his moral compass in business matters, his dedication to his daughters, his clear-eyed way of viewing my problems and all the other things that make him wonderful. It's just that at times, he can be soooo oversensitive, so high maintenance, that he leaves me weary.

Oh well, after almost a month, he's back in touch. That's the important thing. I guess I can be just as childish.

Twice in one day

Twice yesterday I completely misjudged people I casually came in contact with. I'm alternately ashamed of myself and grateful for the opportunity to view my world a little differently.

The first was at the health club. Let me premise this by saying I'm 5'2 and wear a size 16. So I'm fat. But the woman I encountered at the club yesterday was obese. HUGE! Between her wide ass and her gym bag, 2/3 of the bench in front of the lockers was gone. I hate that! I was just thinking that I wished I could dress in the same zip code as my locker when I noticed her awful dignity. It took her soooo long to change into her workout clothes. And she was so pitifully vulnerable in the fluorescent lights with her rolls of flesh exposed. She apologized for leaving her locker open -- as if those few inches of space would alleviate my distress -- and it hit me that the very act of coming to the club was courageous for her.

And then there was the family who got on the el. Mom, Dad, baby in stroller and toddler boy. Oh, GOD! There would be crying and fidgeting and scolding ... I need this noise on the way home? Instead, the kids were completely adorable. The little boy especially. He kept pointing in wide-eyed wonder and high-fiving his father. I'd forgotten how amazing it truly is to ride home on railings high above the traffic. I should try to retain that little boy's attitude every day when I board the train.

What makes a heroine?

Margaret Mitchell reportedly said that the theme of Gone With the Wind was survival: What makes some people able to get past catastrophes while others go under?

I recently revisited The Lincolns: Portrait of a Marriage and found myself both heartbroken by Mary Lincoln and impressed anew by my all-time idol, JBKO. I've always been struck by the similarities between the two First Ladies, and now I'm it occurs to me that they are both similar in spirit to Mitchell's famous Scarlett.

All three used clothes to create an image. Mary was forever slipping away to New York on shopping sprees. She was afraid if she didn't dress at the height of fashion, the nation would consider her too unsophisticated and rural to be "Madame President." Jackie put Cassini on the map. Her jeune fille style after the older, more stuffy Mamie Eisenhower and Bess Truman helped create an atmosphere where youth = glamor, not youth = inexperience, which is what she and her husband feared. And who can forget Scarlett and the dress made from her mother's curtains as she tried to convince Rhett to save Tara?

All three were close to their fathers. Each insisted she was her father's favorite, and believed that's why she was "a man's woman."

All three had their pick of men. Mary Todd of the wealthy Kentucky Todds was seeing established Illinois statesman Stephen Douglas but then tossed him over for a country lawyer named Abraham. Jackie went from a millionaire US President to a billionaire Greek shipping magnate. And Scarlett had the Tarleton boys in love with her, and Charles Hamilton, and Frank Kennedy, and Ashley Wilkes ("you've always had my heart, you cut your teeth on it") and Rhett Butler.

All three lost children. Mary buried Eddie, Willie and Tad. After President Kennedy's burial, Jackie had the bodies of the two children they lost (a stillborn baby girl Jackie called Arabella and newborn Patrick Bouvier Kennedy) moved to his gravesite. And Bonnie Butler's neck broke as she tried to take a jump on her pony.

All three fought bitterly with their sisters. Mary and her older sister Elizabeth had a fractious relationship from the moment Lincoln entered the picture. First Elizabeth didn't want her to marry Abe and allowed Mary to have her first baby in The Globe Tavern where they were boarding instead of in Elizabeth's spacious, private Springfield home. Then Elizabeth complained when Lincoln became President and her husband didn't get a "suitable" patronage job. Lee Radziwill never could compete successfully with Jackie, and it didn't help that Lee was the one who slept with Onassis before she even introduced him to her older sister. Similarly, Scarlett believed her sister Suellen was always jealous of her, and the fact that Scarlett stole Frank Kennedy away from her didn't help.

All three lost husbands. Both Jackie and Scarlett lost their second husbands, too.

All three were the subject of gossip and speculation. Mary's fondness for seances, her Kentucky (Southern) roots and fierce temper were topic A in Washington salons. Remember when India Wilkes saw Ashley and Scarlett together in the lumber mill and then went tattling back to Melly? And if it wasn't for the Kennedys, what would the writers of soap operas and trashy novels do?

All three lost their way of life. For Scarlett, it was when the Yankees burned Atlanta and took over Tara. For Mary and Jackie, it's when they were suddenly left homeless. The Kennedys had sold their Boston home before they moved into the White House. The Lincolns had rented their Springfield home and sold most of their furniture when they left for White House. So literally, neither former First Lady had anywhere to go when she had to vacate for the new President and his family.

Two of them endured. Arguably, Jackie did more than survive. She triumphed. At the time of her death at 64, her obit began with "former First Lady" but went on to include book editor, accomplished preservationist and proud grandmother.

Which isn't to say Mary isn't a compelling historic figure. She has most certainly captured a place in my heart and my imagination. But for me, a heroine has to be a woman I wish to emulate. Mary's sad, turbulent life defeated her, whereas Jackie and Scarlett managed to survive and rise above. So for all their faults (their love of money, their willfulness, their penchant for other women's men), I still look up to Jacqueline Lee Bouvier Kennedy Onassis and Katie Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler.

Thursday Thirteen #225

THIRTEEN FILM NOIR CLASSICS

Literally, "film noir" means "black film." Today's cinemaphiles use the term to describe stylish crime dramas, usually in black and white, often with a femme fatale at the center of the action. Movies of this type were crazy-popular in the 1930s and 1940s. 

I am seeing some film noir classics with a movie-going group, so they're top of mind for me these days. And here are 13 that are considered classics of this genre. 

I've bolded the ones I've seen. Which ones do you know?

1) The Public Enemy. 1931. James Cagney and Jean Harlow.

2) Scarface. 1932. Paul Muni and George Raft.

3) The Thin Man. 1934. Myrna Loy and William Powell.

4) The Petrified Forest. 1936. Humphrey Bogart and Leslie Howard.

5) Angels with Dirty Faces. 1938. James Cagney and Pat O'Brien.

6) The Maltese Falcon. 1941. Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor.

7) A Woman's Face. 1941. Joan Crawford and Melvyn Douglas.

8) Double Indemnity. 1944. Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray.

9) Laura. 1944. Gene Tierney and Dana Andrews.

10) Mildred Pierce. 1945. Joan Crawford and Zachary Scott.

11) Gilda. 1946. Rita Hayworth and Glenn Ford.

12) The Postman Always Rings Twice. 1946. Lana Turner and John Garfield.

13) Out of the Past. 1947. Robert MItchum and Kirk Douglas.

For more about the Thursday 13, 
or to play along yourself, click here.

Hope it's happy

Today is my best friend's birthday. This is the first time in 8 years I haven't made a big hairy deal of it. Of course, this is the first time in 8 years that we aren't talking on his birthday.

I do hope he's happy. I hope his family is making a fuss over him, as in years gone by he's felt a little neglected in that regard. I also hope he got the card I mailed on Sunday for a Monday AM pickup. (Monday - Wednesday/Chicago - Boulder sounds about right.)

He's 47 today. It's time he stop acting like an 8th grader. Usually when he sulks like this, I work hard to keep the lines of communication open. But not this time. I just don't feel like it anymore.

The Lads sing, "Pride can hurt you, too. Apologize." Only I'm feeling neither proud nor sorry. Just weary. I love him and honor in my heart all the wonderful things about him. That's why I sent the card (carefully chosen, actually; the front is a collection of pocket watches because I know how fascinated he is by timepieces). I do hope he has a happy birthday in every sense of the word.

I also hope he thanks me. But if not, well, it's his choice. I'm sad, but I'm good with this.

It's not easy to see but it still counts

I have a teeny-tiny project to do. It's due Tuesday. I'm happy.

Eh

The "eh" is for Lana Turner. I'm sorry, but I cannot muster up any enthusiasm for her. Last night, as part of our Meet Up series, we watched The Postman Always Rings Twice. It was my first time seeing this classic, start-to-finish, and I was underwhelmed.

Lana is beautiful and she was 25 playing 25. In many of her star turns in the late 1950s-early 1960s, she was a menopausal woman playing much younger and it didn't help her performances. But in this she was well cast. She just wasn't very interesting. And Cecil Kellaway, as her older husband, was warm and cuddly and not at all deserving of what he got. John Garfield was pretty neat, though, very contemporary and real among the showier performances.

I enjoyed the Meet Up, too. Not as much as last month, but then, the movie wasn't as much fun and it wasn't a new experience anymore. I still intend to go next month.

PS Last month, I discovered the moderator, Will, currently does work for the company that let my friend, Ed, go. Last night I learned he once worked with an old art director/partner of mine. What a small world!

I have the world's best-tended farm

Day Two of NO WORK. Trying simultaneously to look busy (hence the obsessive Farmville playing) and to not freak out.

SHHHH!

It's scary-silent at the office. I did NO work today. None. Zip. Zilch. It adds to my nervousness about my job security.

Sunday Stealing

The Weird Question Meme, Part One 

Do you wear slippers?  No. And yet people give them to me, so I have a couple pairs laying around.

How many pictures are in your living room? Six pieces of framed artwork. Two by Thomas McKnight, whose work I really love. He frequently does rooms without people, so you feel like you're entering the scene and beginning your own adventure. This is his Lake Shore Drive. It depicts my dream apartment, and it hangs over my decidedly not-dreamy dilapidated sofa. (The new sofa arrives Friday!)

Do you ever watch Brady Bunch reruns? Yes. Not intentionally. Often they come on after the show I was watching ended and I leave it because I'm the laziest slug who ever drew breath.

Are you allergic to anything? Bee sting. Eyrthromycin, an antibiotic that is supposed to be more tolerable than pencillin but it makes me nauseous. Morphine, which means I'd made a pathetic drug addict. And some of the more noxious chemicals that are used in constructing and rehabbing homes, like paint thinner and the stuff that makes carpeting stain resistant. Fortunately all but the last are easy to avoid. I just have to carry my epipen with me all the time (bees) and I take Allegra every morning.

When was the last time you called in sick? Monday, May 20. I had two moles removed. Thank God they turned out to be benign!

Have you ever been in a car accident?  Never. I think it's part luck, part owing to the fact that I don't drive.

What is your favorite snack food? If I want salty, chips. If I want sweet, a Snickers bar.

Have you ever seen a tornado? No. I live in Chicagoland, so I worry about them. But so far I've been lucky.

If you won a million dollars, what would you buy first? I'd pay off my mortgage! I'd love to know that I'll have a roof over my head, no matter what. BTW, gotta check that lottery ticket I bought yesterday.

What time is it right now? 6:41 AM

Do you think it's cool for men to wear flip-flops? Sure, unless they have thick, yellowing nails or cracked white heels. I've noticed men don't give their feet as much thought as women do.

How many pairs of shoes do you own? Too many! I'm looking at 5 pairs of sandals right now.

Do you think you are a hypochondriac? No

Do you own a dictionary?  Yes, Merriam-Webster

Where was the last place you went on vacation?  The Spa at Colonial Williamsburg. Here's a photo (nicked from Tripadvisor) of the nail salon. I love going off by myself to a destination spa.


Do you talk about your friends behind their back? I post about them, too.

Are you actually fat but in complete denial about it?  I know I'm fat but I don't think I'm in denial about it. I think I'm in denial about how much work it's going to take to remedy the situation.


What color is your mouse pad? No pad. The current Apple mouses don't need them. (I don't know about PCs.)

Does your kitchen have a theme? HA! I'm proud that it has a coordinating color (yellow).

We'll see

My finances are out of control and literally making me lose sleep. I'm doing OK right now, with my paycheck reliably coming in every two weeks. I put money away for retirement with every check. I have 7 months' worth of expenses socked away and, if I lose my job this summer, I should receive about two months' in severance.

But in this economy, I have no confidence that I'll find another job in 9 months. My best friend is still out of work after 10 months. This month my friend John will see his first anniversary of unemployment (though he's been doing inspiringly well as a freelancer). And my friend Ed has given up working in marketing altogether and is selling ties at Macy's.

So I'm scared.

But being scared is not empowering. Doing something is! So I went through my closet, pulled the nicest lightweight pieces that no longer fit, and took them to the resale shop around the corner. Two suits, two blouses and two handbags. One of the purses still had tags attached. My kid sister found it in our mother's closet and we're reasonably sure she bought it for my birthday. Parting with it left me melancholy, but I have too many purses and besides, I usually carry Miche bags with interchangeable shells, so it's doing me more good over there than it would making me sad, sitting there in the den.

I've never done consignment before. I didn't realize that I may not see any money at all (if they don't sell, I'm taking the items to Goodwill for the tax writeoff) and if I do it won't be for months. Oh well, it's an adventure. And making the move made me feel like I have a wee bit more control over my own bottom line.

She means well

My friend Kathleen is going through the Empty Nest Syndrome in a big way. Her son just graduated from college and in days her daughter will graduate from high school. They are lovely kids, any parent would be proud. Just thinking about these transitions, and that beginning in fall there will be no kids in her house, leaves her quite emotional.

She and her husband -- a challenging but most interesting man that I like a lot -- are having a backyard barbecue to celebrate their kids. Two weeks from today.

"Oh, good!" The Gal thought sarcastically when the invitation arrived. "Not only do I miss the Cub game she and I were going to that weekend, I get to spend $100 I hadn't budgeted for." And yes, I know that a $50/kid gift looks cheap, but that's all I can come up with right now.

I'd rather be with Kathleen in the stands watching the Cubs and Astros than in her backyard watching her mist up every 15 minutes or so as she gazes upon her progeny. And I really don't feel like spending the money.

But including me with family and friends is Kathleen's way of saying I'm important to her, and that she wants my support on this special day. So I should stop being such a bitch and enjoy the gesture in the spirit in which it was meant.

Hopeful

Last night and this morning was rough for me and Rey. The other two cats, too, but mostly Reynaldo because he is the most routine-driven of the 3. For the vet tech thought that bloodwork would be required at Rey's morning appointment, which meant no food at 9:00 PM Friday.

"MEOW!" Where's my dish?
"MEOW!" Come look! My dish is gone.
"MEOW!" Shit! All the dishes are gone!
"MEOW!' There must be some kind of mistake! No dishes! No dishes at all!

Punctuated, of course, by knocking things over and eating my hair. 

This went on from 9:00 PM until 8:00 AM, when we left for the vet. The upshot was that, though she meant well, the vet tech was wrong and no blood was drawn.

Instead, the vet gave him a shot of female hormones. He said we want "more nesting and nurturing and less territory marking." He also explained that Rey's behavior isn't anger toward me. That I am looking at his behavior through a human's eyes. The doc says Rey's marking and peeing and demanding attention is because he's so "bonded" to me, that he's being particularly macho in trying to both hold my attention and protect the Ponderosa. He is showing me that this home, and I, are the center of his world in the only way he knows how.

OK, but we can't have him peeing on my stuff! The vet thinks the shot will mellow him out, make him a bit less aggressive, less protective. We'll revisit the situation in two weeks. Hopefully this will do the trick!

Saturday 9

Saturday 9: Sweet Caroline

The idea for this came from Harriet, who suggested the baseball theme.

 
1) "Sweet Caroline" has been sung during every Boston Red Sox home game since the 1990s. (Click here to watch Neil Diamond lead the fans in the first game after April's bombing.) Do you know the words well enough to sing along? Yes, I know it by heart. I think every baby boomer does. It was pretty ubiquitous back in the Top 40 AM-only radio days. 

 

2) Do you have a favorite major league baseball team? If you don't know the answer to this, you don't visit this blog often. I root root root for the CUBBIES.

 
3) Budweiser is the "official beer of major league baseball." Do you reach for a cold beer on a hot summer day? Given my choice, I'll have a Miller Lite, but yes, I love a cold beer on a hot day.

 4) Every season, more than a million Vienna Beef Hot Dogs are consumed by baseball fans at Chicago's Wrigley Field. When you get a hot dog, what do you put on it? I loooove hot dogs! I like everything but onions. (And yes, blasphemous though it sounds, that includes ketchup.)
 

  5) The odds of a fan in the stands being hit by a baseball are 300,000 to 1. The odds of winning the lottery are (approximately) 1 in 12,000,000. Do you play the lottery? Every week. I dream about winning. I blog about winning. And this reminds me, I've got to buy a ticket for tonight's drawing.

 

6) Though his song has been adopted by faithful Boston Red Sox fans, Neil Diamond was born and raised in New York City. Have you ever visited The Big Apple? Only once, but I was enchanted.

 

7) Baseball players are notoriously superstitious. For example, the Cubs' Matt Garza eats Popeye's fried chicken every day that he pitches. Joltin' Joe DiMaggio touched second base with his foot every time he ran on or off the field. Do you have any superstitions? I try to hold my button when I pass a cemetery. 

 
8) A ball signed by Babe Ruth can fetch tens of thousands of dollars at auction. Have you ever asked a celebrity for his/her autograph? When I was in junior high and high school, I had many autographs from Cubs and Hawks players. But as an adult? No.

 

9) Baseball means summer and summer means sun. Are you working on a tan, or do you slather on the sunscreen? I wear sunscreen and you should, too! About 90% of nonmelanoma skin cancers are tied to the sun's UV rays. (This is very top of mind for me because I recently had a skin cancer scare.)

A life that touched mine

Bobby Kennedy died on 6/6/68. I was 10 years old. It completely rocked my world. There had already been so much real-life violence on TV that year, including Dr. King's assassination and the ensuing riots and nightly coverage of the Vietnam carnage. To my child's eyes, this man -- who always seemed to be surrounded by kids or dogs -- could help. Then he got shot, too.

He didn't die instantly. The bullet that shattered his brain didn't blow off part of his skull, as in the first Kennedy assassination. Bobby lingered overnight. I remember going to sleep hoping he would make it, not understanding how much damage a bullet lodged in the brain could do. Of course I know now that what made him HIM was already gone. But I was 10 and life seemed full of infinite possibilities. So it broke my heart to hear he died.

The more I learned about Bobby, the more he taught me about the human spirit. For there were really two Bobbys. In the late 1950s-early 1960s, he was pugnacious and (to use the term popular at the time) "ruthless." He lived in a black-and-white, us vs. them world. He prosecuted the Mob and clashed with Jimmy Hoffa because he believed they were BAD. The ends justified the means. He served his brother with energy and imagination and loyalty because JFK was GOOD. He did whatever it took to further his brother's agenda. No questions asked.

Then, in November 1963, he was shattered by his brother's murder. He emerged from grief a different man. The public outpouring of affection for his family transformed him. Expanded him. If you hurt, he heard you. Anti-war protesters, disenfranchised blacks, blue-collar whites, the poor ... you were his constituents. It's hard to believe now, but he was wildly popular with two demographics -- urban Northern youth and lower middle class Southern. No one has ever had such a diverse constituency since. It wasn't based on ideology, it sprang from belief in the man. After Bobby's death, many of his supporters went not to McCarthy or Humphrey or even Nixon but to George Wallace (!). I wonder what this nation could achieve if we had a leader who could unite those groups the way Bobby did.

As Ted Kennedy eulogized his brother, "He saw wrong and tried to right it. He saw suffering and tried to heal it. He saw war and tried to stop it." To Bobby, who still saw the world as black and white, it really was that simple. It's just that his heart grew to encompass everyone who needed him.

We can all change. We can all become better. We can all learn to love more and love better. That's what I learned from the man who died on this date.

I'm wrong!

Just call me Wrongie McWrongerson.

My oldest friend did NOT watch the hockey game with Archie after all! I'm so happy that she heard me. That she's not mad and took my meddling as concern. That she did something self protective and took herself out of harm's way.

Sometimes being wrong is the best thing in the world!

Thursday Thirteen #224

Doing the iPod Shuffle

I haven't done this in quite a while. But for this week's TT, I just put my iPod on shuffle and let it do all the work. The list is rather typical for a Boomer like me.

I admit I'm embarrassed by #1. ("Rock on with your bad self.")  But it was one of my favorites when I was a kid. Hearing it reminds me of my first airplane flight, to Florida to visit my uncle.

1) Rock the Boat. The Hues Corporation. 1974.



2) Roll Over, Beethoven. The Beatles. 1964.

3) Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves. Cher. 1971.

4) Wishin' and Hopin'. Dusty Springfield. 1964.

5) Million Dollar Bill. Whitney Houston. 2009.

Of all these songs, this one is most favorite:

6) The Heart of the Matter. Don Henley. 1984.



7) Nobody Does It Better. Carly Simon. 1977.

8) My Heart and Soul. Marcia Ball. 2010.

9) Someday, Someway. Marshall Crenshaw. 1982.

10) Folsom Prison Blues. Johnny Cash. 1955.

11) Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard. 1972.

12) Bright Side of the Road. Van Morrison. 1979.

Possibly the most obscure song on my list, as it was never a Top 40 radio hit. 

It's a nice bit of country-tinged pop.

13) You May Just be the One. The Monkees. 1967.

For more about the Thursday 13, 
or to play along yourself, click here.

I blurted

Sunday night, my oldest friend called while I was playing with my cat, Reynaldo. I was going to talk her through Twitter so she could "live tweet" during the Blackhawks/LA Kings game. It was interrupting our playtime and sharing my attention that upset Rey so much he peed on the paperwork in my dining room.

So I was upset while she and I were talking. I was cleaning up the mess and muttering "sonofabitch" and "goddammit" as we spoke. Because my hands were busy, I wasn't able to walk her through the Twitter issue and I was just ... upset.

Which is why, when she chirped, "Archie and I are going to watch the next game together. Dutch treat, of course."

I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I knew when she contributed $25 to sponsor him on a dog walk for charity (one of only two of his 587 Facebook friends to do so) that she was angling to see him again. I knew it when I interacted with him myself on Saturday. She and he were conversing on Facebook about how great the Pittsburgh Penguins team was. Now, except for a sincere appreciation for how seriously Blackhawk fans here in Chicago want the Cup, I couldn't care less about hockey. I just wanted to bust her for changing her opinions for a boy. (We've known each other since Kindergarten and she's always done that, and it's always made me crazy.) I reminded her that she had said earlier that she was rooting for Boston. He answered my post almost immediately with: "Pens will win." Sigh. I very patiently typed: "As you can see by my avatar, I am a Cub fan. Who we cheer for is not determined by who we believe will win." His response? "LOL." Don't you hate LOL?

Anyway, Sunday night I blurted. I told her all of it. I told her how, after their first date when she was so enchanted by him ("He said he liked my smile and my hair, Gal!"), when he texted her to cancel their second date because he was "sick," he posted a photo of himself between two women on his Facebook page. Which he knew she could see. Now the two women -- 30-something blondes, btw --  were former coworkers from out East and he was just showing them LA. But I hated the shit-eating smile on his face, the hand around each tiny waist, and the lie. Why did he have to lie to my friend? And why did he have to post the photo where he knew she could see it?

Then, when they were supposed to meet again, he cancelled again, "for a family wedding." No, he was out with another woman he met on Match.com, working on a Rose Bowl float. He posted that on Facebook, too.

And I told her. I told her all of it. I never mentioned it before because I didn't want to embarrass her or hurt her. But I was upset about Rey and I blurted.

Her response surprised me. "Oh, Gal, I don't care."

My response surprised me. In that I said it out loud. "You should care! That you don't care how he treated you is something you should mention to your shrink."

I told her how he posted a picture of a little girl with the caption: "You call it behavior disorder. I call it bratty." I mentioned that with her kids, this is not a healthy attitude. She said, "I'll never let him near my kids. That will never happen."

"Why would you hang around with someone -- even platonically -- that you know would be toxic for your children?"

"You're right. There are red flags."

"He's FUCKING SURROUNDED by red flags!" I shouted into the phone. I told her about the date at the comedy club last summer when he was so proud of himself for heckling the comic for not telling any Obama jokes. I said, "Can you imagine how mortified she must have been?"

Then I started to laugh. I mean, I have been monitoring Archie Bunker's drivel for a year. A year of my life, on Twitter and Facebook, reading his RWNJ brain farts. Every day he annoys me, and every day I keep tabs on him because I don't want him near my fragile friend. And it was all for nothing. Am I an ass or what?

I apologized to her for being so blunt, so pushy, so far out of line. Because I knew Sunday night she was going to see him Tuesday anyway. She's that lonely, that male-defined. And she's going to fall in love with him and he's going to break her heart.

PS As of this morning, the Boston Bruins are beating the Pittsburgh Penguins 2-0. I wish she trusted her own instincts better!

Me and Him

I have always suspected that Reynaldo ended up in my life for a reason. That he's here to teach me something. I mean, I've had cats my whole life and never had one that demanded the interaction with me he does. (Wilma, the skinny calico who lived with me when I was in my late-20s, came close. She had a thyroid condition and her motor just ran too fast for her tiny body. But she was smarter than Reynaldo and could amuse herself as she raced around my little apartment. I could tell by the look on her face if she was pretending to be predator or prey.)

I adopted him from a shelter. I took the role. I accepted the responsibility. He gives me his trust and affection. In exchange, I will honor my commitment to providing a forever home. We will be together as long as he is healthy and painfree. We will work this out.

I'm reading a wonderful book right now called Cat Daddy by Animal Planet's Jackson Galaxy (My Cat from Hell). It's about "an emotionally and physically broken cat named Benny" ... and how they "cohealed, and refused to let each other live broken ever after.” Like Marley and Me, the book about the world's worst dog, reading about how Galaxy adapted to Benny and what he learned about himself in the process is a help.

This evening wasn't so bad. We played for about half an hour when he started howling and that diffused the cat bomb a bit. And one of the great things about keeping this blog is that I'm able to look back on our earlier days together. This is who Rey is. He brings nature -- a little of the undomesticated -- into my home. And I'm learning to respect that.