This Just In!!! Important Newsbreak: Dog Urnine Destroys Nature!

So I've learned.
Very important stuff here.

As my little buddy Oscar and I are reaclimating to our home after my much needed visit to my real home, and his little vacation with some ladies who love him too much, we have gone on a couple of walks. A couple, because we haven't been home that long. We do this because sometimes we like to reconnect with the world beyond. Because the apartment can get boring and we can hear excitement out of our windows we feel we just HAVE to be a part of (always in the action, he and I). Because we like wacky urban adventures. And because he's a Beagle, and he has to go to the bathroom.

Beagles, by breed, are hunters. They are commonly used for rabbit, or "hare" hunting, as well as other small mammals and water fowl. "They are determined, keen hunters, and their baying during a hunt brings goose-bumps to novice hunter and the oldest professional alike." Oscar, true to his breed, is determined, and even in the September of his years very much enjoys, nay THRIVES upon, chasing scents and investigating. Oscar's top likes include: Sniffing, trotting, cheese, meats, naps. Those are the main ones I've discovered so far, but there may be greater likes we have not yet uncovered, because of my next highlight.

We live in Bushwick. Bushwick, in Brooklyn, particularly the area surrounding my building, is not nice. I live in an industrial area with buildings that are only now being turned into residential spaces and invaded by poor white "artist" kids like me. The area outside of that is mostly low income apartments and government housing projects. Needless to say, it's not scenic. Along with it's not-scenic-ness, comes the extreme absence of nature. I have never seen my dog frolic in grass, or chew on weeds, or dig up dirt, because those things aren't really around. Due to his recovering from health issues we have not been able to travel to the country to play, but I'm willing to bet that he would like that. Because he's a beagle. He sniffs. He sniffs the trash and cruddy pavement around here whenever he is given the chance.

Due to highlights one and two, I try and let him enjoy whatever he can in his cement and steel urban lifestyle. Now that you know some of the facts, on to the event, or "enlightenment" of the day.

As he and I, along with one of our preffered female companions, went walking one afternoon, we came upon something glorious: a tree. To be fair, we come upon this tree, and the three next to it, each time we walk, as someone has had the kindness to plant their sad skinny roots in wooden boxes in front of the "here come the white folks!" art space, coffee slash video shop, and natural food store. We know they're there, but each time we see them it feels like the first time because it's so exciting. And naturally, in our excitement, we want to investigate them. On this day, as Oscar was investigating the tree in the wood box, he got the urge to do what any good boy dog would do, and lifted his leg.

As he was relieving himself, as close to nature as we can find, we were approached by a woman. This woman was really more of a girl. A hipster girl. I label her this due to the following qualities: shaggy shinny black well placed haircut. Jacket with pointy shoulders. That face make up they so often have that says "I don't give a shit, but look at me, look how good I look". Dark jeans that cling for dear life all the way down the leg and scrunch up the right amount of inches at the bottom. Boots that have that cowboy-go go dancer-Stevie Nicks thing going on. And an angry, unaffected, bored demeanor. This girl looked so cool she was even bored with herself. And let me tell you how cool that is to be bored with even yourself. Or maybe she was just having a bad day. Who am I to judge. Anyway, this girl--who is undoubtedly a popular public buddy since apathy about the world around you means elitism, which means desirability, which as we all know means "Super amazing interesting person!"--approaches us, rolls her eyes, and then locks them with mine like she is some sort of migratory bull.

"Could you, like, not do that?" she asks, so aggressively that my response was silent, but said
"Um, what? I mean. Huh? What did I--what am I doing that offends you so?"
"You need to not let him pee in there. It kills the trees."
I'm sorry. Now you're just speaking Chinese. Are you serious?
"...Sorry." is all I can say.
"Well, don't. It's not ok." The way she says this also says "You and your filthy dog are everything that is wrong with the environment and if I actually cared I would fucking punch you in your trashy face."
"Um. Ok." is all I can say, as I watch my beagle karate chop his leg against the tree, dominating it.
"Yeah, well, just a tip for next time. So don't."
Then I proceed to drag my dog out of the tree box, both of us confused, as I watch her turn and storm (or was that just her strut?) down the street.

So, while animals of all species have been relieving themselves in nature throughout the history of the world, apparently domesticated dog urine now destroys foliage in urban neighborhoods. Thank god I know now. That is so enlightening. But more questions have been brought up: Is it limited to just tress? Or does my dog single-handedly have the power to take down entire bushes, flowerbeds, patches of grass? For fear we might find out the hard way I will be sure to limit my dog's bathroom activity to pans in my apartment, which I will then pour into tin cans and dispose of like bacon grease.

I would like to send a big thank you out to that girl, wherever she is, for enlightening my mind and brightening my day. Thank goodness there are people concerned with doing good out there, so ready to lend a helping hand and spread the word.

And my duty, as a citizen of the world, was to share this important piece of information with all I can. Please, everyone, refrain from allowing your animals to do what they've instinctively been doing for thousands upon thousands of years. Together, we can beat this thing.

Dear Holli-Days, and I Remember Your Face or the Sound of Your Voice

Every once in a while the last couple of months I have had a reminder that there is something I haven't been keeping up with. Typically there are so many things that could be in reference to so I generally just hope it presents itself or goes away. Of course eventually I realized that thing was this blog. And yeah, a blog is a blog--just some self-indulgent or intellectually/culturally masturbatory thing that had no social relevance ten years ago--but damnit, if you're going to start something you should finish it. Especially when you take stock and look at all the really big things you still can't finish, a quiet internet blog feels fairly achievable.
And it's not that I haven't had anything to say. More has happened and been thought about arguably since I moved to New York. But that's just it, probably. Sometimes life happens, and you need to just let it happen. You can't be in the place to comment on it,,, or think about it through a medium like the world wide web.

Because of this, and the nature of never successfully catching up with time, I will not attempt to fill out the time that has passed. If anyone reading this has not been in touch with me and is truly curious about some things, please ask me questions, all of which I will answer with colorful storytelling in such a way that attempts to make up for October, and November.
Though to be fair, this has largely been a forum wherein I don't say anything that important anyway. So questions about important things might seem out of place.
Regardless, I am recommitting to the "blog". Maybe it's an easy first step to committing to the tangible things in front of me.

To be fair to the universe, I read an article today, which spawned much of this. Having Attention Deffecit tendencies, and being from the TV generation, I am one who can find extreme inspiration and great affectation from short simple sources. I am not an avid novel reader or investigator of culturally important figures. However, this article I read was about people who are, and it has had me stuck. Remembering the last time I was this hit by people who are gone, but so relevant they are still warm, is hard. I can't remember. But these people, with a love story so twisted and transcendent, and creative lives so twisted and innovative, are living inside of me right now. And one of them happened to have a blog. So. It reminded me. And woke me up. I should read more. If people like this are everywhere (which they may or may not be) we should talk to them. We should be them, but without all the suicide; all the early endings. Everyday here is a precious thing, whether you're making art that changes the world, or just reading about it in popular magazines.

I have been thinking recently about aging. To be fair, I think about this often. Because it terrifies me. It leaves me shaky and unsettled. But recently, I have wondered: does aging just become ok the more you do it? Like does being 29 feel fine when you're in it, eventhough when you're 19 29 seems like this point where you slow down and possibly start to bald? Do you feel more at peace / realistic about your age once you finally get there, or is it still as scary and sleepless as you thought of it eight years prior? I hope it's ok. I really do. Otherwise I hope there are some life-changing experiences that make getting slow and boring feel like the right thing. I kind of bet that's what happens. Otherwise there'd be a lot less middle-aged people. It has also occoured to me that eventually we will all be dating bald, fat people. And that's not bad nessiscarily, just strange. I still can't picture myself dating a bald, curiously overweight person. But then, I also can't imagine the place in your life where the greatest qualities in a mate are single-ness, and not having illegitimate children be-boping around the country. So, you know, I obviously don't yet see getting older in the most realistic of lights.
But what is out generation going to do? I feel like I know a fairly equal amount of people our age who either feel that getting marries id the thing they will never make the mistake of doing, or have found someone they connect with and feel unshakingly that they are their partner for the rest of time. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. All these products of divorce, not wanting, in their polar ways, to make more products of divorce...

This was all not what I meant to say. Or, in part, perhaps it was, but not in such ways that avoid the issues that qualify as "issues".

Will i ever be able to thank all the people who deserve it in the way the deserve. Will I ever be able to make peace enough with myself to build a solid foundation. Will i let go of necessary things to focus on the passions I have harbored so intensely all this time. Will I write down the things I need to before I forget them. Will I remember that worrying is futile since time is irreversible. Will I eat well. Will I sleep enough. Will I do my best to save the things I care about, like my dog, and my fingers, and my stories. Will I stand up for what I really believe in at the risk of temporary alienation, which is silly anyway. Will I listen as much as I think I am.

All questions still only half-asked. All so many more not yet recorded. It's a thick journey into honesty, and the internet is rarely the stage to explore it on.

So for this moment I am rehabilitating my dog, and not looking past the next phase. I am healing my emergency-room wound, and not fearing it has ruined my career. I am going home for Christmas (far and away the best present of all) and not worrying about the medical outcomes of being there. I am engaging in competition that brings friends closer together and makes Tuesday nights the best time of the week. I am laughing harder at one time than I have in almost a year and not feeling guilty when it's over something as simple as Helen Keller or the number 69. I am making new friends. I am talking to myself, sometimes out loud in my kitchen. I am writing rhymes I keep to myself(for now), and things I would hate to forget (trivial though they may be). And when men cat-call me on the street at 7 in the morning when I'm in pajamas, walking my dog with make-up running down my face and a poofy-ball hat on, I try to remember that unless I have the courage to ask them what they exactly want from the exchange that they have their own agenda I do not yet understand. Because there can't possibly be this many people in one place who are so demeaning for no reason.

For the first time in almost a trimester of pregnancy or something like it, this is me reporting back.

..."The message is brief. Here it is in its entirety: ‘Traveling very fast. No time to say good-bye.’ And then, ‘There are no dogs here.’ ”"...

Sincerely,
Mama