Dude Days Are (Never) Over

If you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you are very familiar with the furry face pictured above. My dog Dude took up about 90% of my pictures because My God, look at that cute wittle face! Sadly that face is only in pictures now, because my precious little boy died on February 16th at the age of twelve, because one of the cruel realities of the universe is that pets don't live as long as their people. One of the few blessings in all this is that he died both suddenly and peacefully, with no pain, in his home with the family he loved, that loved him with all their hearts.

I was fifteen when we got Dude, Christmas Eve of 2000. LittleSis was twelve and BabySis was eight. If you have sisters, or daughters for that matter, you'll know that three girls of those ages under one roof are generally hellbent on each others' destruction at the exclusion of all else. But it was very fairly agreed that Dude could unite us, make us playful, fun, and kind to each other, because he wanted to play with all his sisters at once, dammit, and His Royal Furriness always got his way! (The baby of the family always does).

He was actually a giant pain in the ass.

From puppyhood on up, he never learned the difference between outside barking and inside barking. He could show off his "inside voice", sure, but only if he had absolute certainty that there was a treat in it for him. Otherwise, doorbells, conversations between people in two different rooms, construction work going on in the neighborhood, fireworks, the flutter of a butterfly's wings in China, all were met with a healthy (loud) dose of barking, courtesy of The Dude (His full first name. Not inspired by The Big Lebowski. Just want to make that clear.)

He also chewed shoes when he got pissed off at whomever owned whatever pair he was chomping on. He had a particular and uncanny habit of always choosing the left of any pair, because the vindictive little fur face wasn't content to just ruin a pair of shoes altogether when he could taunt us with a right shoe that was both perfectly serviceable yet utterly useless.

Finally, Dude was, and I say this with utter gravitas and no hint of hyperbole, the biggest chickenshit alive. Hiccups, sneezes, burps, thunder, other dogs, small woodland creatures (yes, even bunnies)? All terrifying to our little boy, and he would bolt from wherever they were with a speed that athletes shrink their testicles to achieve. Once, I got the hiccups while taking him on one of his beloved walks and he wrestled himself out of his collar to get away from the horror of it all.

Somehow, none of this takes away from the fact that he was the best dog in the world. There's nothing quite like coming home after a long, painful day of work to a flurry of jumping, puppy kisses, and barking that translates to ohwowi'msohappytoseeyouyou'remyfavoritepersoninthewholebigworldiloveyouyousmellexcitingletmesniffyoupetmelookmytail'swaggingaren'ticuteyou'rethebestpersoneverdidimentioniloveyou (The translation is accurate, I spoke fluent Dude).

Despite being all of thirty pounds when soaking wet, and, as previously mentioned, a total chickenshit, Dude possessed total assurance that the house was not safe until he'd done a thorough patrol and personally seen to it that everyone was safely tucked into their beds. When LittleSis moved out, he would stalk the upstairs hallway all night, every night, until he visited her apartment and understood that his human lived here now and all was once again right with the world. He would still be awake if BabySis or I went out until the early hours of the morning, and greet us with a thumping tail and sleepy kisses, bearing no grudge that we'd kept him up all night.

He instinctively knew when we were grieving or stressed. He sought out my parents, my sisters, and myself when we cried and curled up next to us, laying a silent head on our laps and gazing up at us with his loving brown eyes until we felt better. He even tolerated our cuddles when we needed some puppy time, a big sacrifice on his part. Dude usually took a very catlike attitude towards physical affection, only acceptable on his terms, although petting was always welcomed--sometimes encouraged by a sleek head burrowing under a stationary hand for a stroke between the ears.

He was completely in love with a live audience, prancing out in the middle of the room to chase his own tail whenever people had the temerity to be in his house without paying attention to him. He also pawed at our legs if we weren't giving him a baby talk speech about how cute he was and what a special, wonderful, perfect little boy he was. Luckily for us, the one regret none of us could ever possibly have is the idea that we took him for granted. No day was complete without playing with, petting, and gushing over our sweet, beloved, admittedly spoiled little boy.

Anyone who has never loved a pet might be completely unaware how incredibly human they can be, full of distinct personalities and quirks. Although Dude might be the only dog in history who wasn't a dog person, he was also one of the only dogs to capture the hearts of people who flat out do not like dogs, or even animals in general.  He made our family complete, and now we are missing my parents' son and our baby brother.

So here's to Dude. We had him for twelve years, we will love him for all our lifetimes.

The Dude

October 16, 2000-February 16, 2013

Perfect love, wrapped in fur

Merry Christmas!

Bad things happened this year. Most recently, 27 families lost Christmases and birthdays for now and the rest of their lives with loved ones who were far too young, and died in a manner far too violent. Tomorrow, which is already today for some of my readers, I will spend eight hours at work with people who can't spend Christmas with their families this year.

And then I'll go home, and spend the day with my family, eating my dad's amazing Beef Stroganoff and laughing together. I'll hear the voices of my friends on the other end of the phone when I call to wish them a Merry Christmas. Sunday night was the first of several mini-celebrations I'll share with various loved ones. And that is no small thing. Good things happened this year, to me, and to the world, and the existence of bad things cannot change that.

Christmas comes at the end of the year. This time next week we'll be wrapped in the excitement of New Year's, which will soon segue into the romance of Valentine's Day, the bawdy cheer of St. Patrick's Day, Easter and the awakening of spring, the hot, sticky, beach and barbecue days of summer, the excitement of fall, the thrills of Halloween, the warmth of Thanksgiving, and back again to Christmas. It's a constant in a world of unreliables. This year it even conquered the apocalypse.

So this year, and every year, to one and all, honor your losses, embrace your memories, kiss your loved ones, and revel in the good cheer of the season.

Merry Christmas.

Gilmore Girls > Philadelphia Football

Today I was folding laundry while watching a trifecta of Gilmore Girls reruns, because I'm glamourous like that, when my dad happened upon me in between the innings/quarters/periods/eras of the Eagles vs. Whoever Beat the Eagles This Time game. I don't know from sports, but I do know that Andy Reid has done the same thing to the team this season as he's done to his cardiovascular system over his lifetime. In fact, I'm fairly certain that there's a secret city statute that forces my parents to watch the game week after frustrating week during the season upon penalty of giving our dog away to Michael Vick. It's the only reason I can ascertain as to why they would force themselves through such miserable disappointment from September (probably?) to January (I think?).

We wouldn't risk Dude for anything.

In any case, my dad wanted to know why I was watching an episode (or three), that I'd already seen, in his estimation, eighty four thousand times before.

He suffers from a mild case of exaggeration.

And the reason I was watching Gilmore Girls for the eighty four thousandth time was that, in addition to the fact that there's precious little available on a Sunday afternoon in December that is both new to me and at all interesting to watch, and isn't the Eagles, is that Gilmore Girls starts when it says it will, ends when it says it will, and reliably, Lorelai will be snarky, Rory will make oblique pop culture references, the boys will be cute if somewhat milquetoast, Sookie will knock something over, and the coffee will be consumed in greater quantities than Starbucks does annually. I get exactly what I want, and I won't be screaming or throwing pillows at the tv at the end of it all.

Suck it, Reid.

It's Today

I live in fear of the phrase "Back in my day,". Not because I have a secret terror of hearing a nostalgia laced story that I've almost certainly heard before, but because of what the phrase represents. Unlike its cousins "When I was a kid," "When I was in college," "Back when my kids were little," the phrase is some amorphous indicator of a bygone time when the speaker felt relevant--and a sure sign that they no longer feel so.

At some point, people seem to feel that they are guests in a world that no longer belongs to them. Some feel it after some random age that they've ascribed for themselves--30 used to be the popular choice, although it's been recently taken over by 40. Others feel it when they have kids or grandkids. Still others walk past the display of People and US Weekly, fail to recognize anyone on the cover, and decide that they've passed the point of the target audience, and therefore, have seceded their "day".

When you relegate your "day" to the past, you're letting go of the world. If the "day" belongs to someone else, it means you know longer are an active participant in the world. You're as much a relic as the giant statue of Ben in the Franklin Institute, nothing more than a slightly chattier testament to history.

Here's the true story though: Today is your day. If you are alive to read this, then you are as relevant as you choose to be. Deciding to cut ties with the events and technologies of the world is relegating yourself to a supporting role at best. Human beings get a measly amount of time for a "day" before we go into that good night, so there's no point on embracing the sunset before we have to. Fight to be a part of the world today.

Because it's yours.

Pants and Masculinity

Today, I was innocently wasting several hours of my time on Pinterest as a reward for not out and out murdering my family, when I had the misfortune of beholding this:

Once Upon a Time, Men Wore Pants

There is so much wrong with this ad that I've decided to address it in four points:

1. I don't believe in a feminist fairy tale where the world would be a utopia if women had been in charge. The closest humanity will ever come to the best version of ourselves is when there is an equal distribution of opportunity, and people contribute to society in the way that suits their individual talents and desires, heavy emphasis on the INDIVIDUAL. That said, this mystical time has not ever happened, and despite the sorry state of current affairs, this is as close as we, the human race, has ever been. Whoever created this ad, nostalgic for days when men were in charge, must also admit that the worst of humanity: the invention of the atomic bomb, pollution, slavery, the Holocaust, witch hunts, et al, all happened when everyone sitting in the hot seat was also sporting wood. So whomever created/agrees with this ad can have all the credit of chivalry and progress if and only if they're willing to take the blame for all the bad stuff.

2. If eating a salad or drinking a latte is corrupting your masculinity, you don't have enough masculinity to bother mentioning it at all. A real man is not threatened by the equality of women, a real man does not dwell in the fictional past, and a real man is not impugned by his beverage.

3. Opening the damn door does not make you a hero. It cures no disease, eases no worry, halts no war. Let go of the idea that a polite gesture should net you a medal and a parade. Women have always been able to open their own damn doors. It's not that hard. Aim higher if you want the title of hero. The men AND women of our armed forces are heroes. Our police, our firefighters, our EMTs are heroes. Our nurses and doctors are heroes. Teachers and librarians are heroes. Parents who make the tough calls and actually discipline their kids are heroes. The world is not in short supply for heroes.

This is the most important point of all, which is why I've saved it for last:

4. NO ONE TOOK YOUR FUCKING PANTS! We simply noticed that your pants were nice, and allowed for greater freedom of movement, and thought, Hey! We want some. Women are wearing our own pants (which are cuter, and have a greater variety of styles, for the record). Nobody took men's pants away. Nobody left them locked in the kitchen shivering and naked from the waist down. Pants have not gone anywhere. Men have not gone anywhere. Real men have been here all along, eating steak and salad, drinking beer and lattes, being partners and friends to each other and to women. While the milquetoast and mundane men have been ballyhooing that the era that truly appreciated them is long past and baying for its return, real men have been growing and learning the whole time.

And they kept their pants.

Four Anti-Feminist Disney Princesses....and Why They Deserve a Break

Modern audiences have advocated feisty, role-model worthy female protagonists for films directed at little girls, citing the Disney Classic Princess canon as examples of female passivity on film, exacerbating being pretty, getting married, and waiting for a prince to rescue them from their admittedly crappy lives as worthy female goals. Starting with Beauty and the Beast in 1991, the female heroines of Disney films became more proactive, with Belle assisting in her own rescue, followed by Jasmine doing the same in 1992's Aladdin, Pocahontas (1995) and Mulan (1998), where the heroines serve as the actual action girls, rounding out with Tianna (The Princess and the Frog, 2009), Rapunzel (Tangled, 2010), and Pixar's Merida (Brave, 2012) being the most active, fully-rounded characters in the pantheon of Disney heroines. However, the trend starters for Disney's Princess films were stronger and more vivacious characters than modern audiences give them credit for, and deserve some recognition for their more admirable qualities:

1. Aurora (Sleeping Beauty, 1959)
Sleeping Beauty is criticized most often for "First Guy Wins", in that, having been rescued from the evil sorceress/ dragon Maleficent by Prince Phillipe, Princess Aurora marries him, despite the fact that he's a total stranger and perpetuates the idea that women are prizes earned for acts of bravery.

Why She Deserves a Break
Phillip isn't a total stranger to Aurora. Back when she was still known as Briar Rose, he showed up in the forest while she was waxing poetic about the prospect of meeting a prince and falling in love, and the two of them had a brief flirtation:

Once Upon A Dream

Granted, it's no leading an army or single-handedly defeating the Big Bad, but at least Aurora was in puppy love for the guy, which is a sight better than the original fairy tale, wherein the prince wins the princess just for the kiss, her feelings be damned. Aurora and Phillip are also betrothed to marry anyway, to unite their kingdoms, which again seems way too close to the idea of "Free Princess with Purchase" before acknowledging that Phillip is also being used as a political pawn, and has to marry her regardless of his feelings on the subject. He has to work for it too, as Sleeping Beauty apparently doesn't deem a kiss as sufficiently heroic and requires that Phillip be imprisoned, fight through a thorn maze, and slay a dragon, which at least has him do more to earn his happy ending than his spiritual predecessor Prince NoName from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Speaking of...

2. Snow White (Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, 1937)
Poor Snow White. It really is a curse to be so beautiful. Her stepmother is all set to kill her over her delicate, unwrinkled features, leaving her running for her life in the harsh wilderness of an untamed forest in an imminently impractical ball gown. The huntsman does spare her life because she's so pretty, which must be why she's so cheerfully singing with woodland creatures while she does free menial labor for a house full of strange men, because women, if they're not making babies, are only good for cooking and cleaning.

Why She Deserves a Break
First of all, it's not free menial labor. She's paying for room and board using her specific skill set, which given that she's royalty, it's amazing she has even basic cleaning skills. Plus, take a look at the dwarves' cottage:

Whistle While You Work

That place is NASTY! She's not rearranging a stack of books and putting away laundry, she's making a sticky, unhygienic hole into a livable, healthy home. That's a basic survival skill, finding or creating a serviceable shelter when you're lost. And, she's assembled a workforce, dictating tasks according to each animal's abilities and showcasing impressive managerial skills, which is more than can be said for another princess who talks to animals...

3. Cinderella (Cinderella, 1950)

Cinderella has no ambitions except one night of fancy fun at the prince's ball. It's the only thing she looks forward to in her life, and she will gladly work as a slave in her own home without benefit of a decent bed or food just for the possibility of attending. Yank away that one shining dream, and be prepared for her to....accept defeat tearfully but quietly. Cinderella does literally nothing for herself. Without the intervention of her fairy godmother and her animal friends, she wouldn't have even had the chance at the ball she so desperately wants to attend, and only the prince getting smitten over her rescues her from a life of drudgery, which apart from that one night, she never even aspired to escape.

Why She Deserves a Break
Cinderella is basically a victim of psychological abuse. She's completely at the mercy of her stepmother, and has been since the death of her father when she was very young. She works as a slave in her own household (watch Downton Abbey sometime to get a scope of how many people are needed to clean and maintain a house that size. The movie makes it clear that, with the exception of mice and birds, Cinderella is taking on that load herself), and has no ambition for freedom and escape because it's the only life she knows. And despite outward appearances, Cinderella is no candy- coated personification of sugar-sweetness:

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Pay attention to the lyrics. She's clearly miserable about her lot in life, but so dejected and beaten down that the fight has gone out of her, and her dreams are all she has to keep her on the healthy side of sane. Having a fanciful dream to fantasize about is her coping mechanism, a device employed by abuse victims the world over. It's hard to aspire to great things when getting through the day is a monumental physical and mental chore. She should be applauded for getting out of bed every day in her position, unlike other heroines who have a stronger foundation for ambition...

4. Ariel (The Little Mermaid, 1989)
The youngest daughter of the Sea King has all the powers and privileges of the ruling family of the ocean, giving up her culture, power, exploratory freedom, and species to join an alien world to be with a man who loves her so much he can't tell the difference between her and a nominally similar looking sorceress who doesn't even have the same hair color. In the ocean, she's even free to pursue research on a foreign creature, with the caveat that she not directly fraternize with the seemingly dangerous subject of her study, a privilege that is rescinded when she breaks that rule. On land, she can't talk and she brushes her hair with a fork, showing once again that having a man is paramount.

Why She Deserves a Break
Ariel is truthfully the bravest princess in the Disney pantheon. The movie makes it clear that her fascination with human culture predates the events of the film, and she is the most knowledgable merperson on the subject of humanity's qualities, for good and ill. She has the bravery to defy her father specifically because she knows better what the dangers of being near humans are. She wanted to join the human world before she even met Prince Eric:

Part of Your World

She's intellectually and scientifically curious about events and ephemera that she simply cannot experience under water. Further, she doesn't actually attempt to join humanity until her father destroys all of her artifacts, research, and laboratory, giving her the option to "go native", or forever give up her dream to understand the human world. Given the opportunity to do hands on research, she was willing to physically maim herself to achieve her goal. Jane Goodall would consider her a badass, without even factoring in the idea that her pioneering mission to join humanity was a radical step towards eradicating racism between merfolk and people, and broadening the horizons of both groups. Ariel is not a fantasy princess, but a political one. 

Defending Geekiness

I was recently the subject of some (friendly--at least I hope so) ribbing by some family members for my alleged "geekiness", which I put in quotation marks because their definition of being a geek is the fact that I was incredibly excited for the latest episode of The Walking Dead, which if you have to read that link to know what it is, I'm sorry, but I am just baffled as to how you even found this blog, but I digress. In any case, the plebeians don't know just how deep the geek goes, but in any case, one of the words thrown around was "pathetic", which just for context you should know that this family event took place during the Eagles' bi-week, which means our home team wasn't playing that day, and it was specifically set up that way, and also the cousin who called me pathetic didn't know that Italy was shaped like a boot.

I internalize damn near everything I hear, which yes, I know I shouldn't, but it stuck in my craw, this allegation of being "pathetic". Sometimes I think the only things that stick are the ones I suspect, or fear, are true. Society has long regarded the attendees of Comic-Con as geeks who live in their mothers' basements and lost their virginity somewhere around never. Even though superhero movies, comic books, sci-fi, fantasy, and other media and genres of that ilk are enjoying a mainstream run right now, and a non-too-shabby take at the box office, there's a definite line in the sand between the regular audiences, who are enjoying what's being presented to them, and the geeks, who seek out the new, the cool, the weird, and who take to message boards to pick apart the lastest episode or installment of whatever it is that they love best. Geekdom is enjoying a heyday, and heydays, as they are wont to do, end. Don't know when or why, but being a geek will fall out of fashion as swiftly as it fell in. Most people will move on to whatever the next cool thing is, and the geeks will still be blogging about who would win in a fight between Batman and Iron Man. It's what we do.

So, is the fact that we still mourn Firefly a testament to our tenacity or evidence that we can't move on from something as inconsequential as a tv show? Are we above the mainstream who follow trends like sheep, or are we stubbornly refusing to evolve? Are geeks pathetic?

I've thought long and hard over that question and the answer I came up with is a resounding maybe. Maybe the fact that I took a day off work to meet my favorite author and drove all the way to the great back ass of nowhere because God forbid he do a reading in an easily accessible place in a major city does smack of sadness, even if I don't regret doing it for one second and I got his autograph TWICE, so that makes the harrowing drive on a highway that terrifies me totally worth it. Maybe the fact that a new album, or a new movie, or hell, even a new episode of something I love gets me excited to the point that my squealing hurts my dog's ears makes me a sad sack.

But I don't care. Maybe a new book or upcoming concert is a stupid reason to get myself excited, but I have something to look forward to almost every day. There is always something to be excited about, and even after I've seen/heard/experienced it, I can go over and over the nuances ad infinitum. I'm proud that I can keep the entire cast of Game of Thrones straight without double checking or referring to the complicated addenda in the books (which I did read anyway). While everyone in my house is half-watching the latest episodes, I'm fully engaged in a medieval world that has fucking dragons. While my cousins roll their eyes and tell me I'm pathetic, they're bored out of their skulls and I'm gleefully anticipating how Daryl and Merle are going to reunite, and I'm loving every minute of it. And unlike the Eagles, who are frankly a source of near-constant disappointment, nothing in my geek menagerie topples my good mood, even when favorite characters die or story lines bulldoze through previously established plots.

Maybe I'm weird and maybe I have a distorted sense of reality, but I'm also damn happy, and I think I speak for all geeks, whether they love movies, comics, TV, books, social media, music, tech, or some combination thereof, when I say I feel sorry for anyone who doesn't get wildly enthusiastic as regularly as we do.

Life's too short to be disaffected.