Let him eat steak!

I recently mentioned on facebook I was going to throw a couple of steaks on the grill - 1 for my dog and 1 for me. I immediately received a message admonishing me against this, and lecturing me on animal nutrition, etc.
My initial polite reaction was, "Fuck you, you don't feed me or my dog, or pay my bills." I didn't send that.
My secondary response was, "Thank you for your concern."
What I really want to say is this:
I know. Okay? I know a dog's nutrition isn't covered by a steak. I didn't also list the steamed veggies and potatoes that would also be part of his (and my) meal, because that doesn't make for a pithy fb status.
I also know my dog. You don't.
I adopted Geo (yes, he was named for a gravity bong but no, I didn't name him) when his alleged human father had to go to jail for a few months and it was bitter cold, but he had nowhere for Geo to go.
He has been my baby ever since.
Geo was chased with a vaccuum, slung against walls, starved for both food and love when I got him. He would eat any and every food, because that was what he lived - scrabbling to survive and I can empathize - eating anything to stay alive except dog food because he was never given it. Why spend money on dog food when that could buy beer? That was how he was raised until I found him.
I used to get up at 7 am and cook for Geo, real food - sometimes eggycheesygoodness, and once I even made beef wellington for him but that was a long story/rare situation/bar bet.
But Geo won't eat dog food. Except Blue Buffalo, and only that about twice a week. He will eat kitty food occasionally, which makes sense as he truly believes he is part cat. Brat and Rags do not discourage his puppycatness.
But Geo has never gotten past his cringing when even I reach to pet him if I reach overhand toward his head, running to hide under the bed or sofa when there is a loud noise, or refusing to eat dog food. I suspect something regarding dog food and abuse of which I am not aware happened in his pre-me past. Good thing, because I know where the son of a bitch who did all that to him is, and I don't want to go back to the joint.
But all this is in aid of saying, I'm about to take steaks off the grill for my dog and me, and screw you if you don't like it.
Did I mention I also put shrimp on there for my cats?

Hatching

Saturday is my birthday. The weird thing is, I had forgotten it. I was talking with my friend Joan, when she mentioned I wouldn't be in the hospital like I was for my birthday last year. I had been so focused on making the 1 year since my heart surgery, that I completely spaced it also being my birthday. Not suprising, since it was probably subconscious avoidance of the whole issue. I'm not one of those people who trips out on number of years. Ask me how old I am. Go ahead. Answer: Beats me. Don't make me do math.
I'm old enough to vote even though not allowed, drink, be president (Can felons be President? If so, watch out, Kanye!), too old to give birth, not yet retired. Somewhere in there.
I remember asking my mother how old she and my dad were, when I was maybe 5 or 6, and she paused, then answered, "Well I was born in '37 and he was born in '32..." and stopped to do math. I thought she was kidding. Everyone knows how old they are, I foolishly thought. Then about 15 years ago I was filling out a form somewhere, and it asked age. I had to do math. I stopped and thought, Whoa, it really does happen!
But blocking out birthdays isn't a bad idea for me, usually. This year will be the first in I don't know how many years that I haven't been incarcerated, in hospital, or homeless. Yes, I've been homeless. No, this isn't about that.
My last good birthday, I was 3. There were no fights nor arguements, the whole family was there, and I was happy. I had a white 3 layer cake with pale pink roses, from a local bakery but really nothing unusual and it remains, in my mind, the ultimate birthday cake. I haven't had one like that since, despite repeatedly requesting it from various people over the years (and it isn't the same if I buy one or make one for myself. I can't explain why not, it just...isn't).
But last year? I got my life back. And I was literally 2-3 hours from dying before my surgery. Helluva gift.
This year, I'm going to eat cake, even though I'll make one for myself, probably something involving chocolate, and it will be the best damned birthday ever.

Shame on you all

I wasn't going to talk about it, but I can't not talk about it. Maybe the problem is that too many people don't talk about it. I mean the "R" word. Yeah. Racism.
They are doing work on the railroad here, for about a 7 mile stretch, and at every crossroad in addition to a gazillion signs & flashing lights, they also have a worker stationed holding a STOP sign. Redundant, I feel, but no one asked me. These guys have been out there since I took Geo on morning walkies, at least the 2 I can see from my house, so I presume all of them have been. 1 had a cooler and had a bottle of water in his hand, and 1 did not. The 1 who didn't was black.
I had to make a run into town (yes, there was a sale on booze. Don't judge me) and noticed every single group or individual had coolers or was holding water bottles. They were all white.
I don't immediately jump to the "R" word, but I also damned sure don't allow it around me, and have no trouble speaking out against it, when I see it. Immediately.
First thing, I stopped and went back to my house and grabbed 3 bottles of water and took them to the guy, and told him, "I've worked outside in summertime, it sucks, here."
This kid couldn't have been more than 20. And what he said hurt my heart.
"Oh, ma'am, thank you, ma'am, they were supposed to bring around water but I think they forgot me."
Ouch. Fucking ouch.
All I could do was tell him, "My house is right there. If you need more water, or to use the bathroom, you just come right there."
Then I got on the phone and made some OH HELL NO YOU DON'T calls to the railroad.
I don't know what will happen, if anything, but to the railroad people who furnished all the guys but him with water, and everyone who drove by without seeing, shame on you all, you rotten excuses for humanity.

Film

Greatest moments in cinema? Easy. Hands & paws down:
#1 - Jaws when Richard Dreyfuss is in the water, goes to wet his mask, then looks up at Roy Scheider with a totally blank face, "I ain't got no spit."
This formerly passionate erudite man has been through hell's anteroom, and comes out wiped of all but horror, with a double negative, that expresses his absolute terror in 5 syllables. Brilliant.
#2 - Natural Born Killers in one of the first scenes at the diner as Mallory begins dancing to the jukebox, and the good old boy exclaims, "What in the hell is that?" It isn't about the girl doing a slinky hootchie dance at all, but about Man's eternal response to Woman. I don't know what it is or why but I am mesmerized.
#3. The Godfather, when Michael is in Sicily, sees Appalonia, then meets her father. The 2 underlings with him panic at her father's response, but Michael, a true capo by birth and by environment, understands and without a single hesitation assuages her father with respect and honesty.

Yes, there are a ton of others, but I got this question in my email (along with one from another person about my favorite lube - Penzoil high mileage. Srsly, whatthehelllllllll as Peanut would say!) asking my top moments of cinema. Here ya go.

Wait, what???

I had in mind several things to talk about in this post - my having lost the trick of sleeping, more political buffoonery, the importance of hygiene, increase in roadkill lately - until I received a phone call from one of my doctors.
"I feel I should apologize, in a way, but not really, because if you were an idiot things would not have progressed to this stage."
Uhmm...
He went on to explain that had I not been intelligent enough to mostly manage my own recovery, they would have been monitoring me much closer, and could have caught the problem far earlier.
Erm...
If I was stupid I wouldn't be sick???
For those late to the party, I had open heart surgery last year (on my birthday!) and now have been diagnosed with Cushing's, but because of all the metal in my body, from the heart valve, the leg, and various other bits, they can't run standard scans to figure out which of the 3 types I have. Hoping it's medicine-induced, we're playing pharmaceutical roulette, 1 med at a time, hoping to trigger a regression of the adenoma currently playing house in my pituitary gland. So far, the only new thing is my insulin level going apeshit.
"So you're saying I have a brain tumor because I'm smart?"
"Well, in a way, yes. Hmm. That hardly sounds right."
No shit. I always thought being intelligent was a plus, until now.
Shows what I know. Hey, maybe that makes me dumb enough to be healthy!

We're both mad as hell!!

I am not going to recap the Cecil & now Jericho events because a jillion news agencies have already covered that. I'm going to say this:
I quit. If this is what humans do and allow, I no longer want to be one.
Far before I ever read the Dalai Lama's quote, I adopted as my personal mantra, "Our job as humans is the leave this life a better place than when we got here, or at least don't fuck up the joint any worse!"
There's a reason the Hippocratic Oath begins, "First, Do No Harm."
And humanity has lost the plot when it comes to what we do and allow, because we're too busy worrying about violating rights of complete wastes of oxygen like Dentist Douchebag. I personally believe both he and the poachers have ceded their rights to be treated as humans. I think they all should be hacked up and fed as a meal to the cubs, and their belongings sold to fund continued feeding them until they are old enough to hunt for themselves.
Because that is the only solution that adheres to the social contract we must abide by in order to survive on this planet. And I think I may be channeling Serge A. Storms. I'm fine with that.

**Note: shortly after posting it was released that Jericho is still alive. Yes, and? I stand by my original statement. Dentist Douchebag and all poachers, as well as the sick fucks who buy the kills should be food for the victims' families.

Oh, CENSOR off!

That's right, once again I have been taken to task for using the f-bomb. Well, fuck.
I quote, "You have a public setting on your page, and because of your many humorous cat pics, some children also see your page, and should not be subjected to foul language."
Foul language. I consider organized religion, politics, orange powder cheese, my power bill this month, reality tv, and anything by One Direction to be foul, but I don't go telling you what you can expose your children to, although perhaps someone should if you think you can tell me what I can publicly post anywhere.
Contrary to popular belief, I do censor myself. A lot. Not because I'm worried about exposing innocent little Sally or Johnnie to the word "fuck," but because I don't want to influence anyone's personal belief system. I express my opinion, but I damned sure don't tell anyone what they should do or think or feel or say, because I'm too busy screwing up my own life to try to direct anyone else's.
But really, what the hell kind of kid are we talking about, anyway? To be on fb, which was where I received the "helpful" *cough* message, a kid has to be at least 14, I think it is? I doublecat dare you to find a 14 year old who has never seen, heard, or said "fuck."
Have you listened to the radio lately?
Ever see "A Christmas Carol?" It wasn't "fudge" Ralphie said, if you recall, and that was an 8 year old in the 1950's.
This is 2015, in case you were unaware. Evolve a little, accept that children are much more exposed to "foul" language than ever.
And I really don't say "fuck" that often.
Ah, fuck it.