Psycho-dogs and Orwellian Phone Apps

You know how professional athletes show up with mysterious injuries like broken hands or sprained ankles and they explain it away by claiming they tripped over the dog? Nobody believes them; they assume they were involved in a bar fight or a domestic altercation or some other alcohol induced horseplay. Well, I believe them! If you own a neurotic psycho rescue shelter dog, it will kill you, sooner or later. He will cut you off at the knees on the stairs, or shred your thigh muscles, or attack someone you love.

My dog's name is Forrest Gump. He is faster than hell and dumber than a box of rocks. I asked him why he found it necessary to complicate my life with the threat of major medical payment responsibility. "There are several reasons," he said. And, surprisingly, he was advanced enough to list them in bullet points:

• I will never eat again.
• You will walk out the door and never come back.
• Anyone at the door is suspect; they are here to kill everyone and set fire to the house destroying everything but me - I will be unlucky enough to live and be sent back to the shelter.

"Does that explain the weird kangaroo hop you do whenever I put my coat on?"
"Yes. You move, I move."

"Then... one thing you should know. The delivery man at the front door with the Italian beef sandwich is your friend. I repeat, the man with the Italian beef sandwich is your friend. Also, that girl, I'm sure you remember her, is my daughter."

If you do not hear from me in the near future, alert the EMT's that I am at the bottom of the stairs.

Hey! I teach high school English. Right now we are reading Brave New World and studying dystopian societies. I told my students to compile what I call a "Paranoid Folder," a collection of current articles from magazines, websites, etc.... that reflect ....WAIT A MINUTE: NEWS FLASH...

FORREST ALMOST THREW ME OFF THE SECOND STORY BALCONY OF MY TOWNHOUSE....HE WAS DEFENDING ME FROM THE TWO MINI-POODLES NEXT DOOR... APPARENTLY BONNIE AND CLYDE WERE PREPARING A HOSTILE TAKEOVER WHEREBY THEY WOULD ASSUME FAVORITE DOG STATUS IN MY HOUSEHOLD.

...current trends in government and social activity that reflect what we have learned in this particular unit. I told them that there was an iPhone app called the Patriot App they could download that would allow them to snitch on their neighbor with respect to "national security" or "suspicious behavior."

http://www.theyeshivaworld.com/news/General+News/78251/iPhone-Snitch-network-Launched.html

They didn't believe me. I showed them the App on the web and told them they could download it if they wanted. They did. "I didn't believe you," they said, " but here it is." They complained that the app cost $1.00, so I gave them a dollar and told them to download it.

The very first thing I heard after that was, "Guess who the first person is I'm turning in?"
Right now there's an unmarked car in front of my house with two dudes wearing fedoras.

FOOTNOTE TO LAST POST:
In the last post I actually used the phrase," for crying out loud." What in tarnation is wrong with me?

Dispelling Myths

No, I was not at Woodstock.
I was twelve years old in August, 1969. These wacky kids today, they have no sense of historical perspective. I think they believe that anyone over fifty with the slightest interest in amplified music must have been at Woodstock. In reality, you could find me mopping floors and emptying ashtrays at the local bowling alley. That's not to say I didn't immerse myself in the fervor of the day. I wore the uniform of the revolution: flannel shirt, jeans, combat boots, shoulder-length hair. I looked like I jumped off the cover of Neil Young's Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere. But I was twelve, for crying out loud. Follow-up question: "Were you born at Woodstock?" Yes, I slid right out of the womb and into the mud. My parents ate the brown acid, and, well, here I am.

The bowling alley provided quite an education. Late nights one am sweeping out the bar as the good ole boys drank whiskey and rye. "Hey, hippie, you burn your draft card?" Again, my age. "Hey, long-hair, you a draft-dodger? You burn your draft card?" "No, I told him. "I am only twelve. But if I did have a draft card, I probably would burn it right here in this bar. I would find it a lamentable waste of my American Youth to die for you. You and your ugly war and your redneck friends can go screw yourself. Also, I am not old enough to vote. If I was, I wouldn't have voted for your pal Nixon. You have destroyed a once proud nation. Where is your wife? Excuse me now, but I have to go wax lanes six through twelve."  OK, so older folks have a strange perspective, too. Which goes to show you:

Things were not better in the Eisenhower Era.
I'm sorry, but let's take a look at some of the artists who charted on Billboard in 1955, the year before I was born:

• Mitch Miller
• Perry Como
• Roger Williams
• Tennessee Ernie Ford
• The Four Lads

I was born just in time to stop the madness. Elvis emerged, dominating the charts. Another few years, the Beatles, a bit after that, Hendrix. My mother used to listen to talk radio on WLS-AM (the more things change...) and just kept the radio tuned to the Big 89 after it switched to Top 40.  I'm not sure she really noticed. I followed the Top 40 religiously, but nothing prepared me for the sound coming out of that little box (no, kids, it was not a Philco) in June 1967. When the first few notes of Purple Haze exploded through the speaker, I asked my mother, "Can you really do that with a guitar?" "I'm not sure," my mother answered, "but it is much jazzier than Perry Como."

June 1967 also witnessed the release of The Beatles' landmark Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. I did not, however,  start wearing marching band uniforms.

So, yes, remember the good old days: separate drinking fountains, nuclear weapons testing, Joe McCarthy, the interstate highway system. Eisenhower warned against the coming 'Military Industrial Complex', yet he initiated what was referred to as the National System of Interstate and Defense Highways. It was designed to be a system of roadways to transport missiles, troops and military supplies in case our Cold War foes invaded. He got the idea from the Germans. So what's up with that, Ike?

Speaking of Mitch Miller, he used to have a TV show called Sing Along With Mitch on NBC in the early sixties. He and an all-male choir would sing tunes, and the TV audience could follow the lyrics and sing along. Good times. I used to stay with my grandmother for a few weeks in the summer, and she made me sit there and - not just watch - but sing along! I have a little scar on my soul to this day. Years later, my grandmother stopped asking me to visit because I was sporting the aforementioned revolutionary garb. "You used to be such a nice boy," she'd say. My uncle used to taunt me: "Hey, long hair and sandals! Who do you think you are, Jesus?"

No, I am Neil Young.