Thinking about where I’m going and how/when/if I’m going to get there. If getting there is even possible. Considering things I want and need. Reconsidering my relationships with some people and considering new relationships with recent acquaintenances. Sorting through the physical things and practical things and fun things and personal things that are drifting through my messy little life. Even some things that only exist in my imagination. At least those haven’t disappeared into Pongo’s blanket/laundry fortress of solitude, unlike the physical things that disappear or relocate all the time.

Imagination is a wonderful thing. I’ve appreciated mine a lot more since I met imagination’s evil twisted bastard relative, hallucination, while on mefloquin (aka Lariam) in Togo. Wondering what exactly the difference is between the imagination and hallucination, or are they like Jeanie, Samantha and Kirk and their respective evil counterparts; physically identical with a different orientation. The dream-nightmare analogy doesn’t seem to work, but after considering the question, wondering why there isn’t a distinct word for the category of dreams that are really good. You knew the dreams, the really good ones, those that involve skin and coconut massage oil and actions without consequences. Don’t deny you have them too. If you have a word for those, educate me in the comments section. Wondering, just wondering.

Noticing from going through my archives that I use ‘it’ too much as a crutch for not deciding on the right word. My Spanish and French teachers pointed out the same weakness to me at various appropriate times; My German instructor probably would have too if she was any good. At least I’m not doing that in this post.

I guess that does it.

Two great sites whose owners show proper online respect for their canine companions are Dogpoet’s Campfire and Jhames. Michael (Dogpoet) has nominated James for his weekly love bomb. (Michael’s love bombs are one of the few blog memes I participate in, even though I don’t participate nearly as often as I should.) James has asked that the love bombs be retargeted on people more deserving. I’ll respect his wishes in part and forward some of the love to someone else, but I do want to take the moment to throw a little his way. He runs a well-written and beautiful site, but beyond that, the love and respect he shows for his bambino, Vincenzo deserves recognition. He knows the unmitigated love of a great dog and since he knows that, anything I could throw his way would pale in significance. It’s not the first time this site has linked to him: two weeks ago he made a great post on dog owner responsibility that was linked to from here.

In short, Dogpoet picked a deserving target, and we’re graciously adding our love to whatever else the internet throws his way.

The weather is still very nice here and I keep the windows open all night long for the fresh air. I think most of my neighbors do the same. I’m a light sleeper, but the apartment is far enough back from the street and off the beaten path that the outside noise levels aren’t usually a problem.
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While Pongo doesn’t have a wishlist at Amazon, Davezilla has just posted about the perfect thing for those who want to express their love to Pongo during the upcoming holiday season. The object of his toy-lust: a new Japanese invention that will translate dog barks into words and sentences. Dave gives some great suggestions of things we might end up hearing from the dogs’ mouths as a result of this thing. The only two I’m adding:

“You got to watch your porn, now turn on the Discovery Channel for me while you’re working.”

“Don’t look at me like that. You’d lick yourself too if you could.”

The internet has radically and fundamentally changed the nature of public information. Data that five or ten years ago would have been available only in limited ways, generally through some self-appointed gatekeeper, is now out there waiting to be found. Don Bruns at Rat Bastard has a great post about the current backlash against this trend in the real estate industry. Linking to and discussing a ZDnet article, he reviews the problems the National Association of Realtors is having with the Multiple Listing Service postings being available online. From both the post and the article, the general thrust is that with the raw data out there (i.e., their little cartel as gatekeepers for the data all shot to hell), homebuyers won’t rely on their realtors as much. Apparantly they look at the downsizing of the travel agent industry over the last decade as the darkside of their possible futures.

It’s really too bad they aren’t looking at the successful travel agents who survived the rise of the internet for pointers. They could be looking for services to provide that can’t be available on the internet, but instead they’re looking for ways to restrict data about listings that realtors list on the internet. David Coursey’s ZDNet article has some good suggestions in this regard, but his best lines by far were when he discussed the future for those who resist the internet:

Furthermore, why would I want to reward a seller’s agent who’s too lazy to make his client’s home easy for someone to consider buying? Those people deserve to go out of business, and their customers deserve better representation.

Get with it folks: resistance is futile.

Just in case you’re one of those readers who works long, long hours, once again, we’re posting a Friday beach shot as a reminder of what weekends (and weekdays if possible) were made for. This image was taken on a relaxing Sunday morning just north of Crystal Pier in Pacific Beach, California on 9/15. Don’t wait for tomorrow – feign some food poisoning now, leave the office, get some sand between your toes and have a nice weekend.

Just chillin’ while dinner simmers. Bouncing around from site to site to site. Reading truisms like this. Smiling at this. Wishing I was here.

BRRRRRRNNNNGGGGGGG. Sounds like dinner’s ready.

One of the reasons for the switch to Howling Point was to have more flexibility in showing off my history. I’ve traveled to many places and taken a lot of pictures, and one of the reasons to take pictures is to show them off to people. Yeah, there’s ego working here. Y’all are people, so sit down and browse a bit. I’m building a section on some of my overseas travels, for now in Documenting the journeys, accessible through the About Chuck page (also recently updated). The only pictures live right now are the scans of my second passport and some photos from a 1988 visit to Damascus (Syria) – more will come when time and scanner access permit. Encouragement might speed the process along.

Let’s start the rant off nice and easy. I don’t like Gore. I’ve never voted for him for any office and never will. But I did like his comments in Santa Fe yesterday:

Speaking at a Democratic Party rally at Eldorado Hotel, Gore elicited loud cheers from the faithful when he asked the rhetorical question, “Are you better off now than you were two years ago?”
. . .
Gore criticized Attorney General John Ashcroft for his attitude toward civil liberties. He got laughs when he mocked Ashcroft for spending $8,000 on draperies to cover the bare breast of a statue called The Spirit of Justice at the Justice Department building.

“He put Lady Justice in a burqa,” Gore quipped.

Why don’t I like Gore, even when I like his words? As with his mentor, Slick Willy, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a heartfelt or personal word out of his mouth. I don’t know if he holds any personal opinions on the issues – I think his mouth, like Slick Willy’s, just spews whatever the pollsters say it should. I’m old enough to remember when his wife was fighting against rock music, I didn’t like his representation that he invented the Internet and I don’t like him borrowing lines from Reagan’s 1980 campaign now.

Despite that, the short answer to his question is no, I’m not better off (in most ways) than I was two years ago. The economy sucks. I will vote accordingly. But if he thinks that attitude will help the Democratic Party in California, he truly is an idiot.

No it’s not napalm. Chlorine and coffee. As much as I profess to love the infinite flexibility of self-employment and the absence of an imposed schedule governing my day, my days pretty much begin the same.

Very early, usually a little before the sun comes up and about when the roosters would crow in the flyover states, Pongo stirs. He has different ways of letting me know the hour from pawing at the bed to jumping on the bed to licking my scalp. He’s not subtle. The message is generally continued sleeping is at your own risk. After seven plus years, I’m well trained. I put up token resistence on some days, but its more just for show. He’s learned that the ocassional (OK rare) houseguest generally puts up a lot more resistance than I do, and generally leaves them alone. Even if one were to come along for the morning excursion, he’s pretty selective about who can hold his leash.

I get up, find some sweat pants and a t-shirt, pull on my big comfy Uggs, and we go down to the park. We walk, we sniff, we sprint, he marks the park as his and his alone. I’m generally really close to sleepwalking at this point – just going through the motions. His feet get wet; mine stay warm and dry, naked in their sheepskin cocoons.

When we’ve finished, we come home and he tracks his wet little feet back to my bed, and I boot up the infernal machine for the morning run through of e-mail, blogs and news (pretty much in that order). I sit at my desk and eat some breakfast, drink some coffee and try to stay currrent on events and ideas.

Having flexed the mind, I then try and flex the body a bit. When possible, I swim. I like the smell of the chlorine and the feeling of freedom while moving through water. Sometimes I lift, sometimes I yoga (is that really a verb?), sometimes I do nothing in anticipatation of surfing later in the morning, but I like the water. Both swimming and surfing have that solitary element that suits me for now. The clothing requirements are minimal. Today I wore this and this. Nothing else.

No worrying about if I have the right high-tops or what others would think about me for wearing clashing colors. Despite all the college sports teams t-shirts around, very few seem to appreciate the Vandals. Most either assume the t-shirt is either anarchist or just downright criminal – too many have never heard of either the team or the northern european tribe/clan/ethnic group. God forbid I ever wear the “Idaho Law” shirt among the unaware – then the assumption is that I’m some kind of white-supremacist separatist. Maybe a roadtrip to Berkeley for some t-shirt shopping is in order before Cal blows its 3 and 1 record. GO BEARS!

But now, the morning routine is coming to an end (until tomorrow). The hour is nearly 9:00 am and everything is improv from here on out. I’ve flexed the parts, I’ve smelled the smells, and now I must face the rest of the day.