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| December 2004 »
Malu and I go with Ford to his place in the Catskills for Sat. and Sun. Ford has told Andy, who lives near there, and a man named Bill, whom Ford works with and has a summer place nearby, that they can breed their dogs at his place. Since the dogs will be on neutral territory it is hoped they won't have territorial issues.
The female, Andy’s lovely white German Shepherd named Pearl, arrives first. She has met her future husband, as Ford calls him, previously, but now she is in heat, which might be a different story.
His name is Howie and he's a black German Shepherd, a bit younger than Pearl, and quite a bit larger and heavier.
When they meet they sniff each other and begin to run around, side by side, not stopping. They seem to be getting along fine. Andy says they sometimes do this until they begin to get exhausted, then they get down to business.
Sure enough, after a bit Howie has a go but seems, to be kind, rather inexperienced. He comes at Pearl from the side, his head and sometimes his forepaws, on her back — granted, the head over the back or neck is a gesture of dominance in many animals, and this may be his way of assuring himself that this is going to be alright, that she'll accept him, but he tries this approach pretty much exclusively, furiously humping the air to Pearl's side.
After a couple of hours of this poor Pearl is losing interest. She eventually snaps at Howie as if to say "enough already". The guy is still game, but his technique is sorely lacking. Ford is convinced that he will have to physically lift Howie into position in order for the thing to be accomplished, and he does try to help a bit, but placing the two of them in proper coupling position is at least a two person job, and there are no volunteers.
The dogs are taken to their respective homes at night, and the next afternoon they return and recommence their unsuccessful activities. There are moments when Howie seems almost on the verge of getting the idea, but then off he goes to the side or ends up simply humping the air in Pearl's vicinity.
Malu and I go with Ford to his place in the Catskills for Sat. and Sun. Ford has told Andy, who lives near there, and a man named Bill, whom Ford works with and has a summer place nearby, that they can breed their dogs at his place. Since the dogs will be on neutral territory it is hoped they won't have territorial issues.
The female, Andy’s lovely white German Shepherd named Pearl, arrives first. She has met her future husband, as Ford calls him, previously, but now she is in heat, which might be a different story.
His name is Howie and he's a black German Shepherd, a bit younger than Pearl, and quite a bit larger and heavier.
When they meet they sniff each other and begin to run around, side by side, not stopping. They seem to be getting along fine. Andy says they sometimes do this until they begin to get exhausted, then they get down to business.
Sure enough, after a bit Howie has a go but seems, to be kind, rather inexperienced. He comes at Pearl from the side, his head and sometimes his forepaws, on her back — granted, the head over the back or neck is a gesture of dominance in many animals, and this may be his way of assuring himself that this is going to be alright, that she'll accept him, but he tries this approach pretty much exclusively, furiously humping the air to Pearl's side.
After a couple of hours of this poor Pearl is losing interest. She eventually snaps at Howie as if to say "enough already". The guy is still game, but his technique is sorely lacking. Ford is convinced that he will have to physically lift Howie into position in order for the thing to be accomplished, and he does try to help a bit, but placing the two of them in proper coupling position is at least a two person job, and there are no volunteers.
The dogs are taken to their respective homes at night, and the next afternoon they return and recommence their unsuccessful activities. There are moments when Howie seems almost on the verge of getting the idea, but then off he goes to the side or ends up simply humping the air in Pearl's vicinity.
Meeting with James and Arun re finding machines for realizing the "Playing The Building" project in Stockholm. If we find a few machines that work we can draw up a budget.
There are posters for the DVD of our live show at Union Chapel, London up on the street.
Kristin comments that my reactions to America and the election might be mixed in with some post-tour syndrome (my name for it.) It's always odd to return to your home country and home city and to be confronted with the fact that this is where you live, these are your friends, your countrymen, this is your routine, this is your life. Sometimes it's a time for re-evaluation, or merely disorientation.
But I'm settling in as best I can.
I'm still in a daze, but I begin to stumble back into a routine. Drop off tour clothes at the dry cleaner. Pick up some veggies at the market around the corner. Go to the post office to pick up packages.
Yale at Luaka receives an e-mail from the manager of Rammstein. It turns out the lead singer is a big fan of Susana Baca and wants to know that some of the lyrics are. Here are some of theirs:
Am I more honest
bite off my tongue
am I richer
then take everything from me
am I more courageous
kill me and eat my heart
Do I have your wife
kill me and eat me up completely
then eat me up completely
but lick up the plate
Jealousy is cooking
Unfair to take song lyrics out of context. But I can see that there is obviously a desire to burrow deeply into whatever rabbit hole an emotion lures one into. In that sense I see the connection — the songs Susana sings are also intense, and they are also about pain, longing, injustice... and love.
An image that made its way around the net almost immediately after the election:
Below, the cover of the NY Times Magazine. Jesus meets with the bankers.
"At the Riverview Community Bank in Otsego, Minn., the employees pray with customers"
I am reminded of the Chris Hedges book I read recently, War Is A Force that Gives Us Meaning. He was a reporter in Bosnia, the Middle East, Sudan, Central America. His book looks back and tries to find the patterns, the processes, by which people and nations become fevered, blinkered and deadly. It seems, to him, that the same dark path is followed again and again — mainly because, though we might hate to admit it, war makes us feel good. I’m simplifying, but that’s part of what he says.
Despite this bad news he also says that, like a bout of flu and fever, once the rationales crumble, the war peters out and the whole pack of cards falls down, the people wake up, as if from a bad dream. They are reasonable human beings once again, wishing, naturally, to move on and forget their exhortations and possible actions in the recent past.
I think the fever has not broken here yet.
Malu and I have dinner at Jerry's in SoHo. The TV is on there is spin and chatter about election results which aren't final yet. Though for a moment I imagine a Kerry landslide, a sudden coming to their senses of the American people, I sense this is not to be. It will be close again.
A Jamaican woman who cleans my place once a week announces that if she could vote she’d vote for Bush. Seeing the shocked look on my face she says, "You're surprised? I think he's a nice man... I know nothing about his politics or policies, but 'e seems like a nice man."
Jeez, she may as well vote for a cartoon character if it's all about conviviality, charm and niceness. The Bush crew are smiling as they stick the knife in.
But maybe she feels she’s cutting to the essence of the man — that her guts and instincts regarding a person are more reliable a measure than what politicians say or pretend to be. Politicians are professionally good at deceiving, and maybe her instincts are an attempt to cut through that. To see the real person behind the words. She senses that a look in the eyes and the facial expression reveals more of the person than policy and politics.
It certainly would be a time saver.
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