Friday, May 22, 2009

A New Companion

I've been doing a lot of thinking since my college graduation ceremony two Fridays ago, and I have to admit that some of this thinking has been absolutely, bat-shit clinical, crazy. But the least one of the bat-shit clinical, crazy ideas has been to adopt a puppy. It'll get crazy, just wait for it.

The thought occurred on no particular day, driving through Avalon Park, outside of Orlando, and probably running mind-numbing errands with my girlfriend. We were talking about the things we wanted to do once we had settled into the house or apartment we are currently trying to find for next year's lease.

It was without question that I wanted to adopt an animal, because I love animals. Theyarethecoolestthingsever.

When I jokingly tell people that I grew up on a 1,200 square foot farm in West Palm Beach, few of them realize the accuracy of the term that I employ. Since my birth my family has housed a Greyhound, a Dalmatian, five Bassett Hounds, a *Bull Mastiff, a *Redbone Hound, a Bloodhound, an American Bulldog (whom we referred to as 'Shitforbrains'), a Poodle-mix, a mutt named *Tessa and at least 30 domesticated cats over roughly three generations.

The three dogs with *stars next to them are still around, with one of the Bassetts and six of the 30 cats.

A farm. No shit.

So I'm sitting in the car, with the girlfriend driving, thinking about the kind of animal I have always wanted, and this seems to require much thought because I have had a lot of animals in my lifetime. And then it hits me.


"Babe! Let's get a Doberman!"

I was surprised by the lack of concern in her expression. With it, she seemed to reassure me that, because I had considered this animal just like any other, she agreed with me and trusted that we would have no more problems with this type of dog than we would with a Parakeet, or something. She, having only one dog in her lifetime, might have even trusted my judgment over hers based on my experience.

Sure, I thought, a Doberman isn't a bird, but I don't really care. I want a Doberman, and I'm going to get one.

So I told my family, and one would have thought by their consistent refutations that I was adopting an African Crocodile to live in my shower.

All I heard was bullshit about temperament, and how Dobermans are known to be one of the most dangerous breeds of dog. According to FreeRepublic.com, the Centers for Disease Control reported Dobermans, Pit bulls, Rottweilers, German Shepherds, Huskies, Alaskan Malamutes, Chow Chows, Great Danes, St. Bernards and Akitas in their list of the Ten Most Dangerous Breeds.

Okay. That's cool. But on every other list, Dobermans are ranked the fifth most intelligent behind the Golden Retriever, German Shepherd, the Poodle and the Border Collie at number one.

As an intelligent animal, who has been trained to operate by positive reinforcement, I can only deduce that something very bad must have happened to these animals to make them behave very badly. I could get into B.F. Skinner right now but its redundancy is even apparent to a three year old: good animals come from good people and bad animals come from bad people.

But, you know what? It doesn't really matter because I probably don't have the resources or the finances to raise a puppy right now, so a lot of this pissing and moaning is for nothing.

But still, at least I know that when the time comes for me to get a puppy, at least I know the dog I want, and when I can provide the right environment for it, I still know it will be one of the best decisions I make.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

New Layout!



It needed a change. Things were getting old so I took the inspiration from the dubious last album by "Chicago's Finest Forges," Big Black. Also, my girlfriend, a Lilly Pulitzer freak, can appreciate the dueling pink and greens.

Disclaimer: For all who view this blog, please remember that this is just an album cover, albeit a tasteless one.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

What the hell is next?

Well, it's finally here.

The day I never have to sit in a classroom again if I don't have the desire to.

The day I finally become free to worry about my life without the burden of letter grades on top of it.

The day I step out into the world, having learned (technically) everything I need to know about it.

Two decades. Four presidents. God knows how many 5-page papers and 500-word assignments.

All for what? My B.A. in Journalism.

It would be a lie to say that I am not proud of myself, because for all of my counter-cultural convictions, I still consider an academic degree a valid achievement; a close second to teaching oneself to play music. But despite what I have earned from my experience in college, I still don't feel like I've accomplished anything.

I feel like a failure with a college degree.

It's comforting to know that my girlfriend and my family are proud of me, and I guess that makes me proud of me. But I still only have the same amount of direction I had when I was 18. I still consider the question of what I should do with my life.

Only now is it I know that if I'm going to do anything, I had better god-damned love it because chances are good in this economy that nobody will be paid adequately for the job they do.

So my goal for now is to forget about my field of study, but only temporarily. I need to find a new way to orient myself toward the marketplace of ideas and the role of journalism in this hyper-changing, on-demand information age.

Now, it even surprises me that I am writing in my free time. If I had a class assignment due, you'd better know I wouldn't give a rat's ass about this blog. But alas, optimism abounds.

My goal is simple: devote my time to getting paid for 40 hours a week's worth of work. If it's not enough, do something else. If it is enough, make it not enough. Isn't that the correct answer, Capitalism? Please! I have to get a good grade on this!

And I guess, once those necessities have been met, my goal will be to devoting the rest of my time to securing myself in the niche I make for myself. Sleeping now in the bed I have made.

Or I could just start a punk band.