For one night at least, the Rocket was back!

Poor Kila – she is getting on 8, and bears her share of Genevieve’s monopoly on the schedule. Each year she seems to get a little slower a little sooner, a little gimpier a little easier, a little less eager to run and run and run. She still gets run almost every day, almost. But more and more they are my weary walks in the desert for a mile or 2, or maybe a short walk to the park with an unclear delineation between freedom to nubby-nose and wanton leashing. Or sprints to the park on the bike, followed by boredom, followed by sprints home; and sprints on the road just beat her up.

The other night, i came home full of Xmas party food and Jack Daniels and no workout, to an un-run dog that was deprioritized.   It was brisk, i grabbed the Heckler cuz while i was far too drunk for tricks i wanted to sit on the bike that felt most like the couch. When we got to the pink park, i realized i had forgotten a leash, just as i remembered i had stuck a fresh bourbon in a water bottle in my back pocket. It was late, and cold – the only thing i could hope for to make this night more deserted would be a drizzle.   Kila has made it almost a mile without even raising my concern – i knew no leash would be no problem.

So the mandate for a Jason\Kila connection was established, and Kila did not disappoint.   We rolled through the park and the church and the drainage basins and the dark places off the road that are kind on her paws, skulked our way onto the Red Mountain Ranch golf course where i was treated to the pounding of her feet across the fairway, again and again and again, through the spinklers and the patches of light, with her ears pinned back and her dog-smile ablaze.   Go Dog Go.   We used to have runs like this a couple time a week, and as we crept past the Walgreens and back through the neighborhood, i wondered how many great dog runs we will still have?

Many.

• Nothing Too Ethnic: No Becticia. No LaJason, DeJason, or D’Jason. No Shaniqua. No Ruth. No Esther. No Mary, Mary Margaret, Mary Catherine. No Chastity. No Virginia. No Salama.

• Nothing Pretentious and Hackneyed Masquerading as Unique: No Maya. No Isabella. No Zoe. No Mercedes. No Siena. No Margarita. No Jade.

• Nothing Too Britney: No Britney. No Amber. No Ashley. No Megan. No Taylor.

• Nothing Too WhiteBread: No Ann. No Kathy. No Jane. No Sue.

• Nothing Too White: No Sarah. No Emma. No Emily. No Lauren

• Nothing Too Redneck: No Kerry Ann. No Bobbie Ann. No Bobbie Jean. No Jennie Ann. No Kerry Sue. No Bobbie Sue. No Bobbie Jo. No Kerry Jean.

• Nothing Confusing Around the Holidays: No Beckie. No Deb. No Cecile. No Bette. Nothing with a G. No Moira. No Brooke. No Kila, or Turtle.

• Nothing that Rhymes with Anything Teasable: No Celeste. No Bree. No Brit. No Delores.

• Nothing Flagged by Stephen Levitt: No Jasmine, under any spelling. No Brandy, under any spelling.

• Nothing Reminiscent of Household Items, or Sarah Palin: No Truck. No Jenson. No BBQ. No Bianchi.

• Nothing Suggestive of a Thrown Dart in the Delivery Room: No Sealy. No Ivory. No Canon. No Jansport. No NorthFace. No Raintree. No Aquafresh.

• Nothing That Ends Up on Mind of Mencia: No Usnavy. No Toprameneesha. No Shi-thead.

• Nothing Overly Literary: No Desdemona. No Ophelia. No Hester. No Offred. No Pi.

• Nothing For Treehuggers: No Rain. No Sun. No Moon. No Wildflower. No Honeysuckle. No Surfspray. No Prius.

• Nothing Strippers Use OnStage: No Destiny. No Heaven. No Misty. No Crystal. No Jugsalinda.

My old lady’s knocked up, i sold my Ford truck.

not sure why anything having to do with a truck reminds me of country music; nothing having to do with a crossover SUV reminds me of soccer games.

Ok, that is actually not true at all; probably one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever said. Trucks imply something: man-work, outdoors, dirt, adventure, posing, the Klan…

Whatever.

Sold the truck! It sold in 1 day on Craigs List, to my first visitors, for $5800. This was between the KBB value for good and excellent. I asked 6k, and expected $5500, might have even gone down to 5k eventually. To my credit — and with some great advice from Doug and JB — I had the car professionally detailed, my CL ad was clear and well-done, good photos, all the maintenance records were ready…all of which inspired confidence in the buyer. I would have felt the same way — it seems you get a premium on old, high-mileage vehicles with one owner and complete records. I was able to give the impression of a perfectly functioning, but cosmetically older car. And I got at least 2k more than I could have hoped in a trade to a dealer. i need to pinch myself, cause I haven’t gotten a second call yet..I’m just happy i saved hours of aggravation and hundreds of dollars.

We thought we would drive this truck into the ground, but life has a way of changing your plans. On our last trip to Rocky Point…3rd time in a row with the Prius, and after it took us to CO and back, and after getting hitches on the cars and hardly driving the truck other than to expressly use the 4WD…we concluded the truck was simply no longer tenable. We still needed a truck, but not this truck. We needed something to make 5-8,000 miles a year for 3-5 years. We needed a slightly bigger old shitty truck to replace our slightly smaller old shitty truck.

Like many decisions once a t.Human is involved, there really wasn’t much to debate. Big or small, some things simply need to happen. I thought about getting a Nissan Frontier or a Toyota Tacoma, which are basically the same specs as the Ranger but with crew cabs, but the cabs really were not that much bigger, and the Frontier’s engine was suspect and the Tacoma was overpriced. Seemed a lot of money or worry for a new piece-of-shit truck. The best size and value seems to be a Ford F150. While I don’t really want another lunchpail Ford, having it loaded will make it nicer to drive, and the extra power of the giant engine will make it easier to drive. The engine should last another 50k, as JB said “when you make 2 million of them a year you have to get something right.” It will cost about the same as the Frontier, and they are everywhere and loaded and being dumped by people who are so close to the edge they can not handle the mere $300 per year extra the gas would cost me. I have changed my driving habits so much, that the 3-4k less than the Tacoma easily offsets the increased operational costs. Its kinda icky in a creeping Americana kinda way how momentum forced us into something more guzzling and less green – there simply weren’t smaller options out there for the price. My consolation is that there will almost always be 4 people and a dog in it on road trips, and its going to guilt me into driving it only when absolutely necessary and riding my bike even more.

Dealing cars still seems weird to me. Cars always seemed such a substantial, permanent thing. I will spend 3-6k more for the F150 than I made on the Ranger, but this flow of money is inevitable. It challenges my notion that money should be earned and stored, trucks driven into the ground, all of which requires a very end-game point of view: work hard = earn money = have money = have security. like a dragon sitting on a horde. Consciousness and care for your money, attention to your security and safety-net, responsibility for your family…are all good things. But so is recognizing that money is a liquid means to many ends.

G cried when I told her the truck was gone. For the last few days she’s been going “we’re gonna get a new truck.” Ironic that putting your money in perspective was taught to me by a toddler who only last week learned how to use pockets to store the money she does not have. Usually she doesn’t even have on pants, let alone 2 dimes to rub together! Its all very redneck.

all dolled-up and ready to sell

don’t let the buyers see this pic

This is something that would have been amazingly cool with a video camera. Sorta. Except it was dark. And backlit from the lights on the 202. And every time something exciting happened, a cloud of dust went up. Really all I could see were blurs of dark and slightly-less dark, and hear the occasional whimper or jangle of Kila’s tags, and some more puffs of dust.

Kila spotted a coyote behind the Boulder Mtn park at the bottom of Las Sendas. Clued in to Kila’s body language, i found the grey blur moving in the open tract next to the highway, then just hung out and watched for about 15 minutes as Kila and the coyote ran and parried and did whatever it was that they were doing for quite such a long time. It never got hectic, which was weird. Kila never got bored, which was weird. The coyote never growled at Kila, nor showed its much meaner side, nor tried to lead her off, which was weird.

A couple times I whistled for Kila to come near me, just so she didn’t get too carried away or do anything stupid. I kept thinking the coyote was gone, but a short while later Kila would run out to discuss things with it further. She never got much more than 50 yards away from me, also weird that the coyote minded me so little. The entire saga was like and extended meet and greet, where no one knew who the alpha dog was. It was quite civilized really.

The only time I’d seen a coyote be that interested and that patient with Kila was the spring of ’02 after we first got her, and a large coyote persisted in following us across Longbow golf course, even when i stopped several   times and approached it menacingly. Soon after that I realized Kila was not fixed, after a dog spent several games at Uomo Donna trying to hump her, and she spotted a little on our white tile floor. Tsaina and I once tailed a coyote for a while in the riverbed behind Fort Lowell Park in Tucson, and it eventually led us right into 3 of its mates who were waiting for us.

No such thing was happening here. It was just two dogs trying to get on the same page for a very long time. Maybe the coyote was young, or was used to seeing Kila as we spot them regularly in that park, and hear the same pack howling just over our fenceline at night frequently.

This was Kila’s version of riding gnar.

I sold Jo’s cage and t-stand today.   The whole thing happened very quickly – I posted on CraigsList yesterday and within 1 day and only three replies I had two very reasonable people show up on time and give me my offered price for the items.   That in itself has got to be some sort of sign from god.   It helped that I cleaned them both thoroughly, they were in good condition, and I asked a tad less than half the purchase price for each.

I tried to get in touch with Andrea (Jo’s new owner) beforehand to confirm that after 4 months all was continuing to go well and she expected to keep Jo.   It got a little hectic, I finally got her on the phone while the cage buyers were in the garage inspecting, but in the 30 seconds we spoke she said things were great.   Perhaps they are, perhaps they are not; I can not know.   I spoke briefly with her daughter when I left a message earlier in the day, and she said that all was well.   Hopefully Andrea will call or mail me back and let me know.

Does it really matter?

Jo is gone for good now, and there is no going back again.

I think I should be happy, or relieved, or angry.   Instead I’m still just a little sad and just a little ashamed and feel just a little hollow inside by my somewhat-willful efforts to make myself ignore the feelings in hope that time will make them go away.   I am torturing myself over this for no good reason, other than placing blame helps add some concept of explanation to mitigate the simple pain of the loss.

I did the same thing to myself when Tsaina was dying of cancer and we put her down.   Just like then, there was no more blame to be wrung out of the situation.     The right thing to do would be   man-up and get over it.   Just get fucking over it already, cause its over.

it will take time.   and rushing it is one more act of will at the expense of humanity i don’t want to see myself make on the long downward trek from the joy of childhood.   But I probably will anyway, cause i don’t have the bandwidth to be bothered by this anymore.

Beckie writes her first post in 6 months, and rockets to the top of the all-time-most-viewed list!

She didn’t even take the photos herself! Technically speaking, she didn’t even pose for the photos!

She’s another Men Without Hats.

This is blatantly unfair to all the people who work hard day-in and day-out to populate and maintain this site. I call bullshit! Safety Dance, my ass.

The wedding was awesome, but it is too late to recall all the details without photos. There are several items, however, that are salient and lend themsevles to tale.

• The Bachelor Party
• The Girls Party
• The Crazy Videographer
• The Toast
• the top 10 list
• The Playlist

The Bacherlor Party

Byron arranged my bachelor party. It started at his house with beers, and then the honorable P. Norton Brown brought brownies. Jeff Nappi, Kevin Hatch, Tim Streit, Chris Guttman all arrived. I am horribly forgetting 1 or 2 others and that is crappy, might have been Cosmo Pearl…we tried to take a picture but no one seemed to be able to get a photo with Byron’s camera. Which is probably for the best, so we leave the evidence behind. We went to the Improv in Scottsdale where we hooked up with Jack Smith and Jimmy Yuan. It was fun, the show was fun, we were wasted, we saw the guy who did “2 + 3 equals chair!” well, he had his 15 minutes, this was a few years ago. I think it was Larry Dues who finally showed – not sure I was really wasted when he called – but I know Tim made me drink a prairie fire on Larry’s behalf since I bought one for him at his bachelor party.

Then we went to Cristie’s Cabaret. I won’t talk about it, other than to say that lapdances happened, and there was an $12 fee for the ATM, according to Jeff. But it was fun. Somehow we got back to Byron’s, somehow i fell asleep with a head like a freight train and a painful hard-on.

I woke up early the next morning, stinking of smoke and stripper dust, and made my way home by way of more wedding errands at the Superstion Mall. No rest during wedding planning. Stumbled in, saw Beckie, showered, passed out. She appeared to be doing the same.

—
Girls’ Party

Beckie’s friends took her out. They gave her tasks to complete at a Scottsdale bar. Things happened, I’m sure they were fun, I’m glad I don’t know.

—
The Videographer

This story is so ironic and catastrophic and tragicomic, it could not have been invented. I struggled mightily with which one would follow the other in this story, and not be a letdown. But I voted to end on a happy note. Byron had a friend, who was a good and very nice guy. Byron worked with him for several years, and he was a good and very nice guy. He wanted to go into business for himself as a wedding videographer. He was basically a video geek who wanted to make some coin off his hobby, but had to build a resume. Sounded like a perfect match – I just wanted some stuff recorded and not to go crazy with money. We met with Byron over lunch, we agreed he’d show up and eat and drink and tape…I intended to give him $100. Alas, I should have told him, to have secured a commitment.

I thought the connection through Byron and the significance of what the day meant to us would be enough. He wanted to get into this field, he HAD to feel for people and the role he was taking on, how could he not give us a good job for ~2 hrs? In the back of my mind, it was too easy and i was getting something for free, but…but…it seemed like a good idea. I had our videocamera there JIC.

He showed up while we were posing for pre-ceremony photos, we said Hi, he did his thing. All was good. We got married, we had some drinks, we posed for this photo, all was good.

Apparently not. Apparently he had social anxiety disorder and panicked. And left.

Left.

Went home.

My epic toast, all our epic toasts…were not recorded even by my video camera sitting idle.

—
The Toast

So today is actually Beckie and my 12th anniversay.That factoid tends to elicit some questions: why’d you wait so long, what made you decide, what are you crazy? Well I actually proposed to Beckie in 1995 at Gates’ Pass in Tucson, AZ. At first we waited for our jobs, then for her dissertation, then til they repealed the tax law. But what finally made us decide is Beckie’s sister got pregnant, and Beckie just sort of flipped out. Meet Beckie, the newest character on Desperate Housewives.

Beckie and I met in summer of 1992 in Washington, DC. We were office-mates. For a long time I really couldn’t remember our anniversary, cause at the beginning…it was just hot office sex. I eventually remembered our anniversary because our second date 3 days later was to a bar to watch the Dolphins play in Monday night football. So I found our anniversary by googling “1992 schedule NFL”.

I think what’s kept us together is we have so much in common:music, books, tv. I got into biking, Beckie got into biking. Beckie got into gardening, I got into dumping bags of manure where she told me. I don’t know if we’re perfectly compatible or compatibly ambivalent, but in 12 years together there has really only been 2 times when I doubted our relationship. The first time was when beckie left the truck key at the bottom of an 11 mile canyon, at the end of a 50 mile dirt road, 500 miles from our house. The other was planning this wedding.

Crazy…constant stress. Every day started with a titanic battle of wills, followed by an equally impressive display of ignorance. After a couple drinks Beckie was like “when I wear high heels, you look like a hobbit”.  Based on the last few weeks, I’ll be the first man in history not to get any on his wedding night. Let me put this in perspective, Michael Moore got lucky on his wedding night.   Shopping for this suit was an angst-ridden weekend of doubt and remorse. What size, what color, will it fit…it was like going to the Home Depot with Dante. And the suit is very important if Im going to do better than Michael Moore on my wedding night.

But it wasn’t all bad, Beckie bought me this ring. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was perfect. No punchline here, just pretty cool.

I got to drop the wedding card few times at work. That’s pretty cool, its like “rock paper wedding — i win.” The day of my bachelor party, huge crisis at work. One of the programmers broke the code that deals wtih time.  Allow me to provide some context. I am a qa engineer for Ticketmaster, tickets need time, Roger stopped time. On the day of bachelor party. I dropped the wedding card, boss let me skate…told him I had to meet with the minister. This is AZ, and we’re a red state. [funny thing I forgot to say, but actually meant to say] Our minister, btw, found him by googling “wedding officiant Phoenix”.

My boys took me to a bachelor party, Beckie’s girls took her out. Men when they are feeling frisky go to a strip bar, girls feeling frisky…just go out. Random guys pay them to sex them up. [another funny thing i forgot] It cools cause the next morning, no one’s pointing fingers. Both stagger home, we’re like “hey…can i shower first? ok…rock paper wedding…damn, you threw wedding too...

People keep asking me if now we’re married if anything will change. Well, I won’t have any more of those awkward moments where in the space of like 30 seconds I refer to Beckie as my wife, my girlfriend, my SO. People are like: “he’s married, he’s cheating, he’s gay. What’s your deal dude?”

Beckie, you are my best friend, and my favorite person. You’re smart, beautiful, funny, and you clean toilets. Thank you for having me.

—
The Top 10 List

The Top 10 Reasons Beckie and Jason Finally Got Married

Something very funny that Margrette and Michael put together, that we will just have to remember as having been very sweet and very funny.

i’m going to have to re-read my advice.   Could be a looooong weekend since I’ve turned my back on the Eagles.

So we got the final green light from the doctors on the baby…no amnio this time, so we aren’t 100% sure that all is well, but with the testing that was done, we have pretty good odds (1:3,000 or so) that she is normal.

I was also amazed at how much ultrasound technology has improved in the last three years. When I was having G, 3D ultrasounds were fairly new, and I didn’t have one. I got to see some shots of this baby, and they are amazing. Here’s a very cool shot of her butt and foot…

And her face (snuggled up against the uterine wall)…

and another profile…

Looks like we have another thumb-sucker on our hands. Think of the money we are saving on pacifiers.

These pics really make you think about abortion…the whole point of the 2nd trimester screen is that 20 weeks or so is about the latest you can terminate a pregnancy if there is an abnormality. It is hard to look at pictures like these and not see that the right-to-lifers have a point. There is most definitely a baby in there (albeit still very much a helpless, half-developed parasitic creature, IMO). Let’s just say I am very glad I didn’t get bad news at this appointment. My heart goes out to those who do.

Looking at these and knowing a sex definitely makes it harder to ignore. Even G recognizes these pics as a person…she keeps asking “Who is that?” and I say, “it’s your sister!”…and that is as far as we have gotten so far.