How was your day, Dan?

CAPTAIN DAN

Well hi.

I am not going to turn my blog into a collection of lovely sunsets.  But last night I was super-excited and I wanted to take a photo of something to commemorate the occasion.  So POP, I grabbed the sky/skyline/water.

My friend J and I are studying to be boat captains, so we can take yachts out into the wilds of the open ocean.  Disturbingly, there are two ways you are allowed to drive (drive? steer? comandeer?) a yacht:

1) You become certified through a boating school, including 360 days upon a boat, as well as a few weeks in school learning how to read maps and what all the different symbols mean;

OR

2) You can just buy a boat and hit the water running.

It is outrageously disturbing to know there is no necessary licensing for boating—an infinitely more-dangerous activity than driving a car—yet people can jump in a boat and (a) rip through mangroves, hacking apart manatees all along the way, or (b) bobble along the waves and run into, oh I don't know, other boats and perhaps a human or two. 

So J and I are doing the responsible thing, and we're taking lessons.  J works for a company that charters day trips on yachts, and she has called in all her favors owed by boat captains, and they let us jump on board to learn how to steer, dock without crashing, etc. Keep in mind these are not ski boats, these are mid-sized yachts.  It's much crazier trying to keep them going the right direction in the water.

Last night I went under a BRIDGE and didn't even come close to crashing into the pylons, thankyouverymuch. 

Anyway—so that's when I took that photo.  Very exciting.  Come to Florida, I'll take you on a cruise and you can go snorkeling and stuff.

THE NEXT YOUTUBE SENSATION

This kid goes into the Mac store in NYC and records himself lip syncing to songs.  The other customers in the store?  They matter not.  Funny.

It's only a matter of time until he ends up on the Ellen DeGeneres show.

LOOKY LOOK

I took this picture from an Italian ice shop in South Beach.  I asked them to change the TV channel so I could see the news and scream, and subsequently take a cell phone photo of myself.  Luckily my friends and I were the only customers in there, minimizing the obnoxious nature of me shrieking with glee.

I was interviewed for a story about a police officer arrested for improper conduct, shall we say.  It's a big mess.  And because the officer is gay, I was called in as an expert witness on the whole affair.  I am apparently the go-to guy for soundbytes about gay scandal in South Florida.

I seriously have not been this excited about being on TV in about 10 years.  But this is for work I've actually done, it's progress.

THE LONG WALK

The rat terriers have been fattened up, slightly house-broken, and held for hours on end by myself and my friends, all in the name of creating a happy (albeit slightly spoiled) pet.  Granted, the moment you put them down they immediately spotted the (a) shiny gum wrapper (b) interesting piece of gravel (c) random bit of trash on the ground, and rushed over to attack/ingest the foreign object.  So our constant attention was vital for their survival.  And it was also important for the survival of my shoes, a few of which will never be the same.

I brought the back to the shelter, it was time to move on.  When we got out of the car they were very quiet, and stiff.

This chapter has a happy ending: both pups had a long list of eager parents ready to snatch them up.  Normally I don't know anything about where the dogs go, but this time I found out some details.  Sister, whose real name is now Gracie, was adopted by a nice husband and wife who charter day trips on yachts.  She zooms around the deck like she owns the place, and she jumped  headfirst into the water and learned how to swim.  Nancy Boy, whose real name I don't know, was adopted by a nice gay guy who will presumably continue to coddle him and keep his paws from getting dirty, which he hates.  It's a perfect match for them both, I'd say.

It's tough sending them out on their own.

GOOD MORNING

Storms are a-rollin' in.

It didn't really rain, it was mostly a bluff.

I was shuffling along behind my friend J, who was bringing something to a client on a boat.  Big adventure. I highly encourage being a tourist in your own city, and go see stuff.

What did you do last night, Dan? I saw "Inglorious Basterds," the new Quentin Tarantino movie starring Brad Pitt.  The story is a Jewish fantasy: what if all the leaders of the Third Reich were in one room at once?  What would you do to kill Hitler and end the war? 

On the surface this is a typical Quentin Tarantino shoot-em-up.  But it's also a study of building tension: scenes are long, drawn-out, and agonizing, as the Nazis toy with their victims before deciding whether to kill them or not. Some audience members find the process tedious and boring, because the movie doesn't get to the action quickly enough; personally, I thought it was terifying.  I LOVED it.  You just need a little patience to go along the ride.

On the flip side:  this is absolutely Brad Pitt's worst performance.  He's a hick from the Bluegrass Mountains, on the hunt for Nazis, and he plays the entire film like a high school drama project, with one emotion and one way of saying his lines the entire time.  It's like he knows he's a mega-star, and it doesn't matter anymore if he puts effort into his roles.  When he wasn't on screen, the movie was much better.  Boo hiss.

I say, go see it.  But only if you're in the mood for it, you need a little extra energy and a clear head.

ROCKIN' THE SUBURBS

My twenty-something "Rockin the Suburbs" brother is back.

Wassup.

So "Project Runway" is back.  I thought it was over because it wasn't on TV for a while, but then I was like whoa, it just moved from Bravo to Lifetime.  So I guess instead of being a show for gay guys, now it's for girls.  And now it's in LA, but they film the whole show inside so it doesn't matter.

So the show starts like normal, all the designers are walking down the street to the apartments, and they're introducing themselves, blah blah blah.  Like there's this black guy Ra'mon, and he's all, Hey, I'm Ra'mon, I am a designer because I was in med school but then one day I realized med school sucks so now I'm doing this, and there's this guy Logan who is really tall and he's like I'm just  in this for the hot chicks and there's this guy Malvin who looks like that guy who won, Christian, with his fucked up hair and he weighs about 20 pounds, and he's like My clothes are so amazing, they are a gift to the universe, anyone can wear them because I don't design clothes just for men or for women, I don't restrict people to genders! and, uh, I'm not sure what that means?...whatever.  If Malvin ever says "fierce" or "tranny" I'm gonna put my foot through my TV.  And there's this lady Qristyl who is all Hey boo, check me out! I am gonna win this shit! and she seems nice and she laughs a lot.  Then there's this hot girl Althea, and it's like DAMN, hello, thank you Lifetime TV, can she be one of the models?  So at least I have someone to watch.  I hope she makes it for a while.

So they're all in their apartments, they're all just talking like Hey what's up and Where you from? and this kid Christopher is like I'm from Minnesota! and everyone is like Good for you, stop smiling so much and then this guy Johnny sits down, he's from L.A., and he's all Hey, anyone ever try out for the show before?  I did but they wouldn't cast me because I'm a meth addict! and everyone is like WTF? and they're like, Hey dude, could we maybe learn your last name before you start telling us your business? and his face is still a little twitchy so you know he's going to be fucked up.

But my favorite is this guy Epperson, and he's older than everyone in the cast, and he's really really tall and skinny and he wears a lot of black, and he kinda just stares at everyone and talks really quiet and slow.  And sometimes he doesn't blink for a while.  Seriously, watch him, and sometimes he blinks, but sometimes he doesn't, like he just forgets that mortals are supposed to blink regularly.  I'm pretty sure he's the Grim Reaper.   Like under all those baggy clothes he's hiding a big nasty sickle he's going to start swinging around.  And he doesn't say much, he just stares at everyone like You stupid children, I am going to harvest your souls ha ha haaaa.  I hope The Reaper wins, he's already cool and it's just the first episode.

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CLICK HERE FOR THE Project Runway RECAP.  

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PUPPY QUESTION, a.k.a. LONG POST

This question appeared on the last post:

tell me something: are puppies anything like guys--i.e., is quick intimacy easier when you know there's an expiration date to your caring?

Yowza, what a question.  I don't think of it that way.  I do this for their welfare, by hanging on
to them as long as possible, so they don't have to spend excessive time in a cage.

The goal is like this: I keep them until they are ready (old enough, big enough, healthy enough) to be spayed/neutered and get their shots, so they can be adopted.  Then we coordinate bringing them back when there are no other puppies at the shelter creating competition for people's attention.  I bring them in early in the morning, they get the surgery, and they're ready to go. Hopefully they won't stay the night, and someone will take them home while they are still shaking off the anesthesia.

It doesn't always work this way, but we give it our best shot.  The point is this: if they're not ready to be adopted, there's no reason to keep them at the shelter, just sitting in a cage.

Of course I get attached to the puppies, who wouldn't?  But I get over it—puppies will be adopted by someone
very quickly, and I choose to believe every single one of them will end up happy.  There is no way of confirming this, but I can't worry about the entire planet's dog population, only the dogs that are in my apartment, tearing apart my curtains.

I am more attached to the full-grown dogs I see at the shelter day after day, who look so sad because no one wants them.  That kills me a little each time I go there. I am more tempted to keep them.

If you're interested in this topic...some quick facts off the top of my head:

SATURDAY NIGHT

Hola.

It's Saturday night, and I ain't going anywhere.

I have my feet up on the table, which is causing the puppies great angst because they cannot attack my feet as per usual; so they are running laps around the room, lunging at my digits, falling on each other instead.  They then subsequently maul each other out of frustration, because each other are the only soft-tissued organisms within their chomping range.  And then they try for my feet again.  Vicious creatures.

There are three boxes of cookies all within my chomping range, however.  I went to the drug store and loaded up on garbage so I could sit here and watch TV until the wee hours of the morning, high on sugar.  When I was in line, there were three other guys who seemed to be in the same boat: all greasy-haired, disheveled-clothed and utterly unconcerned with the world around them.  Although the man at the front of the line bought chewing gum and a box of ultra-thin condoms, which made the man behind him look over with a twinge of jealousy.

Before returning home, I took the dogs to Sunset Harbor, one of the city docks on Biscayne Bay.  It's next to a little park, perfect for romping of small four-legged creatures.  The wind was totally still, so there were no waves and the water was flat enough to reflect the lights of the buildings all around.  So we sat, and sniffed at stuff and stared out at the glassy water.  Nancy Boy became completely enticed by a clam-like thing adhered to the ground, which he licked with great gusto.  I presume he will get the shits right before I fully fall asleep, which will drag me back out of bed and give his sister an unobstructed shot at attacking my feet again.  Although I'll be too tired to do the don't-bite-me dance.  I may lose a digit tonight, yikes.

RATS

The problem with going to bed early: you wake up early.

Good morning.

I'm sitting in the dark, tiptoeing around the apartment so as to not creak any floorboards.  We don't want to wake the puppies.

I have two rat terriers--an unfortunate name for a cute dog, basically the same thing as a Jack Russell, but with a more-pointy snout.  Super cute, they are.  They're currently gated into my bathroom, where they are snoozing atop a pile of towels and assorted soft things. 

They showed up at the shelter a little skinny, so before they get "fixed" they need to build up a little chunk.  And no one turns out a fat puppy quite like me, thankyouverymuch.  I feed them constantly.  It's how Italian families show love, they feed feed feeeeeeeeeeed you.

Am I turning into this guy who writes stories about dogs?  Not really, but humor me just for now.

The female is big and thick and VERY bossy.  We've already had a conversation about her attitude, and how she needs to stop biting her brother's ear.  The male, God bless, is a wimpy tiny little thing, who whines constantly and prefers not to walk if he can be carried instead.  He could stick up for himself when his sister uses him as a chew toy, he just chooses not to.  I call him Nancy Boy.  Presumably his real owners will choose a different name.

I think I am becoming that guy who tells dog stories.  I stayed home last night to watch TV and chase them around the apartment.  For hours we did this.

Nancy Boy has an odd gait to his walk; that could be why he wants to be carried (although I don't think so, I think he's just lazy).  I don't know if he has some sort of issue in his joints, or if I hurt him one of the past 20 times I stepped on him.  Not that I can help that; whenever I stand still, he walks over and sits on my foot.  So these calamities are inevitable.  And although I now know he's there and I catch myself before stepping down, just touching him with my foot makes him wail in terror.  Such a drama queen.  His sister just huffs in disgust. One would think he would sit ANYWHERE ELSE in the room, but no.  He'd rather put himself directly in harm's way, so he had something to complain about later. Crunch.

The little ones are stirring--and with rat terriers, their waking hours are spent destroying everything in sight, so I must save my shower curtain before they tear it down.

Hugs.