My Pets' Paws Almost Touched

It's nice to watch my two pets sleep so close that they almost touch body parts. It warms my soul. It makes me wonder how many other types of animals can get along with each other. I suppose it is time for me to open my apartment's doors to a hyena. If my cat and dog can get along in the apartment, surely the next step is to introduce a hyena into the equation. A totally wild hyena. I want to own a pet hyena and release it in the dog park. "No, he's fine. He's a good boy, he just looks like he's engineered to kill. Relax."

My dog tends to be a little aggressive toward other dogs, so, at times, other dog owners act like I am walking around with a pet hyena. It's dumb. My dog's just a little rough around the edges, that's all. He's great with cats, though. I'll bet most of those "well-socialized" dogs I run into are horrible with cats. Next time another dog owner looks down upon my pugnacious shelter dog, I'm going to say, "Hey, pal. My dog may have just tried to murder your dog, but I'll have you know that he's more of a cat person than your dog could ever hope to be. You should have seen the other night when his paw almost touched my cat's paw. It was precious."

We can't really go to the popular, cleaner doggy beach in Prospect Park, because lots of other dogs are there, so we go to the beach on the other side--the one with the garbage and the sleeping hobos--and I watch my dog frolic amongst the pollution. He's cool with it.

Today I attempted to glue together my cat's broken food dish, and I ended up gluing it to the dining room table. Gorilla Glue is amazing.

Grip the Floor Properly

I took a couch nap. It was solid. I think I have recovered from it, now.

I think today I will buy some fancy dog food and complete some household tasks with my girlfriend. I have to install some curtain rods. Booyeah.

Haha. My dog just tried to lick his hind quarters, but he was unsuccessful, because he couldn't get a proper grip on the floor, and his paws were sliding all over the place. That guy is a real card, I'll tell you.

There are a lot of great shows happening in Prospect Park, these days. Last night, while riding through the park on our bicycles, my girlfriend and I stopped to watch a performance. A band was playing, called Bomba Estereo, and let me tell you that they certainly made a splash in the band shell. There was a huge crowd there, too. The band sounded great. I enjoyed the various rhythms and rhymes they were deploying into the audience. They're from Bogota, Colombia. My middle school Spanish text book always mentioned Bogota, Colombia. It never mentioned this band, though. What a useless text book. There should have been a whole chapter on Bomba Estereo and band shell concerts where people dance around with brewskies and their kids and dogs. I wish my dog were there to see it. Instead, he was at home in a crate. If he were there, I would have slashed him open and sacrificed him to the band. Just kidding. I would have just stood there and watched the show with him.

Kablamski.

Swan Puppies

Today, my girlfriend and I rode our bicycles to the Red Hook community swimming pool. We did some laps. Then we went into the play section, where a young girl told us to stop laughing. (We couldn't help it; she was funny. She kept asking us if we knew how to jump into the pool. Then she went underwater and told me she saw my body. "I saw your body!" she said, "I saw the boy's body!")

While in the play section, we experimented with buoyancy and gravity. You can pick up most anything when you're in a pool, so my girlfriend picked me up and held me close, making me feel like a safe child in his mother's arms. It was a nice role reversal. Then we played a game where I pretend to be a sea parasite that attaches itself to its host with suction cups and drains the life from it. That game was fun. We played all sorts of games in the play section.

The lifeguards like to blow their whistles a lot at the Red Hook pool. They blew them on a regular basis. Little, sharp tweets. Then, there was this really long tweet, and we all had to get out, because someone had thrown a bag of dog shit into the pool. The guy next to me in the locker room, who happened to be the father of the cute little girl who told us not to laugh, said, "Can you believe what happened? Some kid troo a bag of dog shit over the fence inta da pool. Now who would do somethin' so stupid? Sheesh." "Yeah," I replied, even though I did stupid pranks like that when I was a youngster.

I took the dog for a long walk this morning in Prospect Park, and we saw swans. We also saw swan puppies, which he was excited about. I think my dog likes looking at stuff more than any of his other hobbies. He loves just looking around at things. We saw some guys in the drum circle, in Prospect Park, and he didn't look at them for as long as he looked at the swans.

Then we went into a wigwam built by white people.

My Cat Punched My Dog

In case you were wondering, there are definite parallels between my bedroom and the deluxe suites available at the W Hotel. First of all, the AC feels incredibly refreshing after a long day of inner city travel. Also, there's a bed and some pillows and shit. What is more, there is a television with all the latest TV channels and HD quality. Moreover, there's a clock radio.

You might ask, "Hey Will, what's that large, furry beast walking around in your home getting punched in the face, repeatedly, by your jerk cat?" Well, my girlfriend and I have purchased a fully grown dog from the no-kill animal rescue shelter. I am so happy we bought this dog before he was not killed. He cost 200 whole dollars, but we could have paid for him with 400 half-dollars if we wanted to, and gotten away with it. That's pretty much what you'll pay, these days, to adopt a forlorn, wretched canine. When you walk into the kennel room, they look at you with the sad eyes. It's pretty heart rending.

We took this one beagle, Benny, for a walk, but he was disagreeable and hyperactive, so we rejected him. Then we walked this guy, Franklin, and he was cool, so we decided to take him for a sleepover party at our place. (They let you keep the dog overnight, to test him/her out). At first we were concerned the dog would clutch our cat in its jaws and shake the life force from his fluffy body, but that didn't happen at all. What happened was my cat punched the dog in the face as hard as he could while making primordial survival noises. My cat is well-sized and curmudgeonly, so we weren't surprised to see such a beat-down. My cat looks like a linebacker and often bites into the meat of my leg. My cat's a bit of a bully, and I think he owns a Bowflex.

So anyway, this dog has been cool so far. He makes cute faces 'n' stuff and has a curlicue tail. And he's nice and quiet. There is no chance he will one day have a violent flashback from his painful abandonment and turn on me while I'm letting him lick my face. That could never possibly happen.

Who wants a turkey sub? Probably my dog.

Franklin's only flaw is that he sometimes wants to murder other dogs. When you walk him, fifty percent of his interactions with other dogs will be positive, but the other fifty percent may lead to a grisly bloodbath. No biggie.

Diagnosing Idiotic Old Lady-ness

My bedroom can be accurately compared to the Radisson. This is due to the AC. It feels great. Last night, I even had to use a blanket, for warmth.

Today, I had my first summer class. I have to take classes this summer for my teaching certification. This particular class lasts for one week, and it is called Diagnosing Reading Problems, or something. It wasn't too bad. They give us a lot of breaks, which is nice, including a one-hour lunch break. I had a wrap.

There is an annoying old lady in the class. There always has to be an annoying old lady in the weird graduate course. That's always the case. She's very high maintenance, and she doesn't pay attention, so she misses stuff and then asks you what she missed, thus distracting you and sucking you into her idiotic oblivion vortex. "Don't bring me down with you, lady." That's what I should have told her. On numerous occasions, the teacher would say that she was going to give us the answers but not repeat herself, and the high maintenance old lady would ask her to repeat herself. The teacher did a good job of sticking to her word, and replied, "I'm not repeating. I shouldn't have to say it twice."

During a group discussion, the annoying old lady was pontificating about literacy in city schools, and she argued that kids struggle with reading because they have no desire to learn. Then she explained how kids in Poland all know how to read perfectly by middle school. That sounds like a bit of an exaggeration. And I hate when people have the "they don't want to learn" attitude. All kids want to learn, they just like playing video games better. Duh. Obviously no kid wants to learn from your old-school self. I can't picture that lady making a text relevant or interesting for today's youth. I'd rather play Marble Madness than listen to her teach.

She was wearing a short jean skirt, and I thought that was a strange wardrobe choice for an elderly lady. I looked at her legs a couple of times. They weren't bad. A little splotchy, but surprisingly toned.

During the last hour of the class, I made a doodle of a tractor trailer truck. I was behind the wheel. I also drew an anthropomorphic bird. I also drew a swirl.

It's Difficult to Leave This Place Before 5pm

My bedroom is definitely reminiscent of a Comfort Inn and Suites. Very nice. There is absolutely no way the air conditioning unit is going to fall out of the window and crush a child. Never gonna happen.

I am drinking a smoothie that I made yesterday. I'm telling you, the great thing about these smoothies, besides that they're crisp and refreshing, is you can drink them the following day, and they still taste fantastic. There is no way this is just a phase; I am going to make smoothies every day for the rest of my life, guaranteed. Mark my words. Mark my remarks. My middle name is Marc. Mark Cavendish won stage 5 of the Tour de France, today. Remarkable win.

My goal today is to make it out of the house by 3pm. It's going to be tough. Lately, I haven't been able to leave the house anytime before 5pm. This is what happens to me when I am off from school. I become stuck in my apartment.

Next week, I begin a class that I need to take for my teaching certification. Yay, New York State! Thanks, New York State, for putting me through hell for no reason! Yippeee! I plan to raise my hand in class, often, and say stuff like, "Hey Teacher, when are we gonna learn something cool?" and, "Yeah I didn't do it." and, "Can we watch The Goonies?" and, "Can I get a drink of water?" and, "When are we gonna learn how to put big kids in submission holds 'n' shit?"

It's going to be great.

Deluxe Accommodations

You're lookin' at a guy who installed an air conditioning unit in his bedroom window tonight. It was quite a success. There is absolutely no chance the unit will slip out of the window and go crashing to the ground, killing an alley cat. My girlfriend supervised me as I strained to fit the machine into the window frame, and she assured me that it is fine, but I can't stop envisioning the air conditioner falling out of the window and plummeting toward the ground. The thing weighs about 300 pounds. I'm just glad we didn't install one in one of our front windows that looks out toward the sidewalk.

The air conditioner works great. My bedroom feels like a bed and breakfast. Whenever I enter my sleeping chambers, I feel like I am on vacation and enjoying one of the numerous amenities a guest expects from quality lodging. Now all I need is a mini-bar. I feel like I am at the W. This is awesome. I think there is some sort of Old Lady/Lawn Chair convention happening in the main lobby, downstairs. I should stop by and say hello on my way to the fitness center.

I am looking forward to watching the next stage of the Tour de France, tomorrow morning. Today's cobblestone stage was a doozy. Guys got all bloody. It was exciting. I love watching the Tour de France. It gives me a summertime feeling and inspires me to ride my bicycle. I wish I had a better grasp on the rules of the Tour and the point system. It sort of baffles me. I sort of understand the different colored jerseys, but, at the same time, I don't quite get it at all. I suppose I could use the Internet, which is right at my fingertips, to find out some of this information, but I don't want to do that now.

Instead, I will hit the hay. I am looking forward to it, because the temperature in my bedroom is so nice and cool. I feel like I am at the Super 8 Motel. I can't wait for tomorrow morning's continental breakfast. I am going to eat cereal and pour my own belgian waffle.

Beach Cookie

Hey now, for certain. I have clearly experienced the beach today. I can tell, because I feel well-sunned and reborn. Nothing like that moving water and brackish air to bring a sense of renewal to those that need a good molting. During our bus ride home, I even noticed my skin peeling a little bit on my forearms. This made me know I had done something right. Like a serpent, I was shedding my skin and leaving it on the floor for others to tread upon, while I moved forward, a new man. Unlike a serpent, I walked off the bus.

"Which beach?" you might ask. Rockaway Beach. Totally a good beach. I can't believe that beach is a part of New York City. I dominated that beach, because it was askin' for it. That beach is so nice it's just beggin' for my silverback status to be asserted all over its sandy expanse. I made that beach my bitch. You don't even know.

At one point, a wave knocked me off balance and I floundered, ignominiously, in shallow water while scratching my knees on small, jagged seashells. My girlfriend witnessed this episode, and I felt shame, but I arose from the surf's foamy clutches, and although I had sand all over my disheveled swim trunks, I gave the raging sea another go. (It had hit me from behind, by the way. That's the only way it could have ever taken me down like that.) I find that the waves at Rockaway Beach are big and powerful, but small and weak compared to me, so I never let them take me down again. Thorough, overarching dominion, by me, over the frothy ocean.

I bought a couple of icies from the icy guy. The icy guy at Rockaway Beach is not as good as the icy guy outside the McDonald's near my apartment. I bought the white icy, and I thought it would taste like citrus (which would be refreshing), but, instead, the flavor was coconut, and this displeased me. Then it melted and began to drip into the sand, after cascading down my knuckles. I hate that. I didn't complete the icy.

The biggest highlight of my day was the chocolate chip cookie I bought from Lord's Photocakes in Midwood. I purchased the cookie, stored it in the cooler, and ate it on the beach. The cookie was fantastic, and it was huge and round, so I was able to share it with my friends. Are round things easier to share? Possibly. I wish I had another one of those cookies right now.

Great beach day, though. Whenever I go to the beach, I am reminded of Paddington Bear. One of the most memorable Paddington Bear books, for me, was the one about his trip to the beach. He gets into all sorts of trouble and wears inflatable arm floaties.

Paddington Bear is a good bear and a great children's book. He's way better than Curious George, who's a bit of an a-hole. Curious George wants so bad to be Paddington Bear, but he can't, because he sucks. I love Paddington Bear and his quest for marmalade. I respect him. I also like Corduroy and The Berenstain Bears. There's some great children's reading out there that involves bear characters. Nice. Way better than Curious George, who has a retail store in Harvard Square, and would be the type to have such a store, because he wants to make a profit from his cheap merchandise, because his books aren't good enough to stand alone.

Gummy Bears are a good snack and a good cartoon. Take that, Curious George, you bastard. No one likes you.

Good beach day, though.

Paddington Bear rules. Read him to your kids.