Nice Doggie

Has anyone actually ever heard someone say "nice doggie" in reality? Seems to me that this phrase's sole intended use is for the screen. For instance, if you should ever find yourself in a situation where a large, angry dog is shooting you menacing looks, your first reaction probably isn't going to be saying "nice doggie". I'd like to think that the first thoughts you might have are more along the lines of "fuck this, I'm out of here" or "good lord that's a big dog". Let's face it, if you say "nice doggie" there is absolutely nothing good that can come from that.

Keeping on the topic of large canines, I yearn for a big dog in my life. I can safely say that once I am in possession of such a being, I will feel like I have made something of myself. I guess I couple owning a pet and being successful in the same light...I see people, usually in pairs, walking dogs all the time and my obligatory mental reaction is to think to myself, "look at you, you've made something of yourself...you can own up to the responsibility of having a pet." I just want a fucking dog, is that really such a tall order? Apparently is will be for me until I am firmly implanted into a locale where green grass and ample space to roam are on the docket. Such a place will ultimately be known as Southern California...which reminds me, my self-declared summer anthem has officially become "Santa Monica" by Everclear. Oddly, the last time this song bore any meaning to me was 1996. Coincidentally but having nothing to do with the meaning that song had to me at the time, that was also the first year I visited the west coast.

Why do I want a big dog? Lots of reasons. For one, I have just always assumed that I would own a big dog someday. Quite possibly I may not, as La would much prefer a smaller breed such as the beagle. However my penchant has always tipped the scales towards the heavier breeds like the English Sheep Dog or the Saint Bernard. I've not yet decided if I would have my Saint Bernard wield a keg around its neck, but that certainly must be an option if I should ever possess such a beast.

I really just want to run through fields of green with a giant dog at my side, that's really all there is to it. Screw the guard dog line of thinking, that's why we keep baseball bats under out beds right? Yeah, I don't actually keep one in the house at all but surely some of you do. God forbid anyone breaks into my apartment over the next two nights, because that hypothetical fucker is going to get a healthy dose of tv remotes and various dirty articles of clothing tossed his way. Aha, theretofore...eat my shorts. And let it be noted that this is the first time I have ever quoted Bart Simpson...let's hope it's the last.

I have nothing against smaller breeds of pooches. Mon pere's little guys are great dogs, just ask him...I'm sensing a sentimental comment from you here, pop. And ode to Wilson and Beasley, perhaps? I digress...little dogs can be held, they can sit on your lap, they travel well and they generally live longer than their brethren of larger carriage. All pros, indeed. I guess there's just something inherently funnier about a big dog to me, potentially. You can dress him up in your clothes, for one. And any dog that can sit eye-level with the dinner table is bound to resort to some drooly antics when a morsel is merely inches from his snout. Dogs and the stealing of human food is pure entertainment, is it not? I guess one could argue that it doesn't take a big dog to steal food, get caught, be scolded and inevitably have a massive bowel movement in the living room when no one is looking. But a huge dog is much more likely to make a hilariously big turd on said living room floor. I suppose I'm admitting, in a way, that the size of the dog's shit is directly proportional to the level of amusement that hound can provide. Also being admitted here: it's 2:30am and I have no idea what I'm saying anymore.

A few quick hellos here...Lisa, hope this long overdue entry finds you well and optimistic about life and love. Perhaps a beer is in order sometime before the end of July. Bowen, same goes for you...and I'm now putting the ball back in your court after your last quip about me writing a post again. Hello and thank you to the Goldstein clan of Pacific Palisades, CA. For the last week or so, I sat on your couches, cooked your eggs, ate your food, drove your cars and pureed your tomatoes. You guys are awesome and I can't wait to do it again real soon. Take care of my baby until I can do it again full time.

I Ain't Die Yet

The much anticipated return of Le French is coming...

Schne, I fully intend on waxing on about big dogs and shit, so keep those peepers peeled. Everyone else, just back up for a second. We all know that life takes twists and turns and on occasion you find yourself in an emotional chasm of depression and self-loathing. It's the good ones that find a way out of that chasm and finally find themselves squinting at the blinding light of the sun...which will imminently burn you because it's a hot sun and that's what it tends to do...right baby?

I shall return...