Whether Report: Continued Sunny and Dark

I’ve been nursing a long, wide, self-indulgent depression since Woody died, broken only by the occasional moments spent actively with my son. But mostly it’s been brush fires, shitty air quality to match my mood (see photo above taken by The Missus at like, 4 p.m. the other day — that’s the sun there behind the smudge) and celebrity deaths. Quality celebrities. I can’t even get it up for Supreme Court rulings, even ones about gun control. I work, I sleep, eat a little but stay fat because I drink Pepsi products all day, I check to see who’s died today and I play with The Boy. The only part that isn’t a blur is the time spent playing with The Boy.

I still have drifts of Woody’s hair under my desk, and at night I take my shoes off and run my toes though them while I work.

The Boy is almost 3 now, and due to be potty-trained. Since we’re not planning on breeding up any more kin ourselves, I personally haven’t been in any hurry to rush him through the stages of childhood. I’m enjoying every one and I won’t get another crack at them, so it’s always been my feeling that he’s welcome to continue to take his time. But his peer group (at daycare, soon to be preschool) is moving on and I want to make sure he keeps up on the potentially socially-stigmatizing milestones.

So after the big 4th of July extravaganza at Yosemite with the extended in-laws, I’m gonna take up the reins of the potty training and get behind that goddamned mule and plow. I’m also gonna go find me a pup that needs me, and I’m taking on another weekly newspaper as well at my day job as mild-mannered newspaperman for a great metropolitan newspaper company.

Three tough things to accomplish concurrently won’t give me time to feel sorry for myself about any one of them.

Actually got my eye on a dog already, but I haven’t gotten a good sense of the cut of his jib yet. Went to the weekly pet adoption thing outside the pet store yesterday, but I couldn’t get the idiot SPCA loudmouth to shut up long enough to ask her about him. It was like going to lunch with Chris Matthews and trying to ask him to pass the salt. “Excuse me… excuse me… ahem… pardon me…?”

I left angry [Editor’s note: no, really? You?] but fortunately The Missus ran back after I got home and got the paperwork rolling. I suppose I’m in for some Gestapo-like grilling, probably a home visit, background check and full cavity search just for starters. I’d really rather find some local shmoe whose dog just had pups and take one of them. I’ve never had to jump through hoops before to get me a dog. Used to be, they just fell into my life.

But basically, everything is on hold till after next weekend. Planning on taking The Boy to his first movie today, “Wall-E.” All the critics are wetting themselves over it and it’s from Pixar, so hopefully it won’t contain anything that’ll blow his mind and re-fuck up his sleep patterns. Shit, it’s 6:52 a.m. and he’s still asleep. That in itself is cause to celebrate! Summon the wine wenches and bring forth the Foole…

Oh yeah, that’s right. The Foole gig is still open.

And that’s the way things are going here.