Pathetiquette
How to Artfully Dodge and not be a deke
It’s getting pretty trippy outside and the birds are so hip and the flowers are so powerful it’s like the 70s around here, there and everywhere and I should know because I spend most of my time here, there and everywhere and I run into a lot of people, and because I like the run into part to be figurative mostly, please consider the following suggestions.
When in Roam:
Keep to your right, pick up the poo, don’t be loud – and I can’t believe I have to say this – don’t litter, asshat. Also no perfume and if it’s soap then you need to rinse and repeat, baby, and what’s with the poo bags hanging in trees? At first I was trying to attach a meaning to it, you know, like when kids tie their laces and sling their shoes onto a tree branch by the highway which is a memorial thing to do, sponsored by Nike (jkmf) but I couldn’t come up with any reason people would do this with bulging poo bags except they don’t know how to tie a knot and put it on the fucking leash because no garbage can is no excuse and it’s a pretty shitty thing to do.
Also (insert eye-roll here) no flip-flops
And no dog walking cults please. Yes. I am on to you. I know you start by calling Daisy sweetie-pie and then you introduce her to your sweetie-pie and then more sweetie-pies until she’s hooked and next thing you know I’ll be meeting you all at the tennis courts at 7:30am and fucking pm and we will all go together, loudly, quadruple-file.
Walking’s not so much a solitary pleasure any more because everybody’s doing it and the trail around here has become popular and I mean that’s fine but if anybody knows where BlogTO lives maybe you could let me know and I’ll write a little story about “amazing undiscovered hiking trails” near their home
I go super early these days, like 7am we’re on the trail me and Dozy, and sometimes somebody’s around – which is actually great because most of the webs are pre-broken – but we are the OGs and we know what’s what and we pass one another without much ado or even any ado at all.
With most people it’s like that, you know, you see them way down the trail and they see you and you both send your signals and everything works out nicely – but there are people who don’t get the signals and you can sort of feel that, too – and you brace yourself for the inevitable foxtrot.
I caved and got a fitbit and now I am a Spykid but old and that’s the way I like my coffee
Wall-tennis racks up the points so much that I feel like I’m cheating and yoga doesn’t at all and I feel like I’m being cheated.
Thinking of inventing a fitbit add-on, you know, a little device that clips on and registers grunts, topples, and oh fucks as steps, and for an extra yet-to-be-determined whack of money I would add a little speaker so you could hear your calories burn
Also points for attempting such yoga postures as The Eight-Angle, The Extended Slide, The Four-Limbed Staff, The Half Lord Of The Fishes (is there a full-on version?), The Reclining Hand-To-Big-Toe Pose (visualize!), The Upward Facing Two Foot Staff which I am not sure involves both feet or a distance or something about composing music.
Many times I do fall and the cat goes running and Daisy comes running, you know, to see how I landed and if any food fell out of my pocket or mouth
Here’s something totally out of the blue:
Stella Rosewilde is a character in The Poole Obits, and she is building my character – weird shit, I know – but I write her full of courage and guts with a lust for adventure and nicely tanned biceps and no fear of shorts. She speaks her mind but is not cruel, has lovely strands of grey in her hair, is kind but not a pleaser, honest, and generous in beautiful unexpected ways. She does not take your shit or mine or anybody’s and she is fluent in dog, uses a high number SPF moisturizer, is excellent with her money, is a green-thumbed fern-charmer, and is neat. She’s so much more than my protagonist – she’s my heroine. (Not that she’s perfect mind you. She helps Grace Poole escape from prison so there’s that.)
And now back into the blue:
