Walking the Blog
This is going to be a long post, so I could re-title it,
Be Careful What You Wish For
, because a certain resident of St. Hedwig, TX reponded to an e-mail I sent him with a beef: I have been neglecting the Jackalope blog. He also wanted to know my excuse. Was I too busy walking Poncho to find time to write? Well, read on. Was I too depressed from the Bush re-election to post? Partly. But mostly I'm overhwelmed by what happened on November 2, 2004. My thoughts are too scattered and conclusions/opinions are either not my own or too unfounded to be blogworthy.So, I will stick to simpler topics I can juggle between the 8 synapses my brain averages an hour: like walking the dog. So Jake, this post is for you.
Today Poncho and I walked to our local nursery because I had to buy some fertilizer for the lawn and get it ready for the cold-ass Minnesota winter. As I was walking him I thought how each walk we take is always unique and each has a highlight.
This is in contrast to when we go running. All runs are the same. I run the same route and we are going too fast for things besides running to materialize or for Poncho and I to observe things.
But when we walk something noteworthy always happen. Here are two examples:
1. Today I heard some music blasting from a house three to four houses away from it. Quick, predict the genre.
Heavy Metal? Rap/Hip Hop? R&B? Those would have been my guesses.
But it was actually Steely Dan turned all the way to 11. Rrrrright. You don't hear that every day.
2. I call story #2 Old Mike Winter.
I was walking Poncho towards a house that we regularly pass and the yard is regularly littered with kids' bikes and kids' toys, in the presence or absence of the kids. But a few weeks ago these kids did happen to be out playing in the front yard. As per usual there was about six of them. As Poncho contemplated which tree to piss on, I contemplated whether or not I should cross the street so I could stay out of their hair and Poncho could walk in peace.
And then all of a sudden I hear one of the kids scream, with great urgency, "There he is. Code red! Code red! He's coming! Assume your positions!!!!" And before I could finish watching Poncho and his three-second token pee on a tree, all the kids were suddenly nowhere to be seen and it was very quiet.
So that was weird and I suspected that for some reason they were hiding from me. And that is even weirder, as I look like pretty much like all the other white 30-somethings that owns a dog and lives in the Longfellow neighborhood (believe me, there are a lot of us). If those kids ran from every guy that looks me, they'd be the most fit band of five year-olds ever. But I didn't think much of what they were up to, until I was well past the house they play at and was, in fact, leaving their block. Suddenly a kid circles around me on his bike and heads back to the house yelling, "Code green! He's left. At ease!"
As a kid I used to this same thing. I'd act like I was a spy investigating random adults who I pretneded were criminals, sometimes even taking notes. Or I would make up other stories about them. There was a guy who jogged by our house at the same time every night and I'd act like he was the President of the US out for his nightly jog and it was my job to secure the corner that made up our front yard. The pathetic part about all this is, rather than act this out with five other kids, I played "Secret Service" all by myself.
Anyway, it was a pretty funny walk that night with Poncho, but it also made me feel like an adult, completely severed from the world of children. This is no small task as I am in kid mode 40 hours a week. Sometimes I have a hard time compartimentalizing who I am as an adult and my identity as a child. But belive me, that night it was very cut and dry who I was. I was just some generic grown-up with a generic dog and I served as a pawn in some game a bunch of kids were playing. I don't feel old too often but I did that night.
