WtF ?!!

While returning a movie to Blockbuster's earlier, I noticed two large SUV's in the parking lot with their tailgates open. About ten very large people were sitting in camp chairs, eating from a buffet set on the hoods of both vehicles. There was a gigantic beer cooler on the curb, and a stereo system blasting in overdrive.

Behind the frolicking fat people was a gas station in full swing, spewing exhaust and gas fumes over all. San Francisco probably has more parks than any other city in America, all of them beautiful and several within easy walking distance of the Blockbuster's parking lot.

Meanwhile, about 50 feet away, a bum had set up his own bucolic campsite on the sidewalk. He had just pissed against the building, and was trying to get a little shut-eye. This is actually a lovely neighborhood, and he has the most affordable digs around. I thought of loitering to see if he got invited to the party, but the rest of my life was waiting for me.

It really makes you wonder about Darwin.

One Girl's Wolf

I miss my gray wolf, Baby. She was born in captivity in Massachusetts, where I then lived, and severely abused by her first owner, who blinded her. She was about six months old when I got her through the Humane Society after the owner's boyfriend, a member of the Pagans motorcycle club, saved her from certain death.

She weighed only 32 pounds and had been beaten with chains. She was afraid of everything, but after a few weeks of being treated kindly, she house trained herself and moved into my bed. I realized that if I was going to live with a wolf I should be the alpha animal, so I bit her muzzle when necessary, as alpha wolves do their subordinates. She promptly responded by licking me under the chin as befitting every other wolf in the pack. She grew into a magnificent creature who was even smarter and sweeter than any dog I've ever known.

She once disappeared and aware that there was an egg farm nearby, I ran up the hill to avert disaster if the farmer saw her near his free-range chickens. When I arrived, gasping, she was lying at the end of the farmer's driveway with her front paws crossed, grinning like a Walt Disney cartoon while chickens hopped onto her back and slid down her nose, clucking. I led her home by her collar and several of the chickens followed us down the hill, reluctant to lose their furry playground equipment.

Baby went everywhere with me. We moved to Vermont for awhile, then moved again, pulling a horse trailer with my daughter's two ponies all the way to Florida, and finally settling in Western North Carolina. We navigated the entire east coast with Baby's head out the car window, thoroughly enjoying the adventure.

When I put her on a leash and took her to town, she always attracted a crowd. People would exclaim over the gorgeous dog and beam as she licked their children's faces. If I felt mischievous, I confided that she wasn't really a dog... but a wolf. Immediately, the baby she was licking would be snatched away and held over their heads as, stammering, they asked me if "it" would bite, if I wasn't afraid "it" would turn.

Baby disabused many people of their PR-induced fears of wolves. Thousands of years of scary children's stories have given the wolf the image of a rabid, mindless killer. This is anything but true.

Wolves are gentle, even timid, highly intelligent, loyal, loving friends to those who offer them kindness. Wolf packs in the wild kill when necessary to survive and feed their young, but they take only the old and sickly animals from a herd. There are no recorded incidents of wolves ever attacking a human.

One neighbor called the Fish & Wildlife Department to report that I was harboring a vicious wild animal on my property. When the agent came to my door, I told him she was a Husky-Malamute mutt.

"I guess you're right," he said. "A wolf wouldn't be wearing a bandanna. " And he left. They really should train their wildlife officials better.

When I remarried, Baby formed a strong bond with my husband, a musician. We bought a house near Nashville with land for her and my Samoyed, Angel, to roam, and Baby marched around the perimeter daily, protecting us from potential enemies she couldn't see. We staged group howls, Baby on lead with her rich, deep voice. Angel wasn't much of a singer, but enjoyed these performances. Perhaps they stirred her cellular memories of when dogs were wolves.

Baby died of cancer at 13. We buried her in a shady corner of our backyard, near the creek, and a few years later, moved across the country. It doesn't seem to matter where I am, though. Baby still visits me in my sleep, and I get to hug her again.

Karma

Who Says You Get No Free Lunch?

Open Letter to the Scabrous Vile Freeloader at Whole Foods this Afternoon:

First of all, you need to wash. With soap. Even though the bulk bins are near the fish department, it was impossible to smell the fish with you there. Body cleansers are two aisles over, on the left. Go there now.

Second: Seeing you standing there scarfing samples from all the bins with both hands, chewing with your mouth open as if it were perfectly all right to chow down on foods that Other People (remember them?) might otherwise purchase made me want to puke up a lung. What gives you the right to ruin my day like that? Because of you, I went home with only prepackaged foods. And now I have to wait a few weeks at least until Whole Foods replenishes their supplies. Until everything you tainted with your nasty ass paws is gone.

I wanted to say something to you. I stood there with my little cart for a good ten minutes staring at you with hatred and disgust while you continued to masticate loudly, as if you had every right to do so.

I'm ashamed that I didn't confront you after all, but you looked so much like an Al Qaida operative that frankly, I was chicken. I don't think you were homeless. I still wouldn't have bought the treats I came in for, but I would have had some pity. No, I could tell you have a home somewhere, a filthy, evil-smelling, dank space with bat guano dripping from the exposed beams, no doubt, but a place you call your own.

If this is your idea of eating out, you need to relax with a rat poison chaser. The Whole Foods version of this item is probably organic and biodegradable, but we can work with that. If I ever see you in that store again, I WILL rat on you to the first manager I see. And that's a promise.

I Vant to Suck Your Blood

Who would have thought I'd be so excited to find gas for only $3.13 a gallon? As opposed to $3.49 9/10 for Regular in my own neighborhood.

I think it's miraculous that we don't have rampant murder at the gas pumps every day. We complained when the price went to $2.00 a gallon, but we kept buying it because our entire culture is built on gas consumption. We watched passively as it climbed up, up, up, speculating as to whether it would actually reach $3.00. Until it did.

I can't imagine how it must be for those who commute to minimum wage jobs every day. There is something terribly obscene about forcing people to choose between milk and toilet paper so they can get to work.

Where is it going to end?

The Anti-Pam

I feel dirty after my last post. Here, then, is the antidote. The antitoxin. The antipam.

Hobbies of the Rich and Famous

Pamela Anderson and Kid Rock are being married in a round of ceremonies that brings to mind serial murders. The World Series of Connubial Bliss. The first event will take place this weekend in St. Tropez, followed by re-runs in Malibu, Detroit and Nashville. And any other amazingly lucky cities they decide to honor with their nuptials. She probably has a different dress for every one of them. White, of course, because she is nothing if not virginal.

Do they really think multiple ceremonies will exponentially increase their chances of having a successful marriage? Or are they just putting off the inevitable, that after the wedding(s) comes, gulp, marriage? Omigod. Eventually they will run out of celebrations and maybe even have to talk to each other. Now that could be newsworthy since it has not been established to my satisfaction that either of them has any familiarity with the thought process.

After all, this is a girl known primarily for the size of her plastic knockers, a girl whose print on the sidewalk at Graumann's Chinese Theater is surely not a hand. I don't know a lot about physics, but I'm pretty sure that if I were so endowed by nature or surgery, I'd have to walk on all fours or buy a wheelbarrow. While his main claim to fame was a single about cunnilingus, "Yo Da Lin In The Valley," off his album "Grits Sandwiches For Breakfast," for which Central Michigan University was fined $23,700 by the FCC after airing it. His other credits include a song quaintly titled, "Pimp of the Nation" which refers to "pimpin' Barbara Bush." Sweet. It's not clear whether he's referring to the president's mother or daughter, if that matters to anyone.

I mean, this is your basic young American couple, the kind of folks who have turned this country into a laughingstock which may sink giggling into the sea if things get any sillier.

What's not to love?