my baby

Diesel is at the hospital. The doggie hospital but he doesn't know the difference and i'm sure it smells as sweet and the neighbors are just as pleasant as at the people hospital so lets not spoil it for him.

Little tyke's been there since monday night. Looks like he is taking after his mom. Per my usual medical run of things, the docs are clueless. Could be pneumonia. Could be a birth defect. We really can't say for sure. But what we can say is thus far it'll cost you $350. After that, we're going to have to check our records and our vacation homes in Puerto Vallarta.

Can't put a price on my little boys head of course. Though i think at times J could.

I'd just like him home, bouncing off the walls and following me around like a shadow. Until then i'm trying to keep busy -what else can i do? I pester the vets for the latest test results, make healthful, complicated, yet tasty dinners (homemade chinese anyone?) and i've started painting the kitchen red. Yep, deep dark Colgate red -so really more of a coppery burgundy?

anyway i'm off like a prom dress to try to rejuvi my brain for 8 hours. -who am i kidding, maybe 6 or 7?

**I will be accepting mental donations of happy furry thoughts through the end of this week at least. Thank you for your support**

reading = listening

it appears people may actually be reading this.

it's a funny thought since as i write [and watch The Transporter -chic weilding two large semi-automatic weapons while wearing naught more than a pair of stilettos and lingerie -bad lingerie at that] i can't really imagine anyone else sitting at their monitor, reading these words.

[Ohhh sweet jesus above, a lamborghini....]

Might be some gal in oregon with a shock of pink hair and a bijon frise named Paul. Perhaps an architect in Boston taking a break from studies. Maybe some skater punk in PA who thought i had forgotten about him.
[a ferrari now...]

Anyway, i kinda like it. it's a connection. to who knows who. and who knows where

[now the end of the Fast & the Furious -tell me Paul Walker isn't hot. can't act his way out of a paper bag but really -who cares].

So for now it's a one way, tenuous connection. who's gonna break that?

architects -don't i love 'em

ahh architects. A species all their own.

check 'em out on tv or film. romanticized - they look like intelligent otherworldly types, their speech issuing forth in well-formed, eloquent quips about the deeper meaning of the shape of a steel girter, or the true feelings hidden deep within the .25 ga metal stud. Apparently even Keanu Reeves is permitted to spew such crap as long as he's playing an architect.

It's one of those career choices readily available to the public, and yet so foreign. Everyone knows what they do -vaguely- little ones run around telling their first grade teachers that they will grow up to be big and strong and doctors or architects or spacemen or the like. Yet it's not a profession i think highschoolers profess to their college counselors with quite as much frequency. there must be a real passion running through their veins for this pursuit to be realized.

So while architects such as Frank Ghery or Corbusier (or Corbu as we, his inner circle call him), are well known for their sculptural masterpieces, there is more to this story. The true genius of architects lies in their little known skill as defiers of all the known laws of physics. It's true. They bend time. Don't ask me how this is accomplished for i've never actually witnessedthis phenomenon myself. I simply know the unshakable faith they have in their kind to achieve this mystery.

Take for example my schedule of the past few weeks. These masterminds have determined it's entirely feasable to fit 92 hours into 40.

I'm telling you -they're brilliant.