december 22 well, the only secret info here is to watch what you wish for. The Candidate, it turns out, is really not suitable material for anybody to be dating ... nothing salacious, just complete oddball up and down. I learned this from his last girlfriend -- last night -- she's the campaign manager. Whoa. Nice gal, though. I'd rather hang with her than go out with him. So that's the end of that chapter.

I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly   Today would have been my maternal grandfather, Sylvan Bernard Gordon's birthday, had he been alive. So it's nice to see him here. He died in the early 1990s, not a whole lot after my dad did -- but I always thought of him as more of a dad figure in my life. He helped me with algebra, and I think we had a lot in common -- that is, we both knew the value of silence.  He listened to WTOP (talk radio) and WGAY (yes, honest, that's a radio station in the Washington, D.C. area) that played near-muzak, but when I was around him it seemed okay to listen to that kind of stuff. This is him at his 1988 birthday with that irrepressible Buddie, who would 13 years later be very concerned with sunburns on the insteps. Happy Birthday, Pop-pop. (We never did get around to having normal grandparent names.) I'm back to wanting a dog, and I've decided to abandon all pretense of trying out a new breed. I want a Cairn Terrier. You know them best as Toto (she was no Scottie, I promise). They're the most adorable, tolerant and sweet dogs I've ever known, and I oughta know -- Pepper was the dog I grew up with. We got her from a breeder in 1976 or 77, and she lived well until I was in college, when she had to be put down because her body was slowly shutting down on her. She was inscrutable, but terribly patient with all of us, no matter what torments we put her through.   This was the height of hilarity, apparently, pretending the dog was playing Intellivision (a better brand of home video game than Atari, but basically the Beta to Atari's VHS, and it died out a long death). I have photos of her playing the piano and sitting with her faux brood (i.e., my stuffed animal collection. Note the tolerant look she's giving the camera. (I never took a focused picture until I was in college.)  The Cairn rescue site says the breed does have a particular "look" to the face, no matter what you put them through -- it's kind of like a "I don't know why you're doing this to me but I'll put up with it because I love you so, so, so much there must be a reason" look. In the infamous Armchair News fake news broadcast, Pepper is "kidnapped" and later "returned," and gives a "press conference" -- while off-camera I gave her "voice" with sucked-in heilum from a balloon. I am the funniest person I know.   One reason (actually two) why nobody should ever let me adopt a dog. I'm feeding the dog from the table! I'm feeding her chocolate from the table (see Whitmans Sampler box)!  But it was cruel and unusal punishment not to feed her whenever she asked. Just one look from that face ... if it wasn't the "you must have some secret purpose" look, it was the "I'm starvin' over here, I haven't had a Jerky treat in about 18 minutes and I'm gonna collapse if you don't give me that whatever it is in your hand right now!" look. Side note: This is circa 1983. This is my concept of fashion: That's a ruffly shirt like out of the 17th Century Romantic period, those are jeans and I think those are some major clodhopper shoes. I don't know if I was so much a fashion victim as a victimizer. I'm not sure exactly why it was deemed necessary to breed Pepper. The back of the photo says this was April of 1977, so she was probably just about a year old -- if that -- which feels somehow traumatic, although I'm sure she was old enough. Just makes her seem like a child bride. I have recollections of some strangers bringing over another dog and them sending the two of them to the basement. Kids were not allowed to watch, no surprise there. Anyhow, I'd lay odds that it was less an interest in educating the kiddies in the miracle of life than it was that Dad figured he could make a small bundle with purebred puppies. (I'm speculating, of course -- I have no idea if Pepper was purebred, but I sense she was.) Anyway, she was chained to the dining room table during the day during this period and gave birth while we were all not home ... which meant she gave birth while chained to a dining room table. I'm wincing as I think about it. Anthropomorphizing my ass, that's just ... undignified. Anyhow, I think dad was foiled in his grand breeder scheme because Pepper popped out a big fat male puppy and either two or three little girls. There was also one which died during birth. As you can see, the puppies were kept in a crate (I think dad built this, and I think that rug is leftover stuff from my brother's room). They made a lot of yippy noise and it took a while to get rid of them all, but I just remember having very little play time with them at all -- I guess we weren't going to be allowed to bond with them.   Not, of course that we didn't try. Is there anyone on earth happier than a child with a puppy? Okay, a girl with a horse. But that's about it. Brides on their wedding days are not as happy as children with puppies. Here I am in a traumatic boy phase, since I'd gone in for a "shorter" haircut and came out butchered, courtesy of my mom's hairstylist Stanley. Ever since then I've had a sneaking suspicion that the thing every hairdresser wants to do is cut all of your hair off, and you can only prevent that by paying very, very close attention. I also look like I'm going to go work for a local chicken eatery called Red Barn. What the hell outfit was that, anyway? The puppy's definitely the cute one here. This is probably one of the little girls, and a somewhat rare moment where I got to hold her. I still remember what their milky puppy breath smelled like and how their tummies were like tight little smooth pink drums. So, I really want another Cairn. I think I could be worked up enough by the idea of having a Cairn to go through all of the difficult stuff -- coming home to walk her, etc -- that I wasn't quite ready to commit to with any other dogs.  Other news ... uh ... not really. Looking forward to having two days off this upcoming week (and no stress of a Christmas holiday) and then two more for New Year's. Life's pretty good. And the biking is fun, I have to say!