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Oh my poor, sweet, neurotic dog. It has only been a few days since I looked into those pale blue eyes for the last time as we sent you along ahead of us. I hope you are somewhere running as fast as you can, herding for the shepherd of us all. I hope there is a park and a lake, where you can play in the water. I hope there is plenty of bread for you to eat. Whoever heard of a dog whose favorite food was bread?

In Winter, when you had your full, perfect blue merle coat and skirt, I thought you were the most beautiful dog I have ever seen. When I would look out the window and see you on patrol, tirelessly walking the fenceline, sometimes with Cat-Cat in tow, I felt loved and protected by you. You made Kimberly feel safe, when I was away. You were a good girl.

Thunderstorms and fireworks were a challenge, I admit. So many times, at the first sound of thunder, we would race to the backyard only to find it was too late. Your instincts had already kicked-in and you were up and over the six-foot privacy fence like it wasn’t even there on your way to gather a herd that you didn’t have. And goodness dog, could you run as far and fast as the wind - fifteen miles once. But that’s how far you would go to protect your herd, isn’t it?

You didn’t particularly care for men or children, but I was pleased that you became friends with the Fluhr brothers. You seemed to enjoy their Wednesday night visits. That meant a lot to me. Most of all though, you were Cat-Cat’s best friend. The two of you played together so often that we even took to calling you Dog-Dog. I’ll never forget Cat-Cat sitting next to you and cleaning your face on that last morning, when you were so sick. I believe he must have known something was wrong. We have been giving him extra attention since last Thursday and we promise to take good care of him for you.

 

We all miss you very much. Oh, my heart is broken, you stupid, stupid dog.

Godspeed, blue eyes.        

jimmy

It was down to 44 degrees this morning, but I was not to be deterred. I kept the top down. Clear and cold, the air whipped around me tugging at the new scarf around my neck. The scarf fluttered above the car looking like a gold striped ribbon on a gift wrapped in black paper. The Killers played to me, guitars building along with the revs…

 
“We’re burning down the highway skyline
on the back of a hurricane that started turning
when you were young
when you were young” 

The roaring wind, the cold air stinging my face and numbing my fingers, driving fast on the best road in Austin, and listening to new music formed a perfect storm of joy for me this morning. I couldn’t stop smiling. I don’t know if it was therapy or a drug, but it was a welcome break from the melancholia that I have been feeling, as I do every year when Summer changes to Autumn.

The Killers’ first CD Hot Fuss never left heavy rotation around me. Literally, it never left the CD changer in my car. As a complete work, it satisfied and thrilled like no other album I had heard in years. Every song was a hidden treasure of sonic tracings and echoes from the 80’s in a way that was like authentic genetic influence rather than a band playing dress-up. Rising above the rest was a song that has become one of my favorites - Brandon Flowers’ discussion with God on “All These Things I’ve Done” - a song I have quoted on this blog before.

On their new CD Sam’s Town, The Killers continue to dazzle, if perhaps to a slightly lesser degree. The DNA strands from my youth are still there. I hear the Styx opening to Paradise Theater on Enterlude. I hear Springsteen’s Born to Run (or Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s superior(!) remake) in When You Were Young and a Book of Love synth thread in perhaps the best song of the album Read My Mind. OCD keeps me from absorbing the whole album at once, so I am rotating through my first favorites, the aforementioned three plus Sam’s Town and Reasons Unknown. In my opinion, these alone substantiate this sophomore effort as near-brilliant in its own right. If I warm to the second half of the CD, I will consider it great indeed.

“Slipping in my faith
until I fall
you never returned that call
woman, open the door
don’t let it sting
I wanna breathe that fire again

She said
I don’t mind
if you don’t mind
’cause I don’t shine
if you don’t shine”

- The Killers “Read My Mind”

jimmy
 

Ever since my 20th high school reunion last year, I have been subscribed to receive registration notices from the Lanier High School reunion site. It was fun last year to watch the familiar names appear each day in my Inbox, but a few months ago, the Class of 1986 began to register in force and the registration notices were becoming annoying. I was just about to unsub when a straggler from the Class of 1985 popped-up. It was (the former) Lisa Slagle! Lisa, Leah Langsdorf, Mat Farabee and I sat together at lunch every day of our freshmen year at Lanier and were good friends back then.

I dropped her an email and we are currently trying to get together with Mat for some catching-up. The last I heard, Leah lived out of state, or else we could try to find her, too. Maybe we can snap a photo of ourselves and send it to her.

Anyway, I told Lisa that if she wanted to get a head start catching-up with what has been going on with me, she could read my blog. So, in that spirit (and only in that spirit), did I agree to answer this ridiculous questionnaire that Rob sent me today. I did not do it because Rob argued that, “…you have to do it because I’m a veteran and disabled. So you have to do what I say.”

These were my responses:

1. FIRST Name

Jimmy aka James (on paper and in basic training) aka Jamie (Air Force) aka Jim aka Jimmay! (a current trend)

2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

The James comes from my father and his father. Kenneth, my middle name, comes from a friend of my dad’s who helped my mom a lot while she was pregnant with me and dad was out working the roads of San Antonio as a state trooper. Kenny drove a green Corvette Stingray with side pipes and a custom license plate that read “BUNS.” You can lower your eyebrows, I’m almost a perfect genetic copy of my dad.

3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY?

I cry all the time. You mean that deep, gut-wrenching crying that hurts? Six months ago.

4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?

Meh. It’s serviceable and even neat, when I bother to make it so.

5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?

I am interpreting lunch meat to mean pressed meat or a sliced meat loaf. Pressed chicken breast.

6. KIDS?

No.

7. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOURSELF?

Statistically, no.

8. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL?

I used to keep a journal. Now I have a blog, which shares some elements of a journal, but isn’t quite the same thing.

9. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?

Yes, quite a lot.

10. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?

No.

11. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?

BTDT, bought the video, and would do it again.

12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?

Cold cereal is one of my favorite foods and with so many varieties, it would be very difficult to narrow down my list of favorites. Over the past few years, I suppose the one I keep going back to is Frosted Mini Wheats.

13. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?

If I have to.

14. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG ?

[Russian]Strong like bear?[/Russian] I have been working out, so I’m pretty strong. At least I’m strong enough to keep my back from collapsing, which is what drove me to work out in the first place. I’m strong enough to pull my shoes off without untying them, so yeah, I guess I’m strong.

15. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?

Homemade vanilla, slightly soppy, with fresh cut peaches and a dash of cinnamon.

16. SHOE SIZE?

10½

17. RED OR PINK?

Red for steak, pink for hamburger.

18. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?

My ghostly pallor.

19. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?

I miss a lot of people. I miss my grandmother the most.

20. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?

Yes

21. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES YOU ARE WEARING RIGHT NOW?

Khaki pants, brown shoes.

22. WHAT DID YOU EAT LAST?

A small Quizno’s Sierra Smoked Turkey sub.

23. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?

The hum of the computer.

24. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?

Black. Use me, oh child. Let me be a tool to cry out your anguish. Wear me down to nothing drawing a thousand thick black tears streaming from your family portraits. Let the ochre and the lime green stand silently, mute against the travasties. Let the sky blue and yellow turn a blind eye. But not me. Not black. I will cry out for you.

25.FAVORITE SMELLS?

Wine fermentation

26. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?

A co-worker asking me if something is wrong with the network.

27. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO?

Eyes, smile, intelligence, sense of humor.

28. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?

Yes, I like him enough to indulge his request that I reply to it.

29. FAVORITE DRINK?

Sweet tea, vanilla malts. Drink drink? Bourbon Whiskey (lately it has been whiskey sours).

30. FAVORITE SPORT?

Auto racing

31. HAIR COLOR?

Dirty Blond. Grey has started to appear this year.

32. EYE COLOR?

Blue

33. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?

No.

34. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOOD?

Steak, cheese, eggs, sandwiches, and cold cereal.

35. SCARY MOVIE OR HAPPY ENDING.

Ambiguous ending.

36. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?

John Frankenheimer’s “Grand Prix”

37. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?

Black. Why didn’t you ask me that a minute ago, when you asked about my pants?

38. SUMMER OR WINTER?

Fall

39. HUGS OR KISSES?

Kisses

40. FAVORITE DESSERT?

Ice Cream (and variants), Pie (and variants, like cobbler)

41. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?

n/a

42. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?

n/a

43. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING?

On the Road (Audio) - Jack Kerouac

On Mexican Time - Tony Cohen

44. WHAT’S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?

Nothing.

45. WHAT DID YOU WATCH LAST NIGHT ON TV?

Smith

46. FAVORITE SOUNDS?

Footsteps on gravel

47. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?

Beatles

48. THE FURTHEST YOU BEEN FROM HOME?

In miles? Prague, Czech Republic

49. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?

No.

50. WHEN AND WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

July 14, 1967 at Methodist Hospital in San Antonio, Texas.

jimmy 

 

I have been getting strange, anonymous messages on my answering machine. “Dwarf planet, my ass!” the outraged caller says and then hangs up. David Sylvester has told me that he has been getting the same message. I miss Rob. I also miss the road. And even though Rob and I never travelled together, the two are connected for me. Rob taught me about Kerouac. I read about Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty and their journeys to the west coast. We also loved watching Matt Dillon’s Rusty James ride to the west coast against Stewert Copeland’s brilliant, but spare percussive soundtrack in Francis Ford Coppola’s Rumble Fish. Years later, I would ride all the way to the west coast, too - not with Rob, but to see him. And after he moved, I drove all the way to the east coast to see him again. Another epic road trip, this time to Mexico, began and ended in Rob’s apartment. Even though he couldn’t always be with me, Rob was somehow always at the end of my journey.

Yesterday, I was thinking about Rob when I purchased the audiobook of On the Road, read by Matt Dillon. I listened to it early this morning, as I drove east into town, the convertible top down, exposing a vibrant pink and blue sky, looking like the wall of a baby’s room freshly painted by parents hedging their bet against the unknown sex of their unborn child. The air was cool for the first time in months. Dillon’s voice would fade into the roar of the wind on the fast stretches of road and then emerge again when I slowed for traffic. The reading is good and my mind wanders to far away places…

Speaking of Stewert Copeland, after a night of listening to music from his band The Police, my wife named my car Zenyatta Miata.

You slip, you slack
you clock me, you lack
While I’m reading On The Road
by my man Jack Kerouac

- The Beastie Boys “3-Minute Rule” (Rob and I used to get drunk and listen to Paul’s Boutique a lot, too)

jimmy

The sister of James Wesley Estes (the man who died in the 2222 crash) called me this evening. She was very sweet and very grateful that I had reached out to them. We had a wonderful conversation. She said James was called Jimmy, too. I think she found comfort in my detailed account of the accident and in my presence with Jimmy that day. I found comfort in learning a little about him and his family. I told her about how I felt a connection with him somehow and she completely understood. As strange as this might sound, it was a joyful conversation. Of course I don’t mean that we shared belly laughs with one another, but rather, I think we found the quiet joy in the humanity of sharing comfort with a stranger.

jimmy