Not as observant as I thought.

I’ve lived in the same house for over five years now.  While I was out walking the dog in the backyard today, I realized that there’s a cord for a hammock attached to one of the trees, and a ring for it in one of the others.

The last five summers I’ve thought to myself, “man, it’d be cool to string up a hammock out here, but I don’t think the trees are close enough.”

Myth Musings (6)

Katherine Kersten is at it again.  She does bring up a good argument, that if being gay is a choice just like one’s religion is, it can change from what you were born into.  And, her argument goes, that means you can “change” to being straight.  At the same time respecting one’s religious choices.

Ah, faulty logic at best for lots of reasons.

I never expected it to be a conservative pundit who likened gay to religion.  But so is the mystery of the universe.

I was talking about this article with my fellow philosopher today.  She and I differ on whether gay is a biological (or, as I like to call it, a primordial behavioral factor) or a learned choice.  I do think there are people who choose their sexuality, either consciously or subconsciously for a number of reasons.  But I also contend that many don’t have a choice–homosexuality is something you’re born with.  My evidence for that is it is a behavior witnessed in animals–beings which don’t have free-will.  They are driven by biology.  As witnessed by James, who is currently asleep holding his new rope tug like a baby blanket.

This evolved into a discussion of: can people be happy with the choices they make if it is directly against their biological nature? I don’t know the answer to that question, but it’s one I’m going to be thinking about.

The things I should be doing

I should be at the Tower right now for Foster’s belated birthday hangout.

I should be cleaning my studio.

I should be writing for my first MPR gig, coming up on Wednesday.

Instead, I’m sitting on my couch, typing this, watching season one of Lost, watching James destroy a box, playing poker, and waiting.

But for what?

I guess, in a word, I’m waiting for now.

Musings on dog ownership

If anyone is looking for Christmas ideas for the dog, it would have to be these.  As you can see in the post a couple below, we bought him a little stuffed monkey (duh.  would we buy anything else?) with rope arms and legs.  Since we got him home, James has been carrying his monkey everywhere.  He plays tug with it, fetch, whatever. 

And then yesterday while I was making dinner, he sat down and meticuoulsy shredded the arms and legs.  The monkey is now quadriplegic, a Black Knight monkey, still sqeaking but that’s about it.  James put him in his doggie bed (not quite sure why we got that, though, as his favorite place to sleep seems to be either the couch if we’re not home, or in bed with us). 

I don’t understand his need for willfull destruction.  Is it a “woo hoo, I did it!” kind of thing?  A “if you leave me alone during the day again, your pillow will look like this” kind of threat?  Or is it just a desire for something new? And the best part was, he waited until we were home to do it, teeth and one eye on the monkey, one eye on me. He wanted there to be no mistake that maybe the cats did it.

I haven’t decided how I should play it yet–go out and get a new toy right away so he has something that he likes, wait awhile, outright reprimand him.  ’cause at the end of the day, I just see the monkey, surrounded in shreds of limbs, its smile even taken halfway off. 

And I just want to tell him, “Dude, that’s your monkey.  Do you even realize what you did?”

And he’ll just look up at me with that little dog grin, blink his eyelashes, and roll over onto his back so I can rub his belly.  And I’ll rub it, and tell him he’s a good boy.  ’cause this little dude’s a keeper.