On Talking to Dogs and Dads

After years of living with dogs, I have observed that they are very similar to my Dad in a few too many ways.  One of the most notable ways is how it's best to communicate with them.

First, you must address them by their name.  Dad, Boys, Rocky, etc.  This is so that they know that you are talking to them and not the wall.  So that they know you aren't talking aloud in an effort to amuse yourself by composing poetry to the void.

Second, you must use short, simple, single-word verbal commands.  Nothing too complicated or the words might lose potency and begin to sound like more poetry to the void.

For instance, you say, "Boys, stay" so the dogs know that whatever happens next they aren't supposed to move.  Or you say, "Dad, look" so he knows the paper you are waving in his direction is meant for his inspection.

Now, over the years, I've taught my Dad and dogs some unusual commands.  I've taught my dogs the command "Boys, smell," which means that they are allowed to smell but not eat any item I am about to present to them.  And my Dad I have taught "Dad, volume," so that he knows to turn the volume down or up on the TV if it's not correct.

But it's important to remember that all dogs and Dads have limitations.  There will be some tricks that you simply cannot train your dogs or Dad to do.  My Dad cannot be trained to put a twist tie around the garbage bag if he takes it out.  My dogs cannot be trained to not chase the cat when she runs.

There is always the chance that they will forget old commands when they are too excited to focus.  Intense sports may make Dad forget what volume even means for a second or two and the presence of a leash will make my dogs forget what sit means.

But a well-trained dog is not perfect, just one that tries hard to please.  A good and well-trained dog sometimes remembers the right commands, but always remembers that love comes first and the rest is simply not that important.  The same goes for Dads.  Nobody is perfect but love makes all the difference.

With Love to my Dad and all my dogs.

Rocky and Shadow's Guide to Street Food

Popcorn is always a fine choice. - Photo via Flickr "face it" by Amancay Maahs

As the air turns chilly and thoughts of pumpkin spice everything floats in our heads, it is time to consider enjoying a pumpkin spice latte on a walk through the freshly chilled air.  A lazy afternoon stroll in the autumn air capped off with the perfect snack from a street food vendor is the recipe for a perfect Saturday afternoon.  And it just so happens that combining walks and street food is a favorite pastime of Rocky and Shadow.  So, it stands to reason that they would know the ins and outs of all the best local street foods.  "Everyone raves about street tacos," says Shadow "but my personal favorite is sidewalk popcorn.  All those delicious little kettle-corn kernels just sprinkled in the cracks of the sidewalk.  They brighten up even the longest most tiring walks."

The finest street popcorn - Photo via Flickr by Nadia Hatoum

Shadow is always on the lookout for tasty morsels left behind by foolish humans.  Rocky is more interested in the walking, but even he agrees that Saturdays are the best for finding street treats.

Photo via Flickr "Sunbathing Popcorn" by Mika

"Saturday evening walks always produce the best smells," Rocky tells us.  "Market day is a big deal here.  Everyone likes it.  Dogs and people abound throughout the morning, and by evening the very best aromas have blended together into a perfect Saturday evening sunset of smells.  There's really nothing like it."

Rocky and Shadow are foodies.  They like to regale their new friends with stories of the best foods they've found in the area.  Gutter apples sprinkled with flakes of perfectly blended autumn leaves sound almost too magical to be real.  But Rocky claims he found one once, and Shadow seems to remember with great pain that he didn't stumble across this find himself.  Also to Rocky's credit is the discovery of several quaint little neighborhood spots that have produced bush leftovers in the form of par-eaten ribs with a hint of earthy soil sauce.  

Lest you think that all the great discoveries are Rocky's, it should be noted that Shadow can claim discovery of the motor-oil infused road crackers that are a new and growing trend in the neighborhood, much to both dogs' continued delight.  While the absolute favorite is still bite-sized bread crusts and a hearty helping of veggies wrapped gently in grease-soaked paper and laid aside in, dare I say, hole-in-the-wall eateries near the sidewalk; they are only for the most discerning of foodies.  

Aren't these wrappers mouth-wateringly beautiful? - Photo via Flickr "Cupcake wrappers" by Joy

If all of this talk of street food has made you hungry, Rocky and Shadow cannot recommend market day enough.  As a matter of fact, they are always on the lookout for the latest and greatest in food trends in the area.  And don't worry, for those of you who love dessert but are watching waste-lines, be on the lookout for a local rosebush cafe that offers delectable and low-carb candy wrappers with just a hint of chocolate.  With so many irresistible street-food options right around the corner, it's hard to see how life could get any better.

Delectable low-carb candy wrappers - Photo via Flickr "laziness" by Leonard J Matthews

Extremities and Extremism

I think people have underestimated their extremities.  I know, I know, that's an odd thought to have, but think about it.  Everything seems more extreme at your extremities.  Whenever I'm cold, my toes are always the coldest.  Double layers of gloves and socks barely keep up in a freezing NYC winter.  Conversely, on a sweltering, Alabama summer day, while the rest of my body struggles on with the heat, my toes get hot and claustrophobic in shoes.  They demand sandals so that they can breathe.

I know that not everyone shares my opinion on toe shoes, but toe socks and toe shoes are the absolute worst.  It's not just the fact that they create tiny prisons for your toes that bothers me.  No, what bothers me is that they are imprisoning your toes in tiny isolation cells.  They were born together; they've never been apart.  They aren't used to isolation.  Some people might even call it cruel and unusual punishment.  And one should not be cruel to one's toes.  They are sort of the foundation of a person, you know?

So, really, I think people are underestimating their extremities.  By this, I don't just mean that people are not looking out for their extremities when they cram them into high heels and pointy shoes that don't always fit.  I mean, that people don't appreciate how much extremities really feel.  Feeling extremes in heat and cold is just the beginning.

I believe that extremities and extremism go hand in hand.  Popular expressions would support this notion.  When you love a song the first thing that happens is toe tapping.  Your toes either appreciate the music more or first.  They start dancing before you do and then convince the rest of you to follow along.  When you fall for a stranger's charm it is called being "swept off your feet."

The ultimate expression of relaxation is putting one's feet up.  The opposite is also true.  When someone is tired the highest expression for exhaustion is "dead on your feet."  Because feet are the first to relax and the first to tire.

If you're extremely obstinate you "dig in your heels."  The opposite is also true here.  When someone is over eager you can tell them "cool your heels."  There are numerous expressions that express feelings by equating them with extremities.  If you worked hard all day you could say that you ache from "head to toe."  If you feel like you are in a changeable or fast-paced environment you might say that it "keeps you on your toes."  This evokes a feeling of change and surprise all at once.  Rarely would someone try to express this feeling by referring to a body part in the mid-section.

And that's all just feet.

Your fingers can be lazy "not lifting a finger" or take the brunt of all your hard work when you have "worked your fingers to the bone."  You can give people and things you approve of a thumbs up.  People who are clumsy are referred to as "being all thumbs."  And when you feel like you're being oppressed you could call it "being under someone's thumb."

Your heart may just be the center of your emotions but your extremities may experience them in the most extreme manner.  Seeing as I'm in a frivolous mood I'm just going to go out on a limb here (a limb being an extremity as well), and say that my emotions are magnified at my extremities. My fingers are extremely important and my toes are extremists.

Unemployment brings out my hermit side

Being under-employed makes me even more antisocial than normal.  I know, that's hard to imagine considering I'm not the touchy feely type and I've already admitted to being a misanthrope.  But really, I'm not Oscar the Grouch, I promise.

It's just that sometimes I just really don't want to talk to people.  Especially when I just don't feel like having any conversation that remotely deals with my life.  It's impossible to have meaningless conversations that don't even tangentially come into contact with some facts about your life.  For instance, any conversation with someone you have just met or hardly know inevitably ends up here:

"So... what do YOU do?"

Stop me if I'm wrong... Do your conversations with new people always end up here eventually or not?  Yep, that's what I thought.  So, this is how mine typically end...

"Oh you mean me?" I ask hoping desperately the answer is no.  Stalling for time with this last desperate question.

"Yes, I feel like I've been talking too much about me.  So, what do you do?" persistently and annoyingly curious person.

Damn.  Did it occur to you that perhaps I would prefer to talk about anything other than myself?  No, of course it didn't.  And now you've asked me the worst question possible.  The one that leads to all the others.  If only it was polite to stomp off every so often without a word.  Sigh...

"Well, at the moment I'm volunteering at a museum and looking for work." I finish quickly drinking something so I don't have to see that look in their eyes.

The worst part of being unemployed isn't the financial trouble, though that is worrying, or the job hunting stress, though that can be exhausting, or the self doubt you wake up to every morning, though that is depressing.  No.  The worst part of being unemployed is talking to everyone else about it.

Don't get me wrong, I do not enjoy being penniless and living like a pauper in one of the world's most expensive cities.  Thank you London.  But the worst thing about it is you have to admit to people that you are either under-employed or unemployed and now all your private doubts and worries are suddenly the subject of public debate.  Oh, what are you looking for?  Are you qualified for those positions?  How long have you been unemployed?  etc.

All your flaws are suddenly layed out for everyone to see and talk about and laugh at.  Aired like so much dirty laundry.  For some reason everyone believes they have a right to delve into your personal life here.  If you had a job the conversation would go, "I do this, I love it," they would get bored and then move onto another less personal topic.  But if you don't have one you must have failed somewhere and they believe they are allowed to poke around in this fascinating subject that is your life til they find out why.  Stomping around on your feelings and raising up your doubts in the process.  

The only reason to be unemployed, of course, is that you failed.  Not that the economy is terrible or that you made choices better for your health that possibly made your career path more difficult.  Nope, there is not other explanation.  If you do not have a job currently you must be at fault somehow.  You failed at your previous job or you are somehow responsible for failing in the job search process.  You aren't applying to enough jobs, or the right ones, or you aren't writing the cover letter in the right way.

Being unemployed AND being forced to talk about it,
leaves me feeling a bit vulnerable.

Never mind that you already wake up doubting yourself and your abilities during this time.  Never mind that many vacancies are filled internally and you didn't have a chance to start with.  Never mind that it's physically impossible to send out more job apps on some days (because you woke up and applied all day til you went to sleep).  Clearly, it is somehow, in some way... all... your... fault.  And worst of all they feel like they need to tell you so.  These irritating people feel the need to point out all the places you could possibly have failed.  Just in case you didn't know all the ways you might be failing.

Please pick me.  Please?  I am trying really.

Let me be clear.  Friends offering suggestions is not the same thing.  You can suggest different jobs to apply to or maybe even help edit a cover letter without being this sort of obnoxious intruder.  These are the sorts of questions and judgements you have to endure from people you have never met before or barely know.  Their judgements are least welcome and interestingly enough the most forthcoming.

Maybe I should start answering this question with increasing doses of sass.  Oh me?  Yes, I do lots of things.  I do laundry, I read, I paint (but only in the afternoon when the light is right), I travel, I talk to friends across the world.  Sometimes I skype with my parents or spend time volunteering at the museum.

Maybe I should leave it at that and let them imply that I'm unemployed.  Maybe I should make them ask me what I do.

"Haha, laundry.  NO, I meant what is your job?"

"Oh, so you want to know about my personal finances?  Well I do declare, the impertinance of some people..." and I will storm out with high heels and my perfectly polished pearls reassuring me that I am a lady of.... wait, I don't own pearls.  Ok, maybe I shouldn't opt for this one.

Maybe I should go a step further with the cheeky reply and invent my own job.

To do that I need to set straight some definitions.  I think it is reasonable to define profession thusly.

Profession: the use of skills and abilities particular to the individual in the pursuit of financial stability

And if we define profession in this way then I can confidently say that I am a professional applier.  I apply and apply and apply to jobs of every description, salary and location in the pursuit of financial stability.  Now, I am not successful at achieving stability in this profession, but success is not part of my definition.  It is all about the doing.  And so am I.

Maybe my new strategy for this question should be more cunning.  Perhaps when I have been trapped in this corner of the conversational ring and I am no longer able to dance my way out I will open with this little number.

"What do I do?  Do you want the grim, sarcastic or fictional answer to that question?"

People, I am assured by many studies (on choice and on the anchoring effect which suggest people pick the middle option), when presented with three choices, two similar options, one of which is slightly more appealing, will typically choose that and ignore the third unrelated option.  So, if I give them a choice of truth that is grim, truth that is sarcastic, or fiction, I am guessing they will opt for sarcastic, as the more appealing of similar choices and the middle option.  And I'll pull out my "my life is fabulous I'm a professional applier" routine, which I will no doubt have perfected in no time.

Then again, they could surprise us all and persist in being nosy and annoying and demand the sordid details of my floundering career.  If this is true, I shall not hold back and maybe, just maybe I'll make them sorry for asking.  Next time take a hint, if I do not want to speak about myself just continue talking about you.

People and their questions.  Pah.  Mutter mumble mutter mutter.

Maybe I should just avoid talking to people for awhile.  At least until I'm less grouchy, or maybe until I've sorted out some things in my life, for example, finally found a job.  Then again, I'm in a bad mood and I'm thinking that my old plan of becoming a hermit permanently is sounding like a better and better idea.  People.  I don't really like people.

So, please excuse me while I go be antisocial and grouchy for awhile.  Don't worry, it's probably just the weather and I'll be cheery again tomorrow.  I hope...  Disastrous rainy country!  Grey and miserable...

Mutter mutter mutter....