I have no trouble with my enemies. I can take care of my enemies in a fight. But my friends, my goddamned friends, they’re the ones who keep me walking the floor at nights! —Warren G. Harding
Random. Thoughts I have while walking the dog each morning are just that: random. Naked. I don’t look at any news or check any headlines before we head out the door. I do put on pants, just in case I’m not the only lunatic up at 4:00 in the morning (and I’m not), but other than that I’m unencumbered; just the dog and I out for a stroll. He’s interested in finding a fire hydrant where he can pee (he has a favorite). I’m interested in sorting through my dreams and the thoughts that linger from the previous day.
Sunday morning is a great time for that manner of contemplation. None of the thoughts are necessarily huge or impressive in any way. Just thoughts that are worth thinking for a moment, and then we let them slip back into the quiet places of our brain until we might actually need them in conversation. These are the moments where we work out for ourselves exactly how we feel about a topic, the hows and the whys and the justifications. Walking the dog is good for the brain that way.
Having a dog to walk is important, though. When people see someone, especially a man dressed in dark clothes, out walking by himself in the middle of the night they tend to make negative assumptions. One evening, a couple of weeks after I graduated from college, I was walking through my neighborhood at dusk and a man comes rushing out of his house wanting to know what I was stalking him and his wife. I wasn’t, of course. But to claim otherwise was apparently calling his wife a liar. I could have used a dog right then. No one questions what you’re doing when you are walking a dog.
One of the things that popped into my mind this morning was a couple of pictures posted by a friend who now lives in California. She grew up here in Indy, was quite a free spirit, and posed for me on a few occasions. The pictures were of her and her mate, a British chap, out frolicking about in the California forests completely naked. The pictures posted, of course, managed to meet social media requirements, covering up nipples and such. I’m sure there are more revealing photos, though. On one hand, I’m proud of the two of them for taking those pictures. They didn’t hide their faces or do anything to deny that it was them in the photos. They owned their nudity and were happy in a way I wish everyone could be happy. At the same time, I was a little jealous that I wasn’t the one taking those pictures. I couldn’t be. I’m not in California. There aren’t enough people in Indiana who feel that free. They’ve all moved out West, or so it seems.
We went to a wedding last night. We took the kids along. The couple was beautiful. The mix of religious cultures was beautiful. The ceremony appropriately reflected who they are. Just before the ceremony was about to start, though, it rained. Stormed, actually, and quite seriously at that. The ceremony was held under a tent and most guests had already taken their seats. The tents didn’t have sides. My seat was along the edge. I spent the evening with my right pants leg completely soaked by the rain. I find the experience amusing. The rest of me was quite dry and the dampness did not impede my ability to enjoy the ceremony. The storm helped keep the kids in check, too. There was just this awkward sloshing sound as I was walking across the lawn. It’s a uniqueness that will help me remember the event.
I miss the days when people would just randomly stop by for a few pictures. Maybe they had a new outfit. Maybe they were just bored. Maybe they were feeling adventurous and enjoyed getting naked in front of the camera. All of those were true at various times with different people. No one does that now, though. Speedway isn’t as popular as Broad Ripple. No one comes over here then stops and grabs a burger or pizza on their way home. No one can park at our house then walk down the street to meet friends and go out for the night. I’m not convenient anymore. But then, none of those friends who once dropped by do the Broad Ripple scene anymore. They’ve grown up. Some have kids. Several moved away. We get older and we stay home. We don’t drop by and visit anyone. We do Netflix and nap.
The lawn needs mowing again, but I won’t do it today. I’m not inclined to spend an hour walking back and forth across the yard. Maybe we’ll get started on the fence, though; get some holes dug.
The dog’s choices of places to pee is rather random. Sure, there’s the fire hydrant, but as his nose is sniffing along the ground there is apparently some randomly occurring fragrance that triggers his bladder, forcing him to stop and pee right now. Why does he choose to pee where he does? I suppose I could ask that same question about humans, though. I’ve actively avoided wading into that whole bathroom argument because I consider the very concept to be among the most ludicrous notions ever concocted. Talk about finding a solution for which there was no problem, North Carolina’s HB2 did just that. There wasn’t a problem. Now, everyone’s talking about where to go pee and that’s just about the most stupid waste of time I’ve ever seen. If you’re caught up in stopping people from peeing in certain places, you’re dumber than my hound dog.
However, I did discover this video last night. The music is incredible. My only problem is that I’ve never seen Harvey Fierstein without facial hair. I wasn’t prepared for that specific form of nakedness. His bare chin threw me for a loop. Mr. Fierstein wrote on his Facebook page:
So, you don’t like transgender people? Have the balls to honestly say it. Today’s bathroom controversy is fueled by the same bigots that sought to ban gay and lesbian teachers forty years ago. All these years later they’re still hiding behind the claim that they’re only protecting their children.
These discussions are great opportunities to educate and strengthen the bonds that make us all one human family. But when I see discussions on social media proposing a Men’s Room for adult males, a Ladies’ Room for adult females, a Little Girls’s Room for little girls, a little Boy’s Room for little boys and then another pair of bathrooms for Little Boys with a parent and Little Girls with a parent… Well, it’s time to take a step back and laugh at our own absurdity.
Hmmmm, is that Wayne Brady in drag as Lola? I’m never quite sure.
Enough walking for this morning. My legs hurt and the dog’s ready to eat. Enjoy your Sunday.