PRESIDENT PADFOOT

Sometimes I think my dog Padfoot has it out for me. Like maybe he wants to slowly drive me insane. It's a very subtle plan. Years in the making and glacial in execution, this canine psy-op involved a whole list of strange things: waking me up half an hour before the alarm goes off; barking at the wall for no apparent reason at crucial junctures in whatever movie I am watching, particularly if it's a good movie; eating strange things that exit his body in gross form, which I then have to clean up. And then there's his pornographic relationship with his dog bed, which from time to time he pulls out to the middle of whatever room I'm in so he can demonstrate dog/pillow love. He also makes noises sometimes that lead me to think he's an alien. And sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, and he's just sitting there, staring at me like he's plotting his next move. It's unsettling. Oh, and his breath is what I always imagined Oscar the Grouch smells like.

Still, I would rather he were in charge of the country right now. And that's sad. I would trust someone who eats goose poop over our current commander in chief. Maybe it's because, strange as Padfoot is, he does exude love. He clearly takes great joy in being alive.  And think of how interesting press conferences would be. No more metaphorical pissing in the corner. Padfoot would do it, no equivocation, no blaming the media or Obama or someone else. He's just pee on the lectern, smiling the whole time, and then bark for a few minutes, make some huffing noises, and then keep nudging  the reporters in the front row, hoping they would scratch his ears. It would still be a little annoying, but at least we'd all know he was being sincere.

And maybe our collective howling would improve. Of late, the howling in my neighborhood each night has gotten a bit anemic. Maybe that's as it should be. It was spontaneous and real and exhilarating, and to do it just to do it feels hollow, so people are either not doing it anymore, or are doing it but out of a sense of obligation, or a desire to recapture the magic of those first few howls. Okay, strike my comments on the howls. It is better to have them represent what's going on than have them be obligatory, a catch phrase of sorts. Maybe howling has jumped the shark. Or maybe we have hit a wall on this journey, and need to refuel our souls.

For the first month, I think a lot of us were confronted with ourselves. We were stripped of our usual means of avoiding looking inwards, and as such we started to do things that were, in a way, quite healthy. We tried meditation. We read books we had been meaning to read. We called old friends and family and spoke of our common pasts. And I think that was a good thing. Now, it feels like everyone has hit pause. Maybe we're tired. Maybe this is just another step in our evolving spirits. I don't know. But I want to dive back in. I want to find more of myself and the world. In some ways, this whole experience has been the most intensely lived section of my life. Might as well get something out of it other than toilet paper jokes, Tiger King references, and injections of disinfectant.

So, today, maybe I'll read some poetry out loud. Play some music I haven't played over and over. Watch a movie out of my comfort zone. Listen to a podcast that's over twenty minutes long.  (Click HERE for a podcast about today's song)  Try to be in the moment, and not force things to go the way I think they should.

Okay. Here's a song. It's Harmony Hall by Vampire Weekend.