http://theilovedogssite.com/ultra-slow-motion-video-shows-fascinating-fact-about-dogs-that-we-never-knew/

“An animal is never duplicitous. An animal will never get involved in gratuitous cruelty. It’s very refreshing to go see them after you’ve spent a lot of time interviewing politicians.” Bob Simon on why he liked animals. 

I like animals. I love dogs. 

This is a well-written piece that I’ve enjoyed reading today. http://gawker.com/girls-who-steal-1687078174

This is a scenario that you don’t typically consider, but clearly it’s possible. It reminded me of a video I recently saw of someone passing out on a rollercoaster. I wonder how often the height and realization of the jump causes people to faint or seize. 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/03/02/skydiver-seizure-video_n_6781308.html

http://youtu.be/pFw3b_Y–as 

It’s crazy to think that fewer than four years ago, I had an apartment in Odessa and stayed there for weeks.

View at Medium.com

So, I’m on the train and noticed the above ad. The meatballs appear to topped with a white sauce or cheese, but it reminded me of a melted marshmallow. That got me thinking: what would that taste like? Or a burger with charred marshmallows campfire style. Then I wondered about, and stopped at, bacon wrapped marshmallows. Naturally, I googled it.. Sure enough.. http://youtu.be/LZM7Nh0VlZk

I was just reading an article entitled “Danes Weigh Cost of Free Speech” primarily about the shootings in Denmark this weekend. These were ostensibly sparked by caricatures of Mohammed being drawn, as we have seen before and also recently. It got me thinking.

Drawing Mohammed is but a solitary thread in the larger and otherwise significant garment of free speech. That garment covers a plethora of issues, time, and space. Should this thread define the garment? Or is it that in defense of the integrity of the entire garment, each and every thread must be defended? I would say an emphatic “No” to both. Some would disagree, but I will admit to not understanding why. Further, some might SAY “no”, but demonstrate otherwise with a disparity that came to mind as I reflected on the article. On the topic of religious caricatures, people generally avoid the issue itself and pivot to a defense of free speech. But where else do we see that?

In debates to which I’ve been privy on issues of gender, race, sexuality, nationality and immigration, not once have I ever heard someone ignore the specific issue at hand in favor of an overarching defense of free speech. For example, weeks ago when men in New York City “cat-called” a woman or told her that she was “beautiful”, there was nary a defender of free speech. When Kanye said that Beyoncé should have won album of the year, where were the defenders of free speech? Drop the N word, F word, C word, R word, or a defense of Palestine; and I bid you good luck in identifying any defenders of your free speech.

http://www.ebengregory.com/2015/01/27/former-nba-player-turned-350000-400-million-video/3/

Apparently, Cindy Crawford has recently posted some “completely untouched” images of herself online.. I’m not sure who should be celebrating. The cynic in me suggests that she has precious little to lose at this point, and lots to gain by riding this wave, reinventing herself, and (re)joining the conversation du jour. I’d be impressed if, for example, all the Victoria Secret models followed suit while at the pinnacle of their careers. Nevertheless..

I’m growing weary of skinny people, fat people, and old people trying to dominate the conversation about whose body is beautiful (too). Amongst other things, these dogmas discount the notion that beauty is subjective. Additionally, everything can not be beautiful in the same way (if at all), so why try to compete on the same plane (if at all)? Of the images that come to mind are (chess) pawns, puppets fighting amongst themselves, and The Sneetches.

I do not need to be informed of the deleterious impacts on society’s collective airbrushed and malnourished psyche. If we really want the conversation to be about something other than bodies, let’s make the conversation about something other than bodies. Otherwise, the pendulum simply keeps swinging within the same bubble, and we continue to be sold the same flabby bill of goods. As the population ages and gains weight it only makes sense to change the marketing approach. Before seeking admission to, and staunchly advocating for, one camp or another; remember that someone is SELLING ideas and profiting from them. This is economic, not social.

Sometimes being too smart for your own good makes you stupid.

Case in point – vaccinate your children. There are greater risks in allowing children to touch or even be near electronic and electrical devices. The risk of calamity is certainly greater even when strapped into the safest automobile or stroller. In allowing them to play at the house of a neighbor or family member much more immediate and more prevalent risks are at play than those related to vaccines.

If you don’t believe me, then just turn to your neighbor or colleague with polio and ask them their thoughts on the matter. But that’s silly you say because you’re not in touch with anyone who has polio. Not even a “friend” on Facebook. You don’t remember the last time you even SAW someone suffering the effects of polio.

Think about it.

At 3:36 this morning, I awoke from a pivotal dream, one that provided resolution to a meaningful chapter in my life. I think that this morning I finally said a proper good bye to Kiba – exactly 21 months to the day.

At the time that I adopted Kiba, I had been doing Karate for about four years. There is a very broad, low stance in Kokondo called Kiba Dachi. It reminded me of the stance of a bulldog. Kiba also means “fang” in Japanese, which was also extremely fitting, because of the characteristic underbite of Bulldogs. For three days, I anguished over a name for the puppy that would soon be mine, the one the breeder in Wyoming referred to as “Chunky”. “Kiba” was perfect. He was the biggest in his litter, and to me, the most beautiful. I was surprised that while others of his siblings had been adopted, he remained. Good for me, and I have always believed, good for him. Today’s dream provided me with a deeper conclusion and feeling on that. Kiba was an English Bulldog who weighed about 75 pounds, up from the 12 pounds when I first got him at seven weeks old. He was born in May and I got him on the 5th of July, 2008. He had big paws, a huge “rope” (fold of skin above the nose that is coveted in Bulldogs), and a big personality. He was also very well-proportioned. He received compliments often, and he loved the attention. He also knew when he was the topic of discussion and played to the audience.

Kiba lived with me in Denver for four years, but when I moved to NYC, I knew that he wouldn’t be as happy in the city. I had so-called “offers” for him, but to me, giving him to someone would be ludicrous; and for how much could one sell a friend? My commitment to Kiba was for life and so I arranged for him to travel to the Bahamas to be with my family. That way I would always know where and how he was, and I would see him often. On top of that, he would have another dog and more people with whom to play and spend time, and a yard in which to do it. Things went well for that year, until he suddenly got sick and died. The devastation was indescribable and I think it best to respect and defer to the definition of that word.

I gave Kiba most of what he wanted (it couldn’t be everything because he didn’t know when to stop); toys, the best and healthiest foods, play dates, a leather chaise, because I couldn’t keep him off ALL the furniture. I did the best I could, and I spent the time and money to do it. My standard of commitment is extremely high, and it was especially high for him. Yet, I still sometimes wondered what more I could have done or how I could have redone things to achieve a different outcome. The last time in was in the Bahamas with Kiba was January 2013. The water was not as warm as it would be in the summer, and I contemplated waiting to make our inaugural trip together to the beach at that time. Ultimately, the dream that I’d had ever since he was a puppy of seeing him on the beach, won out and I took him anyway. I snapped photos and videos to commemorate the time. We didn’t go in the water together – I was saving that for another time – but we had made it. After returning to New York from that trip, I never saw Kiba again. There would have been no other time.

In the early morning hours, I had a dream that was not entirely contiguous and it featured people I have never met. Most importantly though, it featured Kiba. There was an image of Kiba submerged in a pool that appeared to be indoors judging from the light. He was motionless and floating just above the bottom with his head down, lower than the rest of his body. He appeared to have drowned. That image was a single segment. In a subsequent segment, and the most symbolic and fleshed out portion of the dream, he was still fairly wet, but in my arms facing me. Our conversation began. I told him that I was worried that I would not have had a chance to say goodbye and that I was happy to be doing so now. It was as if he was smiling and he said to me that I was “the best ‘mummy’ he could ever hope for.” I corrected him, “You mean ‘daddy’, I’m a man so that means I am a ‘daddy’.” I’ll pause here for a moment.

I generally saw Kiba as an equal and would sometimes forget that he was a dog. His emotions and intelligence and breadth of his moods made him feel very human. I would normally be reminded of his subhuman status only when he did something disgusting, like sniffing another dog’s rear-end. “Yup! That’s disgusting. You’re a dog – I almost forgot.” In my dream, I had that feeling of being reminded that he was only five years old when he died when he called me a ‘mummy’. In dog years he was my age, in absolute years, he was five. He was also a dog. The concept of “dog years” captures the complexity of our relationship and the vacillation between perspectives. It is further captured by his response. He said, “I know that you are a ‘daddy’, but you feel like a ‘mummy’ to me..” I awoke. It was 3:36 a.m. The end of the segment.

I will not expound on the possibilities and the meaning of all this. While I awoke feeling heavy, though not exceedingly sad, it does feel like a turning point in my relationship with Kiba which was refreshing, for want of a better word. This was only a dream, but I feel at ease that in all of his observation and intelligence, he knew that he was loved by me, my family and the people who met him. He knew that we did our best, and whatever we could. I think of him every day, and I mention him often. In 2008, while researching and settling on his name, another meaning emerged. Though pronounced differently, “Kiba” in Hebrew means “protected one”.