Ode To Jackson, A Tribute

I raise a glass, to the best of friends
From the start his life, until mine ends
Two creatures of the land
Bound by what, no one knows
Part ways for a time
'Til we both make the grass grow.

"We're going to put him down, probably this week," my mom told me over the phone. I barely had time for pause before she abruptly cut in, "I shouldn't have told you that." That's my mother's worst attribute in a nutshell: saving me from real pain. Her love cannot be measured, both ways between us, but she has never been able to admit to me when bad things happen until it is too late. I turn twenty-four on Sunday.

Jackson, our white lab, golden retriever mix, splashed with just a little hint of Germain Shepard, was put to sleep on Friday. Nearing seventeen years of age (it's hard for me to do the math for dog years, but I know it is high) and spending fifteen and half years with us, it was hard for my mother, my father, and my brother to say good-bye. Rightly so.

In his youth, Jackson was the spriest of dogs -- running everywhere except up and downstairs, ready to play a game of chicken at the drop of a hat, and guarding his home turf for better or worse. Two times he actually bit the friendly Mormon folk who would wonder into our backyard ('cause that's what you do in Utah), one the home owners association president of block, the other, a cable guy. Mitchell Holladay was bitten on the hand by him and had it healed with a badged and cold can of beer pressed onto the wound. Sam, by younger brother, was bitten on the eye and nearly lost it because he pushed Jackson to the limits. And I know I'll sound foolish and ignorant for saying it, but he was one of the best dogs I've ever known.

See, what most people didn't understand about Jackson is that he was more honest in himself than most humans are. He had good days, but he also had bad days. Those good outweighed the bad by a long shot. Jackson was a trail blazer during the hikes up Millcreek canyon, sometimes venturing a quarter of a mile ahead of us to clear the path. He wasn't guarding his home so he was friendly to anyone he met on the trail, a real friend of nature. And when he'd gone too far, faster than any of us could manage, he'd run back to check on us, spotting my dad or myself, before taking off to scout the terrain he'd been over a million times.

Did he fart? Like no other creature I've ever been around. Did he get in trouble? That dog would eat Kleenex and Vaseline if you left it out. Did he drive me crazy? Sure. On one occasion, shortly after we'd gotten him, he'd grabbed one of my winter gloves as I was trying to get a key from my pocket. The problem was that the glove was still attached to my coat sleeve and didn't snap off, so I got dragged through the snow, simultaneously laughing and crying at the same time. And no matter what season, he'd climb up on the couch with you and let you scratch his inner thigh, slowly sending him off to sleep. He kept watch, especially in the later years, when there was no threat at all. Several times a night he'd wake us up, just to let us know he was still there. I think he was reassuring himself in his old age to make sure we hadn't left him.

I, myself, am dealing with the loss of my old friend in ups and downs. I know my parents made a hard choice, but it was the right choice. His heart and mind were strong, even if the senility had made him more skittish and his bladder was more gone than his mind. "You keep hoping they'll pass in the night and you'll find them in the morning," my dad told me last night on our weekly phone call. He sounded depressed, not just his normal down trodden tone, but real hurt. "They never do." Dad's put both of the dogs in his will, stating his wishes to have their ashes buried with him when the time comes. I guess since I've left home I've removed myself from all things there, for better or worse. I want to cry, but I can't because I wasn't there to help out and part of me knows I shouldn't: this is a time of change, every single year, and I'm aware of that now. The week before my birthday always seems to be the hardest as my skin sheds and a new one forms. It hurts a lot. I turn twenty-four on Sunday.

The one person I worry about the most, who probably his hurting the most and unable to speak up is Jackson's canine companion, our other dog, Taz. Though not blood brothers, they were inseparable. As youths, they fake wrestle. As they got older, they'd clean each other's ears and take care of the other one. I hope Taz isn't lost, but how I can I say that when I'm not there to carry some of the load. They say couples who really love each other do not spend much time apart when one dies. Losing two of my family members, because a dog is, no matter what any one says, would be too hard and I'm just using all my back logged wishes that I can feel Taz's lick me in October when I visit for Thanksgiving. I'm sure he misses his brother.

Well, that last bit finally got me and I'm sitting in a puddle of my own salt water running down my face. At this point, all I can do is toast my friend, my brother, and dog who helped raise me.

Jackson, you will be missed and loved

On The Radio Uh-Oh

From the Press Files of So Say We All (and a little adjustment)



Why should you take the time to listen to SSWA’s air time on The Pregame show? Here’s why:

1) Justin and I are cute and witty.

2) If you missed VAMP this month, Rob Williams performs a pitch-perfect reading of his much-loved musing on San Diego late night Mexican Food culture,”Rolled Tacos: Musings from La Posta #8″ Look out, Ira Glass, we're gunnin' for the number one spot.

3) Sam “Car Wreck” Carr, in keeping with his crusade to bring Neo-Gonzo Beatism back to the forefront of our culture’s consciousness performs his piece about being nearly murdered by an ex-girlfriend to the backing of Fever Sleeves, and then drops the F-bomb and the “special S” all within fifteen minutes. Our little schmedrick is now having his head hunted by the FCC.

Wanna hear us? Click the link here

Enjoy!

Friday Bliss

Friday, I love you. Let me count the ways.

To start off, at 8 a.m. on FM 949, there is the Friday Morning Blues Set. You'd think that this being the blues and all it should go on Monday, but the music is just too good to give up to the worst day of the week. This was today's set

August 28, 2009
Johnny Winter - "Mean Mistreater" (1969)
Taj Mahal - "She Caught the Katy" (1968)
Robert Johnson - "Hell Hound On My Trail" (1937)

Next, I walk into work, where there is an assortment of free donuts and bagels just waiting for me to eat. And you know, I'm a whore for a free meal.

Then I get to my desk, open up my computer, and log on to be reminded that, oh yeah, today was pay day. Now I have something in my account that I can watch leak out slowly until the next week.

By 1:30 p.m. I'm at the Renaissance Shopping Complex, in front of Rubios, eating sack lunch with my great friend, Jen Bantleman. We talk about being art thieves, how to test if women are pregnant with alcohol and cigarettes, and proper church etiquette.

The rest of the work day drags, as if it were any other day, but then I come home, cook a great dinner, and chill with my girlfriend in front of the television.

Now, if that damn heat would go away...

Summer Oh Shit! List

5) The Black Eyed Peas song "I Gotta Feeling"

Dear BEPs, your record is called: The E.N.D. and that is something I'd like you to take into consideration with your careers. Sincerely, Every Morning Commuter Stuck Listening To Your Pop Trash Three Time Per Hour At 7:30 In The Morning.

4) Anything that has to do with Avatar

James Cameron. Air bending. All of it -- I don't care. Unless you're Felicia Day and offering me a date. Then I'm craving to emote with you.



3) Wolverine

I can this (__) close to falling asleep. I should have. I want my money and my life back.

2) The Real World Cancun

For someone who had not watched an entire season of RW in his life until his girlfriend made him, I have to say that I actually kind of liked the Brooklyn edition earlier this year. Granted it had all the "that's not really what life in New York is like" bullshit, but the Cancun people are just downright terrible. And now I go back to pretending that The Real World doesn't exist.

1) Justin Bieber

This music video...which plays forever...all the time...and just makes me want to never have kids.

Rat Eating Plant

The most unique product this season to come out of the Philippines. And the creepiest part: silent, but deadly.



Can I have it for my birthday?

Next Page

As I run past first, round second, curve my way through third, and head on home in my current writing projects, I'm at my favorite crossroad of life. Namely, it involves the question of what do I write next. I used to write all the ideas down and then go back to them to figure out which ones I really take the time and effort to produce.

So far, here's what's waiting on deck to step up to the plate:

1) Nick Garlands Last Night In Town

This is a screenplay that I've already started, based upon (and hopefully starring) my friend, Nick Garland. Just to clarify: he's not leaving town, this is a fictional story, but it is hopefully going to be a showcase of San Diego talent and creative individuals who are associated with So Say We All. That's the underlying hope. But on a story level, it is about a guy who has lived in San Diego all his life and is following his long-time girlfriend out to Chicago, where he hopes to make it big on the comedy circuit. During his last night in town, he finds out his girlfriend actually left Chicago and came back to SD, leaving him with the major dramatic question of should he still leave? (Answer: hell yeah...)

2) SexBot 2400

As of last week, I've been a nerd gamer for sixty days. Rejoice! And while I've not fully acquired all the skills of Everquest to be a joystick fiend, I have learned a few things. This play would be about a quality assurance game tester who is given the task of testing a new, interactive game called SexBot 2400. It is a robotic woman who is incredibly lifelike and the objective is to find a way to have sex with her. With most of the gaming community not knowing quite how to interact on a social level, it is meant to boost their face-to-face skills and give a middle management megalomaniac the power she needs to take over the company. The only catch: it is impossible to have sex with the SexBot 2400.

3) The Draftsman

Came up with this last night while watching B.D. Wong in the good (if uneven) Herringbone. Is it a play or a movie? You tell me. A man checks into the South Point Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. He applies for a job on a clean up crew and during his first week, finds a dead body of an independently wealthy man in one of the rooms and decides to use the man's identity to stay at the hotel indefinitely. He eats scraps from the buffet, works out in the hotel's pool, and never leaves the hotel. When he's not cleaning up other rooms, he's designing a building. One day, one of the front desk staff finds out that he is living off the dead man's credit cards and wants to know who he really is. He's a draftsman who lost his job, felt like he had disgraced his family, and decided to leave until he could come back with some sense of how to save them. Pretty twisted plan, no? The idea was to design a building that would get him rehired at his old firm, with an apartment on the top floor that would be his family's new home. Finally, the front desk person forces the draftsman to leave, after a year of solitude, to return to his family.

So, which pitch should I swing at?