A new friend of mine wrote a blog post today called Lost Angeles: Aliens, Earthquakes, Tsunamis, Sheen-Like Superegos & Transmedia Mythology. He provokes some thoughts about recent eerie events in SoCal and the Pacific, from the natural (tsunami; dead anchovies in Redondo) to the not-so-natural (recurring missile-like cloud formations over the Catalina Channel) and even to the pop (Charlie Sheen, Battle: Los Angeles).

Those close to me know that I’ve experienced a dark event of my own this week, which makes it an even more personal read for me.

And now I just heard from Steph. Get this regarding the tsunami:

The U.S. point with the most flooding, the biggest swells, the most affected beaches, is Kona, HI.

“Dogs’ lives are short, too short, but you know that going in. You know the pain is coming, and you’re going to lose a dog, and there’s going to be a great anguish, so you live fully in the moment with her, never fail to share her joy or delight in her innocence, because you can’t support the illusion that a dog can be your lifelong companion. There’s such beauty in the hard honesty of that, in accepting and giving love while always aware it comes with an unbearable price. Maybe loving dogs is a way we do penance for all the other illusions we allow ourselves and for the mistakes we make because of those illusions.”
— Dean Koontz (The Darkest Evening of the Year)

One of the last pieces of footage of Kona on the beach, 08.24.2010:

Jamming a moment with Kona and Vive, 09.01.2010:

I love Italians. I grew up in a town with a huge Italian population; perhaps one out of every two or three of my friends boasted some percentage of Italian blood in their veins. And I can’t think of another group of people more proud of their heritage than the Italians. I think the only thing Italians love more than their Italian heritage is informing everybody about their Italian heritage.

Ever notice how Italians go out of their way to tell you they’re Italian? You know the ones I’m talking about. The ones who preface every answer to any question with something to the effect of: “Yeah, hey, well, you know, I’m Italian.” As if we should already know A) that they’re Italian, and B) what the answer is.

Q: “What’s your favorite color?”
A: “Yeah, hey, well, you know, I’m Italian.”

or

Q: “Got any plans for the weekend?”
A: “Do I have plans for the weekend? Hey, I’m Italian.”

or

Q: “What’s your favorite ice cream?”
A: “Get outta here! I’m Italian!”

Once you start paying attention, you’ll notice that this all becomes exponentially more true the less Italian a person is.

Q: “Do you guys eat out a lot?”
A: “You kidding? My wife’s great-great-grandmother was half-Italian.”

Tipping ’em to you, Konybear. Missing you so bad. Hurts. Part of me died with you on Friday. < \ 3

Bizarre. I just remembered something about last week. M can vouch for me on this one. I’m glad I told her. Otherwise I’d be feeling extra-insane right about now.

I was feeling an unfamiliar discomfort in my gut — way up into the ribcage and below the heart and lungs — that was difficult to describe. Thought it might have been an ulcer or something. I even started researching ulcer symptoms.

It wasn’t classic abdominal pain. Nor was it respiratory. It was more of a mental thing. Thoughts I couldn’t shake from my mind, as if I was having flashbacks of a nightmare I couldn’t remember the details of. I was constantly visualizing some sort of tearing of tissue in my chest. Like a knife going through meat.

They say dogs can feel our pain. Perhaps it goes both ways.

If it should be that I grow weak
And pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then you must do what must be done,
For this last battle cannot be won.

You will be sad, I understand.
Don’t let your grief then stay your hand.
For this day, more than all the rest,
Your love for me must stand the test.

We’ve had so many happy years.
What is to come can hold no fears.
You’d not want me to suffer so;
The time has come — please let me go.

Take me where my need they’ll tend,
And please stay with me till the end.
Hold me firm and speak to me,
Until my eyes no longer see.

I know in time that you will see
The kindness that you did for me.
Although my tail its last has waved,
From pain and suffering I’ve been saved.

Please do not grieve — it must be you
Who had this painful thing to do.
We’ve been so close, we two, these years;
Don’t let your heart hold back its tears.

— Anonymous

(thx Lauren)