“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”
— C.G. Jung

Vivor getting a bath. He’s an exceptionally stoic little dude when it comes to getting his neck and belly hosed down, but turns into a scrambling nutcase once water touches his back or his head. I’m told it’s a German Shepherd thing.

A good buddy of mine has been reluctant to get on Facebook since Day One. He finally did. I’ve gotta laugh at the first three things in his Facebook history (letters have been loosely rearranged and joined by an extra vowel to protect the shrewd opposers of having one’s existence acknowledged on the Internet):

Barney joined Facebook 2:31pm

Barney and Jace Daniel Albao are now friends. 2:46pm

Barney joined the group Petition for Led Zeppelin United States Tour —
1,000,000,000 strong. 5:03pm

*A couple conversations today have indicated that there’s some ambiguity to the Ethel Mertz reference here. I didn’t catch it during the jam, but now that it’s pointed out, I see it, and must provide some clarification.

There’s an inside joke that’s been floating around the pad here for a few weeks since taking inventory on kitchen supplies. While throwing things out, Naylor stumbled across a colander in one of the cupboards that probably dates back to the pre-WWII era. Antique. I think it’s tin. Or maybe even a toxic lead composite that’s gonna kill me if I eat enough angel hair. Our joke, courtesy of Naylor, is that the thing is straight out of I Love Lucy.

So for the record, the Ethel Mertz reference here is nothing more than a device used to illustrate the age of the colander. There is no real-world colander-claiming text-messaging counterpart to good ol’ Honeybunch, rest her soul.

Staring into Beamer headlights in the parking lot of the Greek Theater in Los Angeles with my man Kenny Cole. (The renowned bass player, not the New York shoe designer.)

At Fort Mac. Kona gazing at the sunset on the horizon as she’s done for nearly a decade. I’ll never forget how the wind would make the tips of her ears flutter like butterflies.