7 in Human Years

In November of last year, Tara and I toyed with the idea of getting a dog. For me, this meant researching every possible breed of dog I might be interested in. My ideal theoretical canine companion for years had been summed up in the description "a dog who loves me and hates everyone else". Beyond that, I wanted a good looking dog, medium to large build, with short hair. I started keeping my eyes open for dobermans and boxers available on PetFinder.com. Tara, on the other hand, did what she does best, which was to look at puppies online and fall in love with each and every one.

We kept our eyes open, waiting for the day when the perfect puppy would be available. We emailed about a few, but missed out each time. Then, while in training for my new job, I happened across a listing on Petfinder. There were 7 puppies, which they had named by the days of the week, in Youngstown, OH. Two of them had rottweiler like coloring, and the rest were different, one brindle, one looking like a collie, etc. At my first chance, I called the pound and was told that they were all from the same litter, boxer-german shephard mixes, and of the two with the rottweiler coloring, one was male and one was female. Tara had requested a female, so I asked the gentleman if he could hold the puppy for us. He said he could only hold it until 7:00pm, adding that it was a kill-shelter and that if somebody came in to adopt the puppy and he turned them away, it would be on us if something happened to the puppy due to us failing to come by. With the guilt trip hanging over my head, I assured him we would be there, and we filled out the paperwork over the phone to save time when we got there.

Getting there in time would be no small feat. I got off work at 5, Tara around the same time. We were living in the Highland Park neighborhood of Pittsburgh, so by the time I got home from work it would be 5:30 or 5:45. Google Maps puts the trip to the pound at one hour and 30 minutes. Add rush hour traffic into the mix and it was going to be close.

After work, Tara and I hopped in the car and booked it to Ohio. We turned into the pound's parking lot, just as the dashboard clock turned 7:01, and hopped out. The lights were out, the door was locked, and the last employee was getting into his minivan. We stopped him, telling him that we had a dog on hold, that we drove all the way from Pittsburgh, blah, blah, blah. He reluctantly let us into the building and took us into the holding area where the animals were kept, and found our beautiful little puppy. She was only five weeks old, weighed 5 pounds, and fit in my cupped hands. As we stood there, holding and fawning over the cutest little thing in the world, the man pointed out that, unfortunately, we wouldn't be able to take her since it was too late to do the paperwork. I quickly informed him that I had done it over the phone with the other gentleman. He looked at me incredulously, but went into the office to double check.

Upon finding the paper, he tried to thwart us again, pointing out that all dogs need to be fixed before they can be released, but then retracted the statement due to her extremely young age. Three weeks older and it would have been a mandatory trip to the vet, but her youth was our saving grace. We paid the $42.50 adoption fee (borrowing .50 from the pound employee) and carried out our newest family member.

We hadn't planned ahead, so we stopped at a Target on the way home. I carried her in my coat and we picked up some food, a harness, a leash, and some toys. People ooh'd and ahh'd at her, although the best reaction was from a father who replied, to his daughter's cooing about how cute our puppy was, "they get bigger."

But for now, she was still just a tiny little puppy. The first few nights, we tried to teach her to sleep in her crate, assuring each other that we wouldn't give in and be those people who let their dog sleep in the bed. But after hearing her whine and cry and bark, we relented and allowed a third member into our bed. She romped here and there. She was so small that she couldn't make it up the steps into the apartment on her own so we would have to pick her up and carry her. In the mornings, she would run around and "help" us get ready. When I would take my morning constitutional, "Puppy", as we referred to her, would curl up in the crotch of my pajama pants.

She was "Puppy" for quite a while. We didn't want to give her a name prematurely, only to find it unsuitable as she grew up. Before long, however, we felt that we were familiar enough with her personality to begin thinking of a proper title. Nothing seemed to fit. She was cute and feminine in her beauty, yet too stoic and proud in her stance and coloring for a name like "Tulip" or "Sunshine". And we hoped her to be large, another issue with cutesy names. Add our hope to come up with something similar enough to "Puppy" that it wouldn't be a huge jarring change from the sound that we'd [temporarily] found for her. In the end, Tara came up with it.

"What about Abby?"

"That's a good one."

"We could give her a middle name, too. Like Winters. That's got a nice ring to it, Abby Winters. Do you like that?"

"Yeah, that's nice. Sounds familiar, though. Doesn't that sound familiar?"

"Kind of, I guess."

"It does. Where do I know the name Abby Winters from??"

We kept the name, despite the fact that a quick Google search solved the mystery of where I knew the name from [nsfw].

Quickly, we started noticing Abby getting bigger. She was able to make it up the steps unaided. Not only could she keep up with us on walks, but now she was outpacing us (not to mention pulling!). Where she could once walk under our coffeetable without taking notice, she became distinctly aware of its presence after hitting her head time and time again. Her first toy was a small foam PNC-football that she could barely fit her little puppy teeth around. Eventually, though, she lost her baby teeth, and her new fangs were more than enough to tear the poor little football to shreds.

Just as our little puppy changed, our family grew as well. A new kitty, the distinguished Admiral Goonie-face of the S.S. Polyphemus, joined our clan, as did the canine expatriate, Jack (whose name was changed from Jacques as he went through the immigration station). We moved from our ritzy one-bedroom apartment in swanky Highland Park, to our monstrous house. As we worked to build it into a home, Abby and the other pets stood beside us, supporting our move and helping to make our household a warm one, full of love. Here's to it continuing for many years.

Happy First Birthday, Abby!

G-20 Update

I found it!

At least, I think I found it, after a minutes minutes perusal. A site that is providing me with constant updates of the protests, including a twitter feed! YAY!!!!

http://indypgh.org/g20/

G-20

Working just outside of downtown Pittsburgh, at a site that underwrites and services consumer loans for one of the largest banks in the nation means that the G-20 summit is a major disruption. We're working with the bare minimum of staff, being paid overtime for being here (not to mention the perk of a lunch voucher for the cafeteria for up to $8). Debts must be paid!

Riding in today, there were no signs of protesters. I was really disappointed, though, when a guy I work with began complaining about the protesters, and their unbridled desire for destruction, but somehow he didn't know that they were protesting for a reason. I pointed out that some of them were protesting for economic reasons, disgusted that the twenty nations of the summit represent 90% of the nation's wealth. I added that our building is a target, in particular, paraphrasing a coworker, because of us housing the underwriters who make decisions over who to share the wealth with. He was completely incredulous. It blew my mind.

I then started talking to the person next to me about it. She was asking why people were protesting, what the point of the G-20 is, etc. I started looking into some of the things the protesters are fighting for, reading the Thomas Merton Center's website [http://www.thomasmertoncenter.org/], and some of it is legitimate stuff: stop funding coal and start spending that money on environmental programs, gender equality, money for human needs and not for war. They're arguing for changes that help more people and share resources, rather than hording them. I probably side with their messages and ideas more than those of the G-20 leaders. It's a shame that these messages are carried in such dirty, gutter-punk packages. It's also a shame that the media glorifies the violence that the minority of protesters takes part in, sullying the name of the rest. They try to make us fear all of the protesters by turning them all into violent no-agenda anarchists.

And that's not my only beef with the media. All day I've been scouring the web for updates on what's going on just a few blocks away. I'm expecting constant updates from KDKA, WPXI, etc, and I'm getting nothing. I've been told about a giant banner hung from the West End Bridge by GreenPeace stating "Danger: Climate Destruction Ahead: Reduce CO2 Emissions Now". A similar banner was intercepted before being unfurled on the Fort Pitt Bridge.

But nothing else has been mentioned.

That's Church [http://thatschurch.com/2009/09/22/its-a-hard-knock-life/] talked about a flash mob of dancing Point Park University students, welcoming the G-20, but haven't read anything about it. I heard about a protest involving a group "sleeping" in the street, covered in flags of the 20 nations of the G-20, and "waking" to their cell phone alarms, symbolizing the need for these nations to wake up and change.

And they're advertising that tonight there will be a "Clean Energy Jobs" Rally at Point State Park, with Al Gore, but I think the former Vice President's presence is the only reason that's getting a major mention.

But I want more! I want constant updates. I want a streaming ticker on the news websites telling me what's happening and where. I'm tired of seeing updates about how they'll be closing roads early and beefing up security. I want to see what's causing them to do such things. The Thomas Merton Center's site links to the G-20 Media web portal that has some updates, but nothing is matching the level of what I'm looking for. I need something akin to Twitter updates and constantly updating photo feeds (although Twitter is blocked at work), so I can keep on top of what's happening in my backyard. Can anyone help?


Links:
http://www.kdka.com/
http://www.wpxi.com/
http://www.g20media.org/

Bus Ride

I caught the bus this morning.

The bus was full, so I stood up front in the entry way area. People kept getting on though, and eventually a really fat lady got on. She squeezed past me, then just stayed there at the front of the aisle instead of moving back. A stop or two later, a lady in the VERY back wanted to get off with her kid, and started yelling for the driver to open the back. He said "the door is already open. Exit the front" so she fought her way all the way up. I stepped off of the bus to let her pass, and as I was climbing back in, the driver began driving off, closing the door on me. I pulled my foot in and resumed my position in the entry way.

At this point, though, the driver started complaining that we needed to "get behind the line" or he would stop the bus. Everyone shuffled a bit, but nothing was solved. Then the driver pulled over. The fat lady tried her best to back up a bit, squishing herself behind the line, but I was still left out in no-man's-land. The driver bellowed "move on back" to everyone on the bus, and soon space opened up for us to move into the familiar territory designated for riders.

Feeling the need to bond with someone over the situation, I spoke to the fat woman, pointing out the odd juxtaposition of stopping the bus for us to get behind the line (ideally for safety's sake), yet taking off when I still had one foot (literally) out the door. She laughed, and I turned toward the window in time to watch him come up to a bus stop where a woman was standing with her arm up to wave him down. I also got to watch her face turn angry and both of her arms raise in annoyance as he drove right by her without stopping.

A Little Late

In a follow up to my entry about my family tree, I checked my information today and found that tomorrow is the 42nd wedding anniversary of Sheila, my second cousin once removed (aka, my great grandmother's sister's grand-daughter). On a whim, I looked up her phone number and gave it a call. It was answered by a man who, frankly, didn't seem to believe me when I said I was her second cousin once removed. He eased up a bit once I began name-dropping and mentioning why I was calling. Unfortunately, it seems as though Sheila and Rick had divorced some time back. Even more unfortunately, Sheila died in November of 2005. He recommended I call her daughter Amy if I wanted to chase down any more information. I thanked him, but didn't make any more calls.

"Fuel"

Earlier today I read a review of the game Fuel, focusing on the fact that it has the largest playable area in a console game, with an expanse of 5,560 square miles, all free for the roaming. As I read it, the game is quite lacking, with poor physics and controls, leaving little to do but simply drive as far in any direction as you can. Suddenly we have a land that just keeps going and going, but is filled with nothingness. The author points out that as much as he tries to see it in a philosophical light, as something similar to the endless anticipation of something more, as in "Waiting for Godot", he cannot. It is nothing more than a frustrating exercise of Sisyphean proportions. Soon his mind turns to suicide, but the internal coding refuses to allow it. He is stuck in a car in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to do but drive and drive and drive...

And as I sat at work reading this, it dawned on me that I was being interrupted every minute or so by a beep in my ear. The beep signaled a new account being brought up, so I would click over to the dialer system, click the button to bring it into our secondary system, wait for the phone to ring the 3 or 4 times necessary to reach a voicemail message, hit the hot key that enters in a comment stating that an answering machine was reached but no message was left, click back to the dialer, disconnect the call and click that I was finished with the account. And then do it over again and again and again...

The Sweet Nectar of Vengeance

There is a girl who is a regular on my bus and I simply cannot stand her. I'm not sure where she gets on in the morning, but she works in the same building as I do, but halfway down the building (and the building spans two full blocks). She's in her early 20's, short and stout, with a very plain face that somehow continuously exhibits a sour demeanor while never quite going into a frown or a scowl. She has very long, very plain brown hair that is frizzy with split ends, except when she puts it up in a tight bun that pulls on her forehead. She hops on the bus and takes the first seat open to her, generally in the front section that is supposed to be reserved for the elderly and infirm. She sits down, scoops her large green phone out of her bag, and begins txting. It is hard for me to contain my vitriol.

The worst insult came one morning when I was preparing to disembark. I was standing in the aisle at the front of the bus, waiting for the driver to come to a full and complete stop. As he slowed down, I was shoved aside by the girl as she squeezed by me. I tried to explain "I'm getting off here, too" but it was to no avail. She threw her weight around and walked down the steps, with me, dazed, following behind.

And ever since, I've tried my darndest to shoot daggers out of my eyes at her. Every time she gets on the bus my face turns to an angry grimace.

But yesterday, I got on the bus in a good mood. It was pretty full, so I stood over to the side in the front section reserved for the elderly. I was standing between two women who were sitting, one skinny and one fat (and taking up the space of two people). I was out of the aisle, holding on to the bar, and just kind of standing around. I don't mind standing on the bus. It's not a very long ride and I'm able-bodied. When the larger lady got off, I offered the open seat to a skinny girl standing beside me. She eagerly sat down, but her small size left an additional seat available. Cue the plain looking fatty! She lumbered over, and plopped down, somehow combining this with the act of removing and opening her phone. The end effect was that she went instantly from standing above the seat to sitting and txting, with no intermediate steps. It was uncanny, but did little to mellow my feelings of disgust. She didn't even look around to see if anyone else wanted to sit down. It was like her ass was a magnet, drawn so powerfully to the seat that nothing could stop her. But I held my tongue and stood idly by, thinking of how nice it will be to have my bike fixed so I will no longer have to take the bus on a daily basis. A few stops passed, and then we stopped. A short, elderly gentleman climbed aboard. He had some bags with him, his bottom lip was swollen in a way that goes hand in hand with certain medications, and he was wearing a hat for the 101st Airborne. He set his bags down on the little ledge behind the driver and began looking for a seat.

Here it was, a showdown. On one side, the elderly veteran who holds every claim to sit in the front of the bus. On the other side, three young, able-bodied ladies, each avoiding his gaze, fatty in the middle texting her heart out. The old man seemed to have a mental connection with me for he focused his angry gaze upon the plain looking girl, slowly hobbling with the swaying of the bus until he was standing directly in front of her, myself just a step or two away. Nobody would meet his gaze. I looked back and forth, him staring at them, them avoiding him. Back and forth it went. Finally, I stepped up to assist him.

"How about one of you guys get up to let him sit down?"

Suddenly a fire was lit beneath them. All three looked up, then began looking back and forth deciding who would be the one to get up. "Who? You? Me? Her?" Each one looking around, hoping the others would stand. Finally, our plain fat friend stood up and moved to the front of the bus. The elderly gent sat down, silently thanked me, then pulled out his wallet to point out his "Senior Citizen" card. I nodded in agreement and added "And a veteran too!" He nodded and began talking to the skinny girl beside him. I couldn't make out his comments, but her responses were of the overemphasized, "Oh, I see" variety.

But the point was that the plain fat girl who is the devil in a disguise of long hair and back fat was forced to stand. On top of that, I got to tell her to move while still being morally absolved. It was like having diplomatic immunity. It was beautiful. It reminded me of an idea I once had, where I would accompany my formerly pregnant wife with our infant child on a trip to the mall and hover a bit away from her while she breastfed the youth. Then, I would have the opportunity to rush in and defend her honor if anyone approached. But this was better, because not only did it occur naturally, but I the fat, self-important girl was ultimately the loser of the interaction. Wonderful!