Yet another postscript that has nothing to do death- the other day Danielle came home from work and got caught me singing "Kashmir" to Ellie. I believe it was the "Oh, let the sun beat down upon my faaaaace" part done in my perfect lemmon-squeezing Robert Plant voice (and even a crafty leg bend and hand gesture). I would rather get caught inserting a vibrating anal egg. Quite funny, though. See, dogs clearly keep me happy. Whether Ellie is happy is for others to judge...

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A little postcript: I think any severely depressed person needs a dog. This has been a pretty rough year for me, yet I've managed to keep my head about the black sewer of depression thanks to Ellie-dog (and, you know, my wife and family...and the well-turned metaphor!). I will give you reason # 2834 why Ellie is such a joy to me: she actively *hates* when I dance around her. Ok, most sentient beings do, but it's kind of cute the way she barks so insanely when I break off a little Re-Run (RIP Fred Berry, by the way), followed by some handclaps and a little Axl Rose my-my-my-serpantine shimmy dance combonation. Maybe I shouldn't torture her like this, but it's so fun! I used to go to jail for stuff like this, so it's nice to have a captive, non-testifying "audience" to bust a move to. Ok, that's all from me.

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Ok, I am listening to Elliot Smith right now ("Either/Or") for the first time since he decided to fly the concrete kite and I am not nearly as bummed out as I probably should be. Maybe because good songs, no matter how depressing their aura or subject matter is, never depress me. I put on the record, did the dishes and sang along. I even feel a little better now after listening to Elliot again. I just closed my eyes and sang along to "Miss Misery" and smiled to myself during a particularly tough meatloaf dish I was washing and my spirits picked up (yes, I realise I must have looked like a complete moron to the neighbors, but that's nothing new). Small comfort to him, but one good song can transend any bullshit to me. Now, I must admit I had a little cry today listening to Johnny Cash's "Live at San Quentin." He treated those prisoners with such decency and respect on that live recording that I was kind of overcome with more emotion than a commute from teacher's college should necessarily induce. Johnny was one of the few Christians I can think of (besides the original and a few of my relatives) who walked it like they talked it.

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