Dear HALOW Animal Rescue,

The lady said that dashhounds grow really long and that was his appeal. His back legs had the nerve damage so we cut them off. He gets along real well, he kinda reminds me of a snail the way he drags his rear. Funny enough we named him Snail Number Two.

Dang here this the other night a big old owl tried to swoop him up with his talons but he was still on his chain so he fell back down. Lucky I didn't untie him.

Hes happy though we got a big old yard and part of the house is pretty much yard. Ha, he sure doesn't like the asians. Must be the eyes.

My next welfare check is going right to your store cause I saw that Archie dashhound you got I bet he'll be the longest. Thanks again for giving our family a chance to love here right.

Yers,

Gunk

In my day, wizards paid for their skills in suffering and pain, not tuition. In my day, vampires slept in earth guarded by traps and minions that were more likely to kill you than the vampire itself. In my day, monsters of day and monsters of night were as common as poverty, and God was as scarce as always.

We feared them, yes, and we learned to hunt them. This to ease our troubled minds. This to feed our arrogance; for we tolerate no creature deadlier to Man than ourselves.

I am ill. I hate it. The misery I accept, the weakness I will admit, but the uselessness I cannot abide. I called in sick to work again today. Mostly I won't do that, but besides chasing after a bunch of mutts I also have to talk to potential adopters. No guilt finds me when I am spreading my various pestilences...es across the world from my native lands of Mehi-co, as Fox News accurately reports of all my kind. When I am visibly contagious; that is another matter. I must hide from the world lest they find out.

I hate feeling weak.

When Donaldo was wrestling in high school, he caught ringworm and brought it home. When a scaly patch the size of a dime appeared on my shoulder I was horrified. No fungo-bacterian terrorist was going to profit from my nourishing hide! I burned off the microscopic nuisance. I later discovered the existence of an over-the-counter ointment that was readily available, allegedly also effective at fighting ringworm. I looked into it; nowhere on the packaging did the cream claim to be as anti-fungal as the searing kiss of Man's fire. This reassured me for some years, but eventually I would come to admit that I was an idiot and should stop assuming that all my problems could be burned off.

In non-contagious news, my alleged pit-bull/greyhound mutt of a dog is thriving. The Noobers, Slinky, and Watson all went for a walk today. It was a majestic sight: my horse of a dog blazing a trail flanked by a dachshund and a Boston terrier. It was even awe-inspiring right until I got tangled up in The Noobers's Extend-O-Leash and almost fell headlong into a tree. My new official policy is to hold all the leashes in one hand so I don't get the ol' wrap-around. With this technique, the three leashes braid themselves into a festive braid, instead of turning me into a maypole, or as we Mehicans say, "mayo-polo".

Now my dogs are napping peacefully. The Noobers is dreaming of having his own butler that will scratch his tummy at the ring of a bell, Slinky is dreaming of winning first prize trophy for The Longest-Yet-Most-Useless Dog In The World, and Watson is dreaming of chewing up that trophy and scattering its bits all about the house.

I will dream tonight too, no doubt, and run with my dream hounds. Memory is our quarry; we dig up lost moments like delicate truffles. At times we uncover moments that never did happen; but we will always make room on our table. We are not always hungry for them now. But we were, and we will be again. I have all the time in this world.

After weeks pestering my co-workers and managers with my incessant questions about all aspects of the animal rescue/adoption center, they finally gave in and admitted that they were deliberately avoiding training me because the last three new-hires quit in less than a month. "So this whole time you've just been testing me? Lucky for you I'm used to having no idea what I'm doing." It also helped my case that I began writing everything down in my planner so sometimes I was the only personwho knew what was going on, even though I didn't understand it. Thus, another conspiracy against me fails thanks to my usual paranoia.

"You need to write more..."

-A drunk-ass Donovan. A man may be drunk but that doesn't mean he's wrong.

Minutes and seconds strike against the windowpane. A concrete mesa shimmers and warps into an image of another place, a place I'd almost rather be. They fear the heat, and as do I but I have weapons; water bladders and bottles and drink mixes and most of all sweat glands forged by many sweltering summers.

The summer is an old friend.

Two days off from work have left me refreshed and eager to return to the concrete jungle and perpetual tribal warfare amongst cargo cults that is my work site.

And I picked up some gear from REI to assist me in my battle for...something.

Now that I've seen Transformers 2 I can rest easy knowing that cinema is dead and I look forward to the feelies described in Brave New World.

The movie's climax in Egypt reminded me of my job: an incoherent mess with multiple head injuries and a lot of spinning. The temperature is also about the same.

I enjoyed it because it was a lot like the cartoon. Including the Autobots driving from Washington to Egypt in what seems to be one day.

My nephews saw the original Star Wars. Just the end, the assault on the Death Star. They were transfixed. Forgot to even finish their churros.

I was pleased, and yet I despaired because I was providing more childhood joy for George Lucas to rape.

Perhaps I will only let them see the original films and refuse to acknowledge the existence of the prequels.

Shouldn't be that hard.

From the journals:

Luis died on the 22nd of February. The jungle vines of tubes from the life support devices were hacked away; the intravenous bags of solutions dangling like overripe fruit from stainless steel branches were plucked and packed. I was not there to protest. My goodbye had been that afternoon after a doctor had allowed me to go over the x-rays and the rest of the final pages of his medical history. I knew then that my littlest brother would not face tomorrow with me.

His hand was cold as I held it and my brain screamed goodbye. I regret now that I had not covered him up, that I had not insisted he be kept warm. Luis always wrapped himself up almost completely when he slept. As a baby, he had even refused to drink cold water. It had to be above room temperature.

He was cold then, in his last days. I hope he dreamt well. I hope he dreamt of me, and of the songs we would sing in the car. I hope he dreamed of his dogs. Luis had just undergone his Confirmation as a Catholic, and if he was right then I will not see him again. Perhaps I will go where the dogs are, and keep them company and whine along with them when we dream of our masters.

Wandering Albatross

-In which I meant to report upon events I deem significant in the development of The Nephews (hereafter referred to as "The Twins" (unless individually referred to by name in which case still to be considered as an inextricable part of The Twins and serves primarily to provide a more exact reference in the regards to food preference, trouser length, and in the providing of comfort object(s))).

Now, on to more transparently ego-centric blather.

I saw the film Earth. Kelly and I are in California visiting Jeff, Janan, and Ryan. Raced go-carts and was scolded for bumping. Went to Ryan's play and ran into Beth Froehlich. Ate an excellent lunch with Beth and her mother, Terry. Terry had served as head of Special Education in Luis's and my high school. She, Beth, nor myself spoke of him, although perhaps we hugged a little more tightly and did not attempt to proclaim our tears to be of joy or of sorrow, if ever again I will consider the two as separate, knowing now what I do of love.

I got a job. Devoured a Krispy Kreme donut. Was scolded by a South African for eating in the theatre. Told that story about the time I got arrested by Park Rangers in the Grand Canyon, got hypothermia, and wrecked my motorcycle in the same day, in somewhat unrelated incidents with the only common factor being snow. Passed an FBI background check, apparently. Bought a Nintendo DSi. Used it to write this.

Twenty-eight days have passed since my littlest brother Luis died. An entire Black History Month later, and I still feel like Iron Man punched me in the groin.

Thank you to everyone who expressed their sorrow and condolences to our family. I'm truly sorry that I have not taken the time to thank you personally. Please understand that I'm not trying to appear mysterious or emotionally complex, not this time. During the funeral service and memorial held for Luis, I was at home. In my closet hung a freshly dry-cleaned suit and polished boots, but I never made it into that suit because I was in bed hugging my old Care-Bear and crying into my pillow.

I loved my little brother and I miss him. He was so funny and frustrating and I know I'll never have that again. I can't speak for how other people feel about their siblings but my brothers and sister are like my soul mates, if soul mates were required to be alternately wonderful and annoying in inverse proportions.

I've lost a whole world.

I am not religious, and I'm glad I'm not because if there was someone or something I thought I could blame for taking my brother...I would be lost in my own anger.

Luis is dead; Long live Luis.

I am left, we are left, to continue living. My heaven and hell are here, my paradise and paradise lost, the cost of having loved him, the debt for having lost him.

I wish everyone could have known him. He was so beautiful.

The desert knight rides again. I'm off to investigate reports of monster sightings in northern Arizona. I'm pretty eager to find out more about these "sparkly vampires" that are said to roam the area. I'm not sure how to take them out, or even what they are fully capable of.

I strongly suspect that they have the same weakness as almost all vampires: strong narrative style, scenic descriptions that contribute to mood and theme, and a story driven by character action and growth and not expedience of plot.

Oh yeah, they hate that shit.

I do not have a superhero name, or maybe all names are mine. Nor do I wear a costume, or maybe I wear all costumes. It's irrelevant because no one is meant to recognize me as a superhero. No one will ever call me on the superhero phone or a shine my emblem from a spotlight.



But they know me. Every time someone says "That was close," or "Things could have been a lot worse," that is where I am, where I was. My hand is unseen, if I'm doing it right. Because it's not about cool gadgets and sweet costumes or a league of super friends. I am here and I cannot save the world. But I believe things could be a lot worse if I chose to do nothing at all.

I've activated my cell phone. My old number has been snatched up by a Spanish-speaking male who, according to anecdotal evidence, becomes increasingly enraged when someone asks for "Guillermo" or "Gurg".

I can solve his problem. Since I speak Spanish, I'll call him up and ask him to forward any calls to my new number. Those Mexican types train real quick.