I'm not sure what it is, but on each and every one of our stops, whether for fuel or for the evening, the little town we stopped in between here and Weed, contained an old movie theater names State. Even Santa Barbara had a State theater when I was a kid. This night shot above was taken in Auburn. It is so appropriate that a movie from 1951 was playing (my birth year). The marquee on this one particularly caught my attention, with bright and fast moving neon lights.
Many of the other ones that I saw were in the daylight, and were painted in pretty boring color combinations, like they were trying to hide the gargantuan buildings.
Being that I saw so many with the same name, I wondered whether it was a coincidence or if they were part of a chain of theaters.
Zen Master and the Hot Dog
The Zen Master is visiting New York City from Tibet. He goes up to a hot dog vendor and says, "Make me one with everything."
The hot dog vendor fixes a hot dog and hands it to the Zen Master, who pays with a $20 bill. The vendor puts the bill in the cash box and closes it.
"Where's my change?" asks the Zen Master.
The vendor responds, "Change must come from within."
Diary of a Sad Dog
Dear Diary – It has occurred to me today that my dearest human has never sniffed my backside. I must bond with him in different ways. Like my father always used to say, if you want someone to look you in the eye make sure that your mouth smells exactly like your butt. It’s difficult to argue with that logic and so I have eaten some rotting earthworms in preparation for my dear human’s return, as well as one of his socks.
Dear Diary – it’s not so much that I miss my testicles; I know it’s a rite of passage in our pack and I’m sure that my dearest human has had his removed as well but when that one bulldog comes to the dog park and parades his testicles around I can’t help but notice how Ginger looks at them. I love Ginger. To be fair I will admit he has a fine smelling butt.
Dear Diary– the cat is a curious magical creature. It’s as if a teddybear mated with a cactus and it’s much less fun to play with then it would appear and yet it poops delicious candy into a box of pee flavored sprinkles. Dearest human guards these treats jealously, often harvesting them into a barrel, but I will admit that I sneak one from time to time. They are delicious, forgive me.
Dear Diary– this is the 733rd day that I have tried to test what cat swore to me was true; namely, that if you hump anything long enough you will find a flower. So far the results have been mixed. My dearest human’s leg flower has not revealed itself. However I’m almost certain that I felt something on the brown teddy bear. More tests are needed.
Dear Diary – I have yet to see my dearest human poop anywhere, I suspect he may not know how. I have resolved to teach him when we patrol the neighborhood each day in search of man with hats and beards. It is embarrassing to do in public but he must learn somehow, I fear he will die of constipation If don’t succeed. Fortunately my dearest human seems to show some interest and is now collecting my feces in a small bag. Soon.
Dear Diary - I must be more careful when licking myself. My dearest human seems sensitive about it, most likely because he is incapable of licking his own. As always I am in awe of his ability to be so noble despite what I can imagine are filthy, filthy. He hides them everyday.
Dear Diary - Today I have added a fourth circle to my pre-pooping ritual. As before the first circle is to verify that I do in fact need to poop. The second is to check for gremlins and men with beards and hats. The third is to re-verify my need for pooping, and now the fourth is to honor my newly deceased toy stuffed llama. Rest in peace, I didn’t mean to shake your head off.
Dear Diary - I told the cat about how my dearest human has promoted me, teaching me to shake hands so I can participate in his business dealings. However, cat pointed out that I am often unaware of what I am shaking on. For example, when I shook the neighbor's hand this morning, I have no clue what I agreed to, none. Cat says this is how the devil buys souls. I will pee on the bed for comfort.
Dear Diary - My dearest human asked me where the ball was when it was clearly in plain sight. I brought it over and he threw it even farther away then asked me where it was and was very happy when I brought it again; perhaps a metaphor? Dearest human leaves each day and I am happy when he returns wait, maybe he is the ball and I am dearest human this is too much... I must pee on the bed.
