censorship.

I think Kurt Angle used to wrestle under the guise of some dude who wanted to censor some of the other wrestlers on the WWF – but I’m too lazy to find that kind of imagery right now. I miss Rikishi for that matter.

Anyway – the subject came up last week while a friend was telling a story. They wanted to write about it, but, because of the readership, they felt that it was not a story that could be shared. Too many details that could cause harm.

I thought about many a story that I’ve not typed here for the same reasons. Friends, family, co-workers. There are different subsets I want to share various stories with, but I don’t have that kind of control here, writing. It is like I need that postcard secret outlet, except designed for long stories that don’t fit on a postcard. With the ability to notify a subset of people I know who might find the news funny or interesting or juicy.

But that doesn’t seem to exist and so I’m forced to spread my questionable news/gossip through more traditional channels. Sometimes that gets me down.

Oh well.

You know what else gets me down – reading Marley and Me. Not because the book is particularly down, but because of expectations. Others read it and laugh and cry. I read it and keep wondering – when am I going to laugh and cry? And nothing happens. I’m a rock. I don’t want to be – just am. I seek out emotional experiences and come up empty.

So then I cried.

Actually, I did laugh out loud at one point near the end of the book. But I can’t find the section again, and most of the end of the book [SPOILER alert…though not really a surprise…] is about the end of the dog’s life so I’m wondering what was really worth laughing about there. Another not so good sign of things for me.

Reading the book made me think that I could have written the same thing. If not better. If only I was a writer. But I too spent the first few nights with my arm hanging off the bed into a cardboard box so a little dog would feel some new master comforts. And we’ve got some crazy dog stories with Chapo losing his eye, or going through obedience courses and trying to get over his small dog complex. And I can describe how owning a dog bleeds into family and parenthood too. Though it does make me worry about the day Chapo will be gone. He should be around for another 10 years. That’s a lot of time. A lot of Sal life too…uh – all of it. It is going to be ugly.

Reading the book made me miss my old dog a bit – he was big and crazy and out of control and required a shovel to clean up after. But only a bit. The good stories only go so far in matching up with the bad stories. I’ll send a copy of the book do my father who ended up caring for Spike and who now has a of black lab and a huge poodle. He had another black lab too earlier, but he passed early.

I feel with my 7 pound dog who isn’t a terror, I feel like I’ve learned my lesson and moved on and reading about others stuck without the lesson, who even want to go through the lesson again – just didn’t do it for me.

It is strange though, how my father will probably like the book and will laugh and cry while reading it. And how, like the author’s family, he runs his life by their walking schedule, always keeping his dogs in mind while making plans. This is the same guy that had trouble getting to my soccer practice and such when I was growing up.

So then I cried.

Random side note for the day: I thought up another reason I’m leaning towards one kid. I’ve spent all my name-juice on coming up with Sal. If we have another and it’s a boy (I hear there’s a 50/50 chance of that!) then I’ll need to come up with another name and I’m just not feeling it right now. Maybe that’ll change. But maybe not…

And finally, just in case you’re reading lady, while your dog escaped last week, it got out of the neighborhood, bit some dude that was trying to help, and ran onto the freeway, running against traffic, forcing the CHP to get involved! Crazy huh? But you’re not supposed to know any of that.