The healing power of the iPod, and other updates

Today I went on my 10-mile run - three weeks to the half-marathon! - and finally had my iPod ready to roll. I had gone through about 20 CDs and cherry-picked some of my favorite songs, all up-tempo ones suitable for running.

So I had both the iPod and my brain for company, which seemed like a good plan. I was brooding a bit about the state of the world. I had almost decided to fly myself to Baton Rouge for a week in early October, once my current work gigs are up, to help the animal rescue organizations down there. Thousands of animals will be kept there for weeks, to give owners time to find them, creating a monumental load of grunt work watering, feeding and cleaning. Enrico thinks this is a fine idea, although he pointed out I'll be in private investigator school by then. We'll see. Meanwhile, a friend told me she's facing a gut-wrenching choice, the kind of choice that our current government considers to be clear-cut in a way that I consider to be heartless and misguided, and my heart is heavy for her.

So I was brooding a bit as I started my run, and then the iPod came on with My World by Ray Charles (I don't appreciate the fact some people just can't see It's hurting you and me It's ...my world, your world, our world, one world) and the classic rendition of The Weight from The Band's Last Waltz.* So two miles into the run, I had tears running down my face. Still maintaining my robotically consistent pace, but overcome with frustration and sadness at the state of the world. Fortunately, thank the Goddess, just as I was at risk of curling up in fetal position under a picnic shelter, the next song up was Vogue by Madonna (no entirely male divinity would think to send Madonna as solice in a moment of despair). And then came Fat Man in the Bathtub and Man of Constant Sorrow, and by then I was thinking, hey, whatever my woes, I'm better off than the fat man in the bathtub with the blues and the man of constant sorrow.

So, the iPod is a hit.

Meanwhile, on the home front, Toby tried unsuccessfully to chew a hole in his haunch where a flea bite was bothering him, so I tended his wound, and Enrico tried unsuccessfully to chop off half his thumb while cooking dinner, so I tended his wound too, and in the background I could hear Nelly trying to lick the Bailey's Irish Cream out of the glass I left on the coffee table. So hey, compared to my two accident-prone boys (which Enrico assures me is a redundancy), and my liquor-slurping, Valium-popping girl dog, I just may be the most stable member of our household. Which is pretty funny when you think about it.

* Crazy chester followed me, and he caught me in the fog.
He said, "i will fix your rack, if you'll take jack, my dog."
I said, "wait a minute, chester, you know i'm a peaceful man."
He said, "that's okay, boy, won't you feed him when you can."