It’s been a weird month. It’s hard to remember a four week period marked by higher highs and lower lows. Fewer people thought the Cubs would win than called the election, but here we are. It’s left you shaken. Confused. Unsure that you still understand (or ever understood) the place that you call home. The only thing you’re still pretty sure of is that Rudy Giuliani and the sketchy dude from 300 are actually the same guy.

 

 

 

 

You’re at a little bit of a loss.

By now you’ve donated to the ACLU. You’ve contributed to Planned Parenthood, and the SPLC, and the Anti Defamation League. You’ve subscribed to the actual journalism produced by the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the LA Times. Lord knows these groups all need help over the next four years.

If you’re anything like me you’ve moved through Denial, Anger, and Bargaining; you’re hovering somewhere between Fear and Acceptance. It feels like the only thing left to do is buy a plane ticket to Portugal or something while we can still get into the EU.

Fortunately, running away to Europe is not the only thing left to do.

You can still buy a tart pan.

Look, over the next several years we’ve got a lot of work to do. But for two months we’re in an uncomfortable, sort of powerless holding pattern. In the meantime, you should probably make a tart or two.

I mean, a tart pan is like fifteen bucks. Tarts are delicious. You need something to settle your nerves, and folding egg yolk into molten chocolate is downright meditative. Chocolate not your thing? How about a frangipane and cranberry tart. Or a lemon meringue tart. Or a fresh fruit and custard tart. Even a quiche is kind of a tart, if you’re more of a savory person.

It’s not time to lose focus. You still need to keep pressure on your elected representatives to cautiously vet cabinet appointments. You still need to pay attention to actual news stories, and not the 30 second rotations of fluff that CNN prefers. You still need to get ready to register as a Muslim (because seriously, WTF). But you don’t need to go crazy.

Whether you’re a Hilary supporter or a Cardinals fan, the last month has probably opened up some fissures between friends and neighbors. You don’t need that shit. You’ve got plenty on your mind over the next few years without worrying about hating your republican uncle. Make him a tart. You’ll never regret taking the high road.

And hell, if the world does end in the next year or two, swing on by our place. We’ll be having tart.

Leave This Blank:Leave This Blank Too:Do Not Change This:

Your email:

 

Like

8:53pm – Dogs are so gross. She ate that whole pile.

9:04pm – Ok. Almost there. Just three hours. That’s like three episodes of The Wire. It’ll fly by.

9:17pm – Cottonwood Creek. Man, there sure are a lot of Cottonwood Creeks.

9:19pm – Douglas Creek. I guess that was the Cottonwood Creek. How do they get all the way over there? Is that right? Where am I?

9:26pm – I wonder what Khaleesi’s up to.

9:33pm – This song sucks.

9:43pm – So it’s not uncommon to suffer a head injury and not remember the accident at all, right? Like, just going about your day, then wham! and you wake up in the ICU, right? So at any instant now, I could just wake up in the ICU? I wouldn’t have any idea what even happened. Weird.

9:44pm- But then, what about people who don’t wake up. They hit their head and then die. Do they still forget (or unperceive?) the accident? So that any instantaneous moment on earth could actually be the last one you perceive? Like, at any moment any of us could just sort of cease to exist? Is that how that works?

9:50pm – I wonder if I should get my wisdom teeth out.

9:59pm – Ho man that’s a sneaky cop. Didn’t even see him there. Good thing the van doesn’t go fast.

10:13pm – Dogs are so weird.

10:24pm – Boom! There are the toilets. Just hook ’em up to the van real quick and I’l be on my way.

10:26pm – Score, they’re not even filled to the brim. Shouldn’t have too much splashing on the way back.

10:27pm – My job is weird.

10:33pm – Jeez this trailer rolls rough. There’s gonna be some splashing for sure.

10:42pm – Ok. Just a little bit over an hour now. Almost there. Like, five episodes of Eastbound and Down. Actually that sounds like a long time. Shit.

10:56pm – Maybe I should have a beer.

11:04pm – That’s probably a bad call.

11:14pm – Yes officer. I’m sorry officer. Yes officer. No officer. I was not aware, officer.  I’ll get that fixed right away. Thank you officer.

11:17pm – Definitely not getting that fixed.

11:24pm – That guy’s job is kind of weird.

11:32pm – Sure glad I didn’t drink that beer.

11:38pm – God this trailer is shitty.

11:39pm – Heh.

11:50pm – Ho man that raccoon just about bought the farm.

12:03am – I swear these mile markers are wrong. I’m going to come out an measure one of these days. Really? Still 36 to go?

12:14am – I wonder if I’m going to get pulled over again. That’d be kind of funny.

12:32am – Jeez what are all these lights from? This town is fucking bright at night. Is that the airport? What are all those? Are those townhomes? Who would live out there? Where do you get coffee out there?

12:42am – Boom Done. I wonder if I should check for splashing.

12:43am – Nah.

12:52am – God dogs are weird.

Like

5 July, 2016

To Whomever Finds This Bottle,

Weep for us, for we are lost. We were snatched from our beds in the earlymorning grey, damned by those we trusted the most. Our captors shipped us in crates to the north and through the bars we watched the sun rise over the mountains in the east.

We feared it was our last dawn, but in spite of short rations and inhumane conditions we survived the journey to the coast.

We were moved from shipping crates to a great inflatable barge, and upon this prison ship we risked life and limb again. We are not all of us swimmers, and as the little fat one made his gambit for escape, he plunged into the water and sank like a stone. We resigned ourselves to captivity on the prison barge and endured the horrors we were subjected to.

Upon our floating hell the crew and our guards carried on in an orgy of sin. They drank fermented grain mash and slothed about and became complacent with our captivity. We slipped our chains but found ourselves still lost at sea. We began to lose hope.

But the ships returned to shore, and under the cover of night our rescuers charged these pirates’ compound. The fat one and I were locked together in solitude as the fighting went well into the night. Our captors mounted a defense, and rockets and bombs shook the foundation of our prison walls.

We have never seen or heard such fighting. The cruelties we suffered at the hands of our slavers paled in comparison to the fearsomeness of the battle. And in the morning we were with broken hearts to learn that it was for naught. Through the nightlong fight their walls stood stall, and in prison here we remain.

And so pray for us, if you find this missive. And hope that we’ve moved on to a better place.

Much love,

The Dogs

Leave This Blank:Leave This Blank Too:Do Not Change This:

Your email:

 

Like