Intentional anonymity, or Un?

This post is not about the amusing/appalling mayor of Toronto, I swear; but for reasons you'll understand shortly, I have to open with a quote from a story about him in this week's Newsweek:

The defense proffered by Toronto mayor Rob Ford, caught in a video smoking crack, is astoundingly, bracingly forthright: "Yes, I have smoked crack cocaine.... Probably in one of my drunken stupors, probably approximately about a year ago." Let the smoke settle on that one: He's seeking absolution for drug use by claiming annihilation by alcohol. The ancient Greeks might have called that hubris. I call it genius. 

I think the Toronto mayor - about whose politics I know almost nothing, other than that they manage to combine stupidity and dishonesty in ever-more original arrangements - has chosen the shrewdest defense available to him, calculating that his white constituents' fascination with crack cocaine makes him seem more like a cultural adventurer than a desperate fiend.

The icky conclusion I've come to is that Ford chose the perfect drug to abuse. 

Now, here is the most interesting question inspired by the quote above: exactly whose opinion is this, really? I don't mean, "Who are the people who share the author's view?" What I mean, simply, is "Who the hell is the author?"  Period.  Again, not, "Who does he or she think he or she is to hold or voice this opinion?" No. I mean, "What is his or her NAME?"  In the first three paragraphs, the author is right there with us no fewer than four times: "I call it . . . I think . . . I know . . . I've come to . . . ."  WHO ARE YOU?

I'm all about using the first-person in formal writing.  I've never taught my students to avoid it.  But it should be intentional.  It should serve a purpose.  That purpose is defeated if the author is anonymous, unless the purpose is merely to set an in-your-face tone.  If that's the purpose here, then, "Mission Accomplished!"  Coward.  Really.  If you're going to make a point of putting your face nose-to-nose with mine while you voice your opinion, then come out from under your burka, Bob, or Betty, or whoever you are.

Interestingly, I can ask this same question about any of the articles in this week's Newsweek (maybe all of them since January; heck, I haven't really been paying attention that closely).  It doesn't come out in print any more, just in case you missed that.  Since last January, it's digital only.  That trend (or the threat thereof) was actually one of the principle reasons I chose to ask for an iPad for Christmas last year rather than a new piece of skydiving gear.  And don't misunderstand my issue here--I like the digital version.  I like the bright images and the ability to link to video or audio or right on out of the magazine entirely.  But I digress.  My point is, when did this anonymity become a feature of a major news magazine?  Or am I wrong to still think of Newsweek in that way?  Is it now a rag?  Has its cachet plummeted so precipitously that the writers no longer care to be credited for their work?  Fascinating.

Just in case, if there's a way to see the byline on these articles, and I'm just so much of a Luddite that I'm missing it, feel free to clue me in, by all means. And, of course, I know (or hope) that the author isn't really a coward.  I know that someone way above him or her in the corporate food chain decided this was a good idea.  And I'm thankful to my own cousin, Barry, for trying to warn me years ago where we were headed.

Oh wait!  I think they just answered my question. Here is the first sentence from the lead story in this issue; thus, the first sentence in the issue:  "No one could ever accuse Newsweek of undcovering [sic] the Kennedy administration."  Unless they're attempting to coin a new word (move over Shakespeare), I think they meant undercovering. Carmax has better proofreaders.

Rag. Definitely. Digital rag. 

Good Reading

Good reading is something I only wish I had time for these days.  Thanks to my wife, there's no shortage of it.  Thanks to my current position, there's no time for it.

I think I can only survive this particular job for so long.  I think being a Dean is not supposed to be like this.  I think you're supposed to have time for reflection, to pursue ideas to improve the school for everyone, maybe even to do a little research on a project or two of your own.  Always Hemingway comes to mind: "Isn't it pretty to think so."

But some of you who read me have time on your hands, so let me offer a few discoveries from an evening of catching up on my lovely wife's blog, and pulling on a few of the strings dangling from its edges.  I've added these to my own list of "Daily Reads," which once upon a time lived up to its name.  These days it's merely an ambition; not even that really--more like a fond wish.

So for those of you with time on your hands to surf and to read . . .

Try A Passing Glimpse.  A worthwhile mix of words and photography, and either worth the visit for its own sake.

After that, mosey on over to 80 West, where it's more about the words, or more accurately, about the mind behind them.

Finally, around dinner time, drop into E.A.T. for some ideas on what to do with nature's bounty on a very local scale.  I know more than one of you to be a fellow foodie.  You won't be disappointed.

Bragging Rights

For the past two years, busy opening a new campus of a Level V, SACS-accredited school, I've had little time to write here.

But my lovely and much better half has taken up the slack.

Her latest submission for publication made the front page for the One Kind Word Project today.  And her own blog is humming along nicely as well.

Enjoy.

At Least Somebody's Writing

And really, really well at that.  Of course I knew this when I married her. :-)  It's quiet here at They Rode On, but if you like reading for the beauty of the stories and the words, check out the last few days work over at Cafe Catiche.  You won't be sorry.

Recharging Our Batteries and Our Worldview

As we age, I think we sometimes tend to devalue the philosophers that shaped us.  Having found them in our youth, we may think of them as something we should have outgrown.  We shouldn't.

I could do worse than making a habit of using the shift to and from Daylight Saving Time as a reminder to change the batteries in the smoke alarms and re-read The Prophet.

Here's a thought for today, courtesy of Kahlil Gibran:

You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts;
And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime.
And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.
For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.

There are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone.
The silence of aloneness reveals to their eyes their naked selves and they would escape.
And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand.
And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words.
In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence.

When you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market place, let the spirit in you move your lips and direct your tongue.
Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear;
For his soul will keep the truth of your heart as the taste of the wine is remembered
When the colour is forgotten and the vessel is no more.

Cafe Catiche: New in the Blog Roll

I may not have time to write these days, but my better half does.

And she's the better writer to boot.

Pay her a visit at Cafe Catiche.

Our Vanishing Americana

If I weren't going to be on a plane when this airs tonight, I'd be watching. I'm consoled by the fact that it'll air twice more in December. And for any who know me personally, feel free to add the book to my Christmas list. ;-)

"Our Vanishing Americana" airs tonight at 8 p.m. on WTVI, with additional airings Thursday at 9 p.m, Dec. 14 at 10 p.m., Dec. 18 at 10 p.m. and Dec. 28 at 9 p.m.

Thoughts for the Day: Bach and Hammarskjöld

First, a correction. I had narrowed the author of the quote I had in mind on Monday to two people--vastly different people, but either capable of the quote I was remembering. I guessed wrong. It was Richard Bach, writing in Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah, who said:

Live
never to be
ashamed if anything you do
     or say is published
      around the world--
  even if
what is published
is not true.

But my own book of markings, which borrows even its title from Hammarskjöld, is filled with his writings, and among them, one seems particularly apt today:

Your position never gives you the right to command. It only imposes on you the duty of so living your life that others can receive your orders without being humiliated.

I pray never to forget that.

On Climatological and Intellectual Tipping Points

The genesis of this post was a conversation taking place in the comments thread of Tuesday's post that tied together a Hulu Super Bowl commercial and Susan Jacoby's, The Age of American Unreason. I realized, as the conversation progressed, that I may have given the wrong impression of my overall view of Jacoby's thesis. And so, I said this:

I need to be fair here. Though I'm eventually going to take Jacoby to task for a couple of things where she misses the mark in a bad way--namely, e-mail and blogs--I think she's dead on in her indictment of the dumbing down of America and the role of TV, video games, and to a lesser extent, the internet, in that dumbing down. That commercial only appears to be tongue-in-cheek. In reality, it's pretty dead on. Making hyperbolic fun of something that's actually happening as if it's no big deal is a tried and true distraction technique. It doesn't change the fact that it's happening. What it does is try to make you feel silly for worrying about it.

Jacoby's book, flaws on those two counts above aside, is frightening, and, I'm afraid, largely accurate.

Overall, I think Jacoby is mostly right in both her analysis of our current intellectual climate and direction as a nation (although, along with every other weight unfairly hoisted onto the shoulders of our nation's new president, I think many are hoping his election indicates a potential shift in this arena as well) and the route by which we arrived in this pickle. Of course, it's no secret to most who read this blog that I'm also a firm believer that the earth is currently warming, that it is doing so because of human activity, and that if we don't alter course soon, it may be too late.

That said, I was struck by a parallel between these two topics: the concept of the tipping point. (For a good discussion of the concept in a climatological sense, you'll find the Wikipedia entry at the preceding link helpful.) Recent news reports on a just out NOAA study suggest that we may be closer to a climatological tipping point that previously believed, or perhaps, even beyond it. A pdf of the entire NOAA report can be had here, but for now, here is the abstract:

The severity of damaging human-induced climate change depends not only on the magnitude of the change but also on the potential for irreversibility. This paper shows that the climate change that takes place due to increases in carbon dioxide concentration is largely irreversible for 1,000 years after emissions stop. Following cessation of emissions, removal of atmospheric carbon dioxide decreases radiative forcing, but is largely compensated by slower loss of heat to the ocean, so that atmospheric temperatures do not drop significantly for at least 1,000 years. Among illustrative irreversible impacts that should be expected if atmospheric carbon dioxide concentrations increase from current levels near 385 parts per million by volume (ppmv) to a peak of 450–600 ppmv over the coming century are irreversible dry-season rainfall reductions in several regions comparable to those of the “dust bowl” era and inexorable sea level rise. Thermal expansion of the warming ocean provides a conservative lower limit to irreversible global average sea level rise of at least 0.4–1.0 m if 21st century CO₂ concentrations exceed 600 ppmv and 0.6–1.9 m for peak CO₂ concentrations exceeding ≈1,000 ppmv. Additional contributions from glaciers and ice sheet contributions to future sea level rise are uncertain but may equal or exceed several meters over the next millennium or longer.

Of course, last I'd heard, Rush was busy assuring us all that none of this was our fault and all of it beyond our control. Right. I used to enjoy him before the Oxycontin destroyed the half of his brain that wasn't tied behind his back.

But the phrase has sociological denotations as well, and it's that meaning that I think Jacoby has in mind when she says in her conclusion:

It is possible that nothing will help. The nation's memory and attention span may already have sustained so much damage that they cannot be revived by the best efforts of America's best minds. I too am nibbling at the edges by talking about the need for political leaders who address Americans as thinking adults; for intellectuals willing to step up and bring their knowledge, instead of a lust for power, to the public square; for educators devoted to teaching and learning rather than to the latest fads in pop psychology. None of these suggestions addresses the core problem created by the media--the pacifiers of the mind that permeate our homes, schools, and politics. There is little evidence to indicate that Americans have either the desire or the will to lessen their dependency on the easy satisfactions held out by the video and digital world . . . . (315)

I doubt, though, that it will ever be entirely too late. There will always be intelligent and deeply thoughtful people out there, the question will be how they are valued by society at large. In the time of Thomas Jefferson, we revered them. But in the time of Galileo, we placed them under house arrest. Perhaps this, like all things, is cyclical. Let us hope so. Idiocracy wasn't a movie I enjoyed.

All of the above I wrote more than two days ago now. How apropos then, that in a segment on The Daily Show last night, Lewis Black took some members of Congress to task for their efforts to avail themselves of a not-so-new-any-more medium in the form of YouTube. Idiocracy may be closer than we think.

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Back in Black - Congress on YouTube

Daily Show Full Episodes
Funny Political Videos

Important Things With Demetri Martin
More Funny Videos

Quote for the Day: Gibran

From The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

I miss my daughters. --Doc

Super Bowl Ads

Okay, two things at once here.

First, for years, the Super Bowl has been the one television event I know of for which I didn't mute the commercials. Rather, during the Super Bowl, many of us tend to go for snacks during the game, but sit riveted during the commercials. There are no instant replays on the commercials, but anything worth seeing in the game will be the topic of endless highlight reels.

Well these days, I have no TV. Well, I have a TV, it's just not connected to a signal source other than my DVD player. But, have no fear, at this site, you'll find, collected in a single place for your alphabetical viewing pleasure, the entire collection of commercial spots from this past weekend's Super Bowl. I've no idea how long it will remain up and running--perhaps forever, perhaps only for days--but for now, you'll need a chunk of time if you want to watch them all. Or, if you had a favorite that you need to show someone, look no further.

Second, I've been meaning for some time to post comments about a book I read over the Christmas break: Susan Jacoby's, The Age of American Unreason. I've lots more to say about this book, but for now, I'll simply assert that if Jacoby--for whom I think it's fair to say, video, in all its incarnations, amounts to the technological Anti-Christ heralding intellectual Armageddon--were watching when the commercial below came on, I would have loved to have been there to watch her. "That's it!" I imagine her saying excitedly, "That's exactly what it does! Exactly! You think he's kidding, making fun of my views as extreme and ridiculous, but really, that's what videotainment does to your brain!" More on Jacoby's heavy-handed indictment of technology later, but for now, enjoy:

Quote for the Day: John Updike (1932-2009)

"That's policy for you. Policy is what the kingpins want. What the others want is juvenile delinquency."

I would be remiss if I didn't at least acknowledge the passing, yesterday, of the man whose short story, "A&P," is my freshman lit survey class's introduction to the short story. I use it because it connects. May he rest in peace, in a heaven where grocery shopping in bikinis is encouraged--providing "residual self-image" makes the transition from construct to paradise.

You'll find a thorough obit here.

Quote for the Day: Chödrön

From: Comfortable with Uncertainty: 108 Teachings on Cultivating Fearlessness and Compassion, by Pema Chödrön

#20 Slogan: 'All activities should be done with one intention'

Breathing in, breathing out, feeling resentful, feeling happy, being able to drop it, not being able to drop it, eating our food, brushing our teeth, walking, sitting--whatever we're doing could be done with one intention. That intention is that we want to wake up, we want to open our compassion and we want to ripen our ability to let go, we want to realize our connection with all beings. Everything in our lives has the potential to wake us up or to put us to sleep. Allowing it to awaken us is up to us.

An Open Letter to The Charlotte Observer

Alexander Pope says, in "An Essay on Criticism":

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
In every work regard the writer's end,
Since none can compass more than they intend;
And if the means be just, the conduct true,
Applause, in spite of trivial faults is due.

Wise words, and words that Lawrence Toppman in particular needs to learn.

Toppman's review of Gran Torino is a study in how to get most of the details all right, and yet, get it all wrong in the end. Someone should remind the man just what the purpose of any review he writes might be. The Academy isn't going to refer to his opinion in deciding its awards. The best he can hope for is to be relied upon by locals, by readers of the Charlotte Observer, when those readers are trying to decide whether or not to see a film.

So far, I've read two reviews by Toppman. One on Quantum of Solace, and one on Gran Torino. At least he's consistent. Twice now, for me, he's gotten it dead wrong.

Do the editors of the paper bother to read the comments posted about Toppman's reviews? Do you bother to compare Toppman's comments to your own opinions. Do you share his opinions? Judging from the commentary on your web, not many of your readers do.

Start paying attention. Have a conversation with the man. Someone explain to him that the bottom line readers are looking for is going to be, "Is this worth my ten bucks?" A film can be filled with all the flaws Toppman points out and still be worth our time and money.

Get a decent critic Charlotte. Find someone who's more interested in informing the public about the quality of a movie than the sophistication of his own personal taste. Toppman's reviews are largely useless. Spare us and save yourself some money.

"Who is John Galt?"

Ayn Rand is one of the few authors whose works can make something by Leon Uris look like a quick read. On my bookshelf, few works other than Boswell's, Life of Johnson can compete with hers for the breadth of their spine. I was, until sometime in 2003, what Stephen Moore calls below, a "virgin." That was the year that a friend recommended Rand to me. He would have been one of those who responded to the Library of Congress survey that her work had changed his life. He is, unless I'm mistaken, a subscriber to this blog, though he has never left a comment.

I must confess though, that my reaction to her work was likely colored by the lenses of an English professor. Her characters are all types. So much so that she almost may as well have given them names like those of Bunyan and just made it an allegory outright. As I remember it, the absolute purity with which each character represented his or her philosophical ideal frequently made the willing suspension of disbelief more challenging than necessary.

And yet, I also remember agreeing with the philosophy itself, with the ideas that Rand set out to expound. But I had forgotten how apt they were to our current times. It took Stephen Moore, writing in The Wall Street Journal, to remind me of that:

Some years ago when I worked at the libertarian Cato Institute, we used to label any new hire who had not yet read "Atlas Shrugged" a "virgin." Being conversant in Ayn Rand's classic novel about the economic carnage caused by big government run amok was practically a job requirement. If only "Atlas" were required reading for every member of Congress and political appointee in the Obama administration. I'm confident that we'd get out of the current financial mess a lot faster.

Many of us who know Rand's work have noticed that with each passing week, and with each successive bailout plan and economic-stimulus scheme out of Washington, our current politicians are committing the very acts of economic lunacy that "Atlas Shrugged" parodied in 1957, when this 1,000-page novel was first published and became an instant hit.

Rand, who had come to America from Soviet Russia with striking insights into totalitarianism and the destructiveness of socialism, was already a celebrity. The left, naturally, hated her. But as recently as 1991, a survey by the Library of Congress and the Book of the Month Club found that readers rated "Atlas" as the second-most influential book in their lives, behind only the Bible.

For the uninitiated, the moral of the story is simply this: Politicians invariably respond to crises -- that in most cases they themselves created -- by spawning new government programs, laws and regulations. These, in turn, generate more havoc and poverty, which inspires the politicians to create more programs . . . and the downward spiral repeats itself until the productive sectors of the economy collapse under the collective weight of taxes and other burdens imposed in the name of fairness, equality and do-goodism.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .

David Kelley, the president of the Atlas Society, which is dedicated to promoting Rand's ideas, explains that "the older the book gets, the more timely its message." He tells me that there are plans to make "Atlas Shrugged" into a major motion picture -- it is the only classic novel of recent decades that was never made into a movie. "We don't need to make a movie out of the book," Mr. Kelley jokes. "We are living it right now."

As always, the whole essay by Moore ("Atlas Shrugged: From Fiction to Fact in 52 Years") is worth the read.

One cannot but wonder who will be our John Galt.

Hat tip: JPL

Quote for the Day: Barbara Kingsolver

Don't expect God's protection in places beyond God's dominion. It will only make you feel punished. I'm warning you. When things go badly you will blame yourself. . . . Don't try to make life a mathematics problem with yourself in the center and everything coming out equal. When you are good, bad things can still happen; and if you are bad, you can still be lucky. --Barbara Kingsolver

I recognize that even the premise of the first sentence will offend the righteous, believing there can be no such place, but putting that aside, I like this. Nothing new about the sentiment, but I like the arrangement of the words. I'm listening to The Poisonwood Bible at the moment, so if the punctuation isn't right, please forgive. Beautiful book. I'll warn you though, it is as much a woman's book as Blood Meridian is a man's (and if that distinction doesn't make sense to you, read the two and you will never need to ask again).

A Conversation: "Where More Credit Is Due"

Over at The Archer Pelican, blog buddy Phil posted the following thought provoking proposition three days ago under the title, "Where More Credit is Due":

An emerging thought:

In America it seems to me that we often give too little respect to how hard things can be: whether the length of time it takes to mourn a lost relative, or how difficult it is to find the courage to apologize, or how scary it is to leave a job or a relationship.

That said, it also seems that we have to little faith in how strong we can be: whether in the ability to keep functioning while taking the time to cry, or the resolve to push our way through to saying what needs to be said, or the will to walk out a door and to keep walking while everything tries to pull you back.

I could be wrong, but that's the way it seems to me.

To which, a couple days later, I mustered the following response:

Phil, I'm gonna object to just one thing here. Well, not "object" so much as "recast." Among the things you think people don't credit the difficulty of is how scary it is to leave a job or a relationship. You're right, those things are scary, and sometimes one needs to summon the courage to do just that: leave. However . . .

A worse thing, I think (and recent experience of course makes this personal) is the corollary of that failure to respect the difficulty of a thing, i.e., the expectation people have that something should require little effort in the first place. This applies especially to relationships. If I understand you, you are saying that, in this country, we expect everything to come easily. And worse yet, we expect those things to be perfect. A good relationship is almost always the result of hard work, and even the best relationship is never perfect. Some relationships need to end, and the worst ones often take the most courage to leave. But our failure to respect the difficulty and complexity of human relationships sometimes means that people bail without really trying.

And trying to endure is not the same as trying to make a thing better. Better to bail than throw up one's hands and embrace martyrdom. But that false expectation of ease, I think, too often leads people to the martyr label before they have made an effort to make a thing better. Be it job or relationship. Again, some things are unfixable. I know that. But a corollary of your observation is that too many people don't think they should need to try.

I offer both here as an example of the reason I write or read blogs at all. They are, the ones I treasure most, like an ongoing seminar with people who are not only smart, they're my friends. When Susan Jacoby indicts blogs on the whole as anonymous venting by semi-literate, anti-rationalists in her book The Age of American Unreason (which I finished over the holidays and will have more to say about later and elsewhere), I can't help but think she lives in a different blogosphere than I.

Quotes for the Day: Chödrön and McCarthy

From: Comfortable with Uncertainty: 108 Teachings on Cultivating Fearlessness and Compassion, by Pema Chödrön; from #104 "Reversing the Wheel of Samsara":

Every act counts. Every thought and emotion counts too. This moment is all the path we have. This moment is where we apply the teachings. Life is short. Even if we live to be 108, life will still be too short for witnessing all its wonders. The dharma is each act, each thought, each word we speak.

From: Blood Meridian, by Cormac McCarthy:

The smallest crumb can devour us.

Correction: The Beanshooter Man

I titled yesterday's post "The Slingshot Man," and that ain't right, as we say where I'm from. He was, as Barry's cousin Chip Womick points out in a detailed story about him from 2001, the Beanshooter man. There's no predicting what posts will generate the most attention here, but since this one is working on breaking records, here's just the beginning of Chip's article, offered to whet your appetite:

Some area residents and most younger folks do not know the story of how an overall-clad Randolph County farmer named Rufus Hussey introduced Johnny Carson to a bit of downhome wit and wisdom.

Newcomers may have never heard of Hussey.

Some youth may have never heard of Carson.

But the two giants in their respective fields met on Jan. 23, 1986. When the on-the-air encounter was over, Carson smiled, grasped one of Hussey's huge hands in his and said, "You're a remarkable man. Pleasure to have you."

Carson, of course, was the king of late-night TV until his retirement.

And Hussey, well, he was the king of slingshots, though he was known far and wide as, and called himself, The Beanshooter Man.

Hussey died in February 1994 at the age of 74. When he suffered the heart attack that felled him, he was doing what he loved best - sitting at his dining room table, listening to the radio, and carving a slingshot from a piece of oak.

From: "H-e-e-e-e-re's Beanshooter Man," by Chip Womick. Worth the read. The account of Hussey on the Carson show is even more fun than the video of him shootin' June bugs off plant leaves, especially if you ever saw enough Carson to be able to imagine the exchange. Enjoy.

Hat tip: Barry

Old Dogs

Yesterday's post about dogs and about a good book and a good movie on the same topic brought a comment from Barry that I'm going to move at least an element of to the front page. Barry linked his comment to a Gene Weingarten story about the pleasures inherent in owning an old dog. And that article is what I want to tout today.

A good friend of mine who teaches creative writing likes to say that the clearest indication we're in the presence of truly good writing is when we think, as we're reading, "I wish I'd written that." There are a lot of those moments in the piece linked to above--passages that I paused to read aloud to . . . well . . . that's another post, but here's a sample I could particularly identify with:

I believe I know exactly when Harry became an old dog. He was about 9 years old. It happened at 10:15 on the evening of June 21, 2001, the day my family moved from the suburbs to the city. The move took longer than we'd anticipated. Inexcusably, Harry had been left alone in the vacated house -- eerie, echoing, empty of furniture and of all belongings except Harry and his bed-- for eight hours. When I arrived to pick him up, he was beyond frantic.

He met me at the door and embraced me around the waist in a way that is not immediately reconcilable with the musculature and skeleton of a dog's front legs. I could not extricate myself from his grasp. We walked out of that house like a slow-dancing couple, and Harry did not let go until I opened the car door.

When I stopped laughing, I remembered back to 2002, when we moved from Colorado to North Carolina. The movers had come and taken away everything we owned except for the small trailer load of things we would be moving ourselves the next day. That evening, we had one last event to attend: my daughter's dance recital. Normally, we would have left my dog, Sydni, in the back yard, but there were two things keeping that from being an option. First, I had already taken down the electric fence. (Yes, electric fence. Sydni was an escape artist. Shortly after I'd gotten her--a rescue dog I acquired when she was already two and a half--we'd looked out the back door to see her walking back and forth on the two-by-four top rail of our six-foot-high privacy fence. When we stepped out the door to call her, she immediately jumped down . . . on the other side, from which neighbor's yard she promptly escaped into the world at large. This was back in the day when she could run. Fast. For a long time. It was a Keystone Cops chase scene at its best. Every moment of which was a thoroughly enjoyable game to her. She wasn't running away. She was just running. She couldn't get enough.) The second reason was that an entire section of fence was down while new concrete set around the post I'd replaced that day. For some reason, "inexcusably," as Weingarten points out, we thought Sydni would be okay in the basement. Right. As with Weingarten's house, the basement, though finished and as much a part of the house as the upstairs, had been completely emptied of everything we owned. Bad idea.

We were only gone about three hours. But the next day we were a good six hours late hitting the road. I had to replace the basement door. And the carpet on the top step. And the board under the carpet. My poor dog. I guess she'd decided we'd emptied the house and then locked her in the basement for good. Hard to believe that was the same dog who now sleeps ninety percent of the day away. But she still prefers to be around people and disdains to eat alone. I can put her food down almost any time, but she'll not eat it until I or we sit down to dinner as well. And she gives the most awesome hugs. She doesn't wrap forearms around the waist like Harry above, but she buries her head into your legs, or your lap, or your chest and pushes as if she would burrow straight into your heart if she could. And, in her own way, she does.

One last thing: if you go to the link to read the Weingarten piece, be sure to click on the photo gallery as well. The photos of old dogs are worth it. My favorite is Kobi, photo number six. Sure, try to convince yourself that animals don't have souls. Good luck with that.