A podcast about books, art & life — not necessarily in that order
From the few occasions that I’ve DJ’d, I learned there are 3 surefire things that will get people to dance:
However, when you’re at the, um, Sasquatch Festival (?), it can be a little trickier to start a massive dance party:
But I’m sure it’s more rewarding to get that sorta crowd up and dancing.
Hat tip: Matador Nights.
Ru & I made a surprise appearance at our Sunday greyhound hike, so he could sniff hello with the other greys and I could get out of the house for a little while. He was happy to see other dogs and to get affection and attention from all the other owners. I was happy to talk to people, as I’m going crazy here at home.
A few of them had seen the horrible photo of his leg 1 week after the attack, while some of others knew they wouldn’t be able to handle such a gory sight. They all dished the stories about how their greys managed to rip out stitches from past injuries, and were happy to see how well Ru’s wounds were healing, less than a week after surgery. One of the owners told me about how she made a flak-vest for her grey, to keep him from going after stitches on the middle of his back.
Once we got home, I opened my work e-mail and discovered that one of the PR guys I work with is going to adopt a grey this week! He and his wife had been thinking of getting a dog for a while, he told me. Between the various pictures of Rufus that I’ve run in my magazine’s From the Editor page, and the story of Ru’s injuries he heard after the BIO show, they decided to contact their local greyhound rescue group. They’re picking up their 2-year-old male this Thursday, after getting assurances that he’ll be okay around their two cats.
He lives in Philadelphia, so I told him that we’ll have to meet halfway in September, at the big greyhound picnic in Bridgewater, NJ!
Here are the pix he sent over of his soon-to-be fur-kid:
I like his dainty, cross-front-legged stance. Very coquettish.
And, just to tug on your heartstrings a little more, here’s a pic of The Ambassador from yesterday afternoon, hanging out down in my library:
This piece by baseball player Doug Glanville on how little players know about their teammates’ lives reminded me of the story about how Michael Jordan was shocked to discover that his teammate Steve Kerr’s father had been shot to death, albeit under much different circumstances than Jordan’s dad’s shooting death (PLO vs. two of the dumbest criminals ever).
I can’t recall if Jordan learned about that common bond before or after punching Kerr in the face during practice for guarding him too tightly.