over the hills and far away

I believe today is the day. One year ago, my friend Andy Woodward passed away in his sleep, the result of a congenital heart failure. I don't want to make the attempt to condense into a silly blog entry all my memories and feelings surrounding the connection I had to him, but suffice it to say that he was a singular person.

Without a doubt, I am a better person for having known him, and to have experienced his powerful trajectory of peculiar individuality. Andy was fucking weird. Weird, brilliant, sometimes off putting, provocative, ludicrous, and almost charged with a desire to live his life to his own standards of person hood. I know that doesn't make any sense. It's hard to describe Andy in a way that is truly Andy.

Look, here's a picture of him and my pal Shannon when we were dumb 16 year olds:

And again, intentionally caressing a guitar case in an unsettling manner:

But I think this photo of us at our informal 5-year high school reunion is my favorite of Andy, as he's grown out of the horror show of adolescence. He graduated from Virginia Tech, and was completing his Master's in education so that he could teach high school English. Here he is, serenely bemused, a little hammy, and finally comfortable in his own skin:

I miss him, and can only helplessly question why someone with his brilliant and good-hearted potential had to turn it all in on account of a bum heart valve. RIP, Andy. May you discomfit all the angels of God's entourage.

how do you catch a cloud and pin it down?

I caught The Sound of Music on TV a week or so ago, right at the bit where Maria's leaving the abbey and pumping herself up to be the best gosh darned governess Captain von Trapp and his gaggle of anklebiters could ever imagine. Julie Andrews as Fraulein Maria has to be the most adorable lady ever pasted onto my television screen. I actually teared up a significant amount right in the middle of her "I Have Confidence!!!! IN ME!!!" routine, because I had realized that:

a) My mom grew up with this movie, and would have been at a somewhat impressionable age when it came out; I'm relatively certain it holds not only a lot of nostalgia or her but some significance for her adolescent attempts to form her sense of identity (she was kind of a quirky kid, no surprise). And:

b) Julie Andrews and my mother have some resemblance to each other, making point (a) more poignant. (It's easier to see in photos where they are of similar ages, but the angle here I thought was good for comparison.)

I never had much of a soft spot for The Sound of Music, but I think that's changed now. Also, I find I have a strong desire to get some Mary Poppins queued up. Brock has never seen it! Can you imagine!

a buddy in peril

This week has been strangely marked. The weather, hotter than usual, has left me groggy in the mornings. And, there have been nightly concerns to keep me up late when I have sworn I would retire earlier: Brock's cat has had serious troubles with his urogenital tract and given us some major scares. Tuesday night, he was squatting all over Brock's room and it was discovered that he had blood seeping from his willie. Brock rushed him to an emergency vet (AVETS in Monroeville), a catheter procedure was done to remove a urinary blockage, and Brock barely covered the payment for the outpatient procedure when an inpatient procedure would have been far preferable. With limited funds, though, there was essentially no option.

Oh Hay Buddy, How's It Goin', a cat.

The buddy seemed okay until last night, when he started peeing everywhere and then only passing tiny blood-tinged drops. We were pretty wrecked over it, especially because most vet treatment facilities offer limited options in payment plans, and it looked for a while like the buddy might have to be laid to rest to prevent suffering due to lack of funds. Thankfully, some helpful suggestions from posters on your local notboto board prompted us to hold on to some hope. Brock encouraged the buddy to drink, instead of withholding water for fear of bursting his (presumably blocked) bladder, and he found a payment solution via the CareCredit card. The situation is still a little uncertain, but last I heard from Brock's report, the little dude had managed a few instances of substantial weeing in his box overnight. He is taking the dude to see a vet today.

This whole trial has made me seriously consider getting some pet health insurance for Malachy, or simply applying for a credit card for cases of emergency like this one. I can't countenance the notion of having to give up on one of my favorite little dudes in all the world because I don't have the funding to save his ass. I was tore up enough over the idea of having to lose the buddy.

Fingers crossed for OHBHIG, King of Cats. We haven't had enough of his antics yet.

pretty basically

The following things can get fucked:
- unmitigated nostalgia
- tiny cat wounds that hurt more than they should
- the temperature in my apartment ever going above 78 degrees Fahrenheit
- tax problems
- weird hip pain all day & the ill-fitting shoes that exacerbate it

I am in favor of these things though:
- earl grey tea in the mornings
-Tenochtitlan by Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab
- time with dear old friends and family
- having dear old friends (and family)
- having cats to give me dumb hurty wounds
- Dan Savage's dirty mouth

and etc. I have to go do some things now.