Left all the dogs at home last night to see the Residents. You know them. Well, actually you don’t. No one does. They used to wear giant eyeballs over their heads to perform, now it’s just nylons and bunny ears and big eyelights. And sparkle tuxedos. Their identities are top secret. They’re sort of electronic music meets weird performance art production with sets that look like someone’s third grade class built and goes crazy with the light show. This performance, the Bunny Boy. Starts out about a creepy and insane redneck who lives in a shed and uses Youtube to find his brother and ends up being about the demise of culture through the apocolypse after the peak of technological advances.

Maybe you had to be there.

With me and a whole bunch of graying and balding guys in black t-shirts stretched tight over guts. And tattooed girls in bunny ears. During the break, we were out in the lobby talking to someone and a girl in a black satin dress, oddly hiked up on one side, came over to us, stared at Gary and whispered, “Are you laughing at me?” We all just stared at her, and she leaned back against the wall, and asked again. “Are you laughing at me?” Then slunk off, staring at us over her shoulder, wild look in her eye.

Came home to an email from a retired couple with a 14 year old jack russell who want a small female dog to hang out and watch tv with them and live in their luxurious house with a genuine yard and a doggy door. They want a dog just like Black Beauty. I told Gary about them and he just stares at me and shakes his head. Then he shuffles off, stares at me over his shoulder, and shakes his head. Got that LOOK in his eye.

I’m not laughing at anyone here. I didn’t MEAN to like this dog. Shrimpy little feral chihauhua from the pen up by the trailer. So now what do I do?