It's more than music

My wife and I were talking this morning about technology and our reliance on it.

Yesterday, many web sites closed down to protest an impending bill in congress called the Stop Online Privacy Act, or SOPA. This morning the paper had an article on the economic impact of such closures on commerce and basically how addicted we are to the technology we use.

Being a ‘junkie’ myself to todays wealth of gadgets and what they add to our everyday lives, I didn’t think too much of Katie’s comment about it being sad that we have withdrawals when we can’t access what we’ve become addicted to. Who doesn’t start a pot of coffee in the morning and then go over to the computer and go to Facebook, CNN, check their mail, or whatever else may interest them? I know I do, and when it doesn't work I start to get the wiggles in my knees and makes me want to jump and shout.

While I noted it is unfortunate we seem to need to text, or email, or chat, or any number of things that does not involve direct human communication. We also rely on our cars to get us to work, the gas that goes in the car, and the electricity that makes all of our technological fixes possible. We all rely on something that 50 years ago we didn’t have, or have much of.  So it appears that phone calls, letters, and face to face conversation is going the way of tube televisions, and our inability to live without the creature comforts of today, without some sort of symptom of withdrawal is now commonplace.

Along with the internet and the pantheon of other technological wonders is the MP3 player, and what it has done to the recording industry. This actually started about 30 years ago with the advent of the CD. All of your old, dusty, crackling albums were being replaced with digital equivalents that rendered your trusty LP’s obsolete. CD’s were great, they didn’t scratch, they didn’t have any hiss, and were virtually distortion free. You got a small case with album art, and all of the other information you got with a traditional long play record.

Now we’re looking at the obsolescence of the CD and CD player as a viable way to listen to our favorite music. Today, the MP3 rules. With just a couple of mouse clicks you can to to iTunes, or Amazon and download a complete album, or just a track or two. What you no longer receive anything tangible that you can hold onto.

When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to go to the record store and pick up the latest Springsteen or Stones album, put it on the turntable, and listen to the record while reading the liner notes. I wanted to know who wrote the songs, who played on the album, who produced it. In the case of older albums, I wanted to know what year it came out. I of course, wanted to listen to the music, but the music wasn’t complete without a history of what went in to making that record.

The discussion this morning, and my bemoaning the state of todays music, made me think of a favorite movie, and one of the best scenes regarding music ever filmed. The 1982 movie, “Diner” starred a cast of young actors including Mickey Rourke, Kevin Bacon, Steve Guttenburg, Daniel Stern, and Ellen Barkin. Stern, and Barkin were a young married couple going through what young married couples do. They were drifting somewhat, trying to figure it out. Sterns character, “Shrevie,” was a serious music fan. He alphabetized and categorized his record collection and knew all there was to know about the music he loved. Barkin “ didn’t give a shit,” she just wanted to listen to the music.

Shrevie's wife Beth was listening to some music one evening, going through his collection Shrevie noticed some of his albums in the wrong section, or not alphabetized correctly. When he asked Beth, about this,  she exclaimed, ‘Shrevie, it’s just music!” That was the wrong thing to say. I’ve had very heated exchanges with people about this very statement, and no, it’s not just music. It’s a part of your life, it takes you back to when you were a child, or when you met your first girlfriend, or your first kiss. Music is magical. It can make you laugh, or it can make you cry. Music is truly a history of your life, and in some ways a peek into your future.

I think if Shrevie were around, (and maybe he is) I don’t think he’d like the way music has evolved, or at least the way you listen to it. Something always seems to get left behind as we move on to bigger and better. I’m not so sure that is always a good thing. No longer, is there any records to touch.

For the love of Dado

A couple of Christmas’ ago, my daughter gave me a small framed picture of our beloved little mini poodle, Rachel. When I opened the present that morning and saw the picture I cried like a baby. Rachel had passed several years ago having lived a full and wonderful life. She touched us all, but in particular me, in ways I hadn’t expected.

Rachel, or ‘Rachie’ as we often called her was adopted by my ex wife and I not long after we bought our first house. Cheryl just had to have a dog, and like everything else, I reluctantly agreed. We had registered with the local dog pound, the kind of dog we were looking for. We both had had little black poodles in our past,  and thought that if we were going to have a dog, a small black poodle would be preferred.

After a trip back from Black Butte one weekend, there was a message on the answering machine from the pound about a dog they had. This was on a Sunday and Cheryl just had to drive all the way to north Portland from Aloha to go check out this dog. I sure as hell wasn’t going so I hung out waiting to see what was going to happen.

What happened was that she brought a dog home. A scrappy, mangy, scared, little mini poodle named Rachel. Cheryl decided to go to the store and get supplies for this little bundle of joy and left me with the pooch. After a few stand-offish moments, I finally got her to come up on the couch. Soon after I got her to come over and let me pet her. By the time Cheryl got home the dog was in my lap and I had a new best friend.

Asleep with Dad

In the next few weeks we got her groomed, fixed, and she became a part of the family. Well, not really a part of the family, she became like our child. We took her everywhere. Much to the chagrin of my wife, Rachy and I became best buds. I mean, I didn’t even want a damn dog, but how I could I resist this cute little dog who had became my first ‘little girl?’ For whatever reason she seemed to mind me and pretty much ignore the commands of my wife. All I had to do was in a stern voice say ‘Rachel!’ and whatever she was doing she’d stop and come running. Unless of course all six pounds of here were running across the street to challenge a dog four times her size for neighborhood supremacy, in which case trying to get her to mind was futile.

Along the way we did have our difficulties. We had to work so of course we would leave Rachel home to fend for herself. I was the first one home from work, and more often than not Rachel would have a couple of greeting cards waiting for me in the form of a wet carpet and a pile of dog poop. At first I’d just pick it up, yell ‘No, Rachel!!’ and call it good. As she continued to leave her messes for me to find I grew continually agitated. One day after arriving home there was poop and pee everywhere. I rolled up a paper dragged her over to her messes, rubbed her nose in them and proceeded to whip her little but. When I was done she ran to her little bed and I proceeded to whack her a few more times. As I was doing this, this precious little dog was cowering and looking at me with her sweet, innocent eyes, asking me the question “Daddy, why are you hitting me?” I just stopped. I looked at her and thought “Why am I hitting this little dog who doesn’t really understand what she did wrong?” I immediately picked her up and held her and apologized to her and told her I’d never strike her again, which I never did. As I held her and apologized she enthusiastically licked my face and gave the look “It’s ok daddy, I still love you!” Oh, and did I fail to mention that she liked to get into the garbage too?

Rachel loved to run and chase birds. We noticed early on that she had a bit of a gimp and would drag her left hind leg. We contacted the pound and got some x-rays they had and discovered she had hip displacia, a genetic defect from over breeding. For the most part she just dealt with it and ran freely when she was young, but as she got older she would  favor it more and more.

Things seemed to go along this way for quite awhile. A small, but happy little family. But one thing was missing from this family, and that was a baby. We eventually had a baby, our precious little Angela. Rachel took to Angela immediately and was very protective of her. After Angela was born, we brought home her ‘blanky’ and let Rachel sniff it and become acclimated with Angela’s scent. When we brought Angela home, Rachy was ready and she too fell in love with our new addition.

Rachel was great. She never seemed to feel threatened by Angela, or feel like she wasn’t getting enough attention, even though Angela demanded much our time and energy. There wasn’t as much time for Rachel, but she was still a very happy little dog.

As Angela got a little older and was starting to put words together she came up with what would be Rachel’s new nickname, Dado. Not sure how you get Dado from Rachel, but that’s the way it happened. I’ll never forget the time Rachel had done something bad and I had to scold her. Angela came around the corner, pointed her finger at Rachel and said, ‘deeba gabba, gabba, dooba, deeba, daaba DADO!!!’ Being duly scolded, I think Dado licked Angela on the face.

My favorite picture of Dado

Eventually, Cheryl and I got divorced, and Dado went to live with her and Angela. I got Angela every other weekend, but I didn’t get Dado. I don’t know why looking back,  think it was probably the apartments I lived in didn’t take dogs. It was a difficult time, and I could have used the companionship, I missed her. Later, as she got older, I did have her over with Angela, but I could sense time was short.

Dado started to get cataracts, and became hard of hearing. Her airway we surmise started to either close or get less pliable, so she coughed a lot. Sometimes she’d be fine, other times it was pretty bad. Cheryl finally called one day and thought maybe it was time to think about putting her down. I knew it was about time, but I didn’t want to think about it. Later, we agreed that it was time. She just couldn’t see well, the coughing was getting worse, and her quality of life wasn’t very good.

She spent one last weekend with Angela and I, and it was very sad. She had a good couple of days. She ate pretty well, and seemed pretty happy. But I knew this was going to be ‘it’ as it were and it was very difficult. When the weekend was over I think I took Angela to school, and Dado back to Cheryl for the last time.

I went to work that morning dreading getting the phone call. I don’t remember what time it was, but it was morning. It was Cheryl, bawling, wondering if she had done the right thing. She did, and our little Dado was gone. She went very peacefully, just drifted off and went to sleep, her journey with us over.

People will ask, ‘why write about your dead dog?’ Well why not? She was a very important part of my life. She was my ‘little girl’ before I had one. I can’t put into words how special she was to all of us, and how she should not, and will not be forgotten. I believe a merciful God has a place for all of us in Heaven, especially for our beloved little dogs. I look forward to the day when I see Dado again, running free, chasing the birds.