Lopaka Lounge

My friends Mark and Barry live in LA.  They own and operate L.A. Outback,  a small business importing and selling didgeridoos as well as other Australian instruments and artifacts.  Mark and I used to play in a band together many years ago and to Mark’s credit, he actually put up with me as a roommate for a while before I met Ray.  I can’t say enough good things about these guys.

Several years back, I visited Mark and Barry in LA.  They had recently befriended a dog that they named Dingo.  Now, I’m not really much of a pet person and dogs tend not to be high on my list of animals (because, in my humble opinion, people don’t discipline their dogs very well and not everyone likes some yappy/barky thing jumping all over them–but I digress).  Anyway, Dingo was not like a dog at all.  He was a person.  I adored him instantly.  Every once in a while, you come across a dog with a remarkable disposition and Dingo had it.  This dog literally expressed human-like facial expressions and just…hung out with us.  I adored him and I could tell that he had become “one of the boys” to Mark and Barry.  Dingo was very lucky to have such doting parents.

Over the years, Dingo has had his share of doggy mishaps.  He had to have some surgery on his knees (I guess dogs have knees–who knew?) and he even survived a rattlesnake bite–which trumps my black widow experience.  The other day I was talking to Mark on the phone and I could hear in his voice that, even though he said he was fine, something was eating at him.  Dingo had been diagnosed with canine lymphoma.

That even got me choked up–hell, I’m getting all teary-eyed writing this.

Mark had just returned from taking Dingo in for treatment.  I could tell that this was going to be a difficult journey.  I just wanted to transport myself through the phone lines and give my friends big bear hugs because I know how much Dingo means to them.  Barry had said, “It’s not like it just one of our dogs or a dog that you have but is kind of difficult but you take care of anyway.  It’s a family member and almost everyone who shops at our establishment knows who he is.”

Mark emailed me the other day.  Dingo has decided to blog about his journey through canine lymphoma.  I have added his site, Our Buddy Dingo to my blogroll.  I encourage you to read it.  I’m also going to ask a big favor of anyone reading this right now; please close your eyes and say a little prayer for our buddy Dingo and while you’re at it, put in a good word for Mark and Barry.  It doesn’t matter what belief system you subscribe to, just send my friends some good vibes.  Dingo is the coolest dog I have ever met.  When you read his blog, you’ll totally know what I’m talking about.

I believe in the power of collective positive thinking.  Let’s all try to help Dingo get throught this.

I’m sorry blog.  I’ve been cheating on you.  I’ve got this thing on the side with a site called Facebook.  At least you’re hearing it from me and not from someone in town.  Please try to understand.  It’s just that lately, I don’t really have anything worthwhile to say to you.  Facebook makes it so much easier to post random little expressions as opposed to taking the time to compose my thoughts into actual paragraphs.  With my schedule and your being so demanding with my time, I just had to go to a site that understood my needs.   Please don’t cry.  This isn’t easy for me either.   Hey, at least only my “friends” can see my posts.  It’s not like I’m flaunting this affair around town…no, please, I want people to keep reading you.  I need you.

When I was growing up, my mother had a plaque in the kitchen that read “The Hurrier I Go, The Behinder I Get.”  I never understood what that meant until I got older.   As you age, you begin to slow down.  Then a friend or family member dies and there is a harsh slap-in-the-face reminder that time is ticking away so you try to go faster.  It’s like speedballing.  No wonder it killed Belushi.

I want to compose music, write that screenplay, go to the gym more often, learn Italian…but my fucking job keeps getting in the way.

Holy shit!  I can’t believe I just typed that!

I love my job.   I love that I have a job…but I hate the passage of time occurring right before my eyes when I have so much more to do.  With the losses Ray and I have experienced these past few years,  I feel like I’m running as fast as I can hearing the Grim Reaper’s sickle swooshing right behind my head.  When Brooke died at forty-seven, it was like he got a chunk of my hair.

I got word yesterday that a woman I knew casually at work passed away from a brain tumor.  My first thought was, “Did she ever get to all the things she wanted to?”  Probably not.  The whole thing is kind of amplified by Brooke’s death.  I know she didn’t get to do everything she wanted because that’s all we talked about–the myriad things we wanted to experience before we died.

The key thing I guess, is to keep on going.  Stop focusing on time itself and keep practicing my guitar.  Keep going to the gym.  Keep trying to figure out how to get the music out of my head and into a song that I can share with others.  I’d rather people remember me as someone who died trying instead of someone who sat around thinking about it.