Be cool, Edsel

You know how I hate for anyone to make a fuss, but my throat hurts. All I ask is that you stampede to your local Catholic church and light a candle. Or put one of those vague posts on social media about how you "need prayers" for some undisclosed or unknown-to-us person.

Dear God: For some reason, this person on Facebook needs prayers. Catch ya.

God's all, That was helpful. Like I don't have enough to do.

Anyway, none of this matters because what does is my throat hurts. My hairapist texted me Thursday that she needed prayers. No. She didn't. She texted me that she had a cold, and if I wanted to cancel that would be okay, but given how tough and no nonsense I am, I went anyway.

And now look at me. LOOK AT ME. There goes my tombstone. No name or anything. Just Look At Me. Or, Needs Prayers. At that point I guess it'd be too late.

So. My weekend.

I was determined to Stay Busy, as people tell you to do, but then I became obsessed with this other series on OJ, this many-parted documentary that Hulk told me about, and I always listen to Hulk. Oh my god it's riveting. And I was, like, into the third hour of it, the whole time going, Who is that WOMAN they keep talking to? What did she have to do with anything?

It was Marcia Clark. Hello, plastic surgery. She looks great. I mean, compared to the poodle/boxer mix look she had in the '90s. She def got the eye bags taken care of and for this I applaud her. Really, the longer I watch this documentary and the other one I saw, the more I'm like. Oh. I so get it, black people. I'd be pissed, too. I'd root for him too.

He still did it, of course. But I get what they're saying.

On Friday night, I decided I could not have one more fish stick, so I went to the store and got salmon, and little red potatoes, and salad things, and made an elaborate dinner for myself. I mean, elaborate for me, in that it did not involve slapping something frozen on a plate and microwaving it.

I asked the–what's he called? Chef? Barber? BUTCHER, god, the butcher to cut the skin off the back of the salmon, a thing my mother said I should do, but every time I ask for that, they act the way Steely Dan does around a coffee cup. In other words, appalled. They probably scratch around where I was standing, when I leave.

Speaking of SD, this morning I was putting one of my cowgirl band-aids on a blister, and one band-aid fell in the toilet.

This fascinated Steely ridiculous Dan. He spent the next 10 minutes trying to fish it out of there, sticking his head way in and sneezing when he hit water. When I finally had to leave the bathroom, I shut the lid lest he drown himself like Narcissus.

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The reason I have a blister is that both days of this weekend I took Edsel on enormously long walks, longer than my dick, even. Here he is with his usual lack of cool, trying to befriend one of the neighborhood cats. Every day we encounter then, and every day he whines and wags his tail and wants to shake paws with them and drop off an Avon catalog, and every day all the cats say fuck off. Actually, there's one exceedingly mellow cat at Ava's house who is willing to walk right up to Eds, but then he gets too excited and the cat huffs off.

Edsel. Be cool.

On Saturday night I had a date, which you'll be surprised to hear I was "eh" about. HOW MANY DATES before I'm not "eh"? HOW MANY? What if I go the rest of my life not liking anyone but Ned, who will be married to a 26-year-old with zero hips? That's whom he's banging in my mind. She never has any hips at all. And he doesn't even like really skinny women.

We went to an Arthur Miller play, because cheerful, and then out for a drink, which turned into Let's order appetizers, which turned into me eating bacon cheese tater tots at 11 p.m., and why so chubby?

It also turned into me taking the leftovers home, and why so chubby again?

Sunday was a really pretty day, so Edsel and I got in the car to go to Country Park, which is where I used to take Tallulah every single evening back when I was a new dog owner and totally into it. I'd take her to day care all day, then for a long walk in the park followed by the dog park part where she'd run around for like an hour or two, and now it's all Edsel's lucky if I even feed him.

The point is, as soon as we got there I got sweaty. The place was teeming–teeming!!–with dogs, which, what did I expect with the beautiful day and all? We walked the loop all the way around the park, which was probably a 45-minute walk, and every few seconds there'd be another goddamn dog.

And?

He was fine. Oh, sure, there was one idiot I passed twice who had her Beagle on a retractable leash that was 400 feet out and that thing got right in our lane. Edsel knitted a very, very tall-eared pussy hat and took to the street shouting over that one, but other than that? He'd maybe whine a little if another dog made eye contact, but he never once barked and snarled and carried on as he usually does. I couldn't believe it. And he walked right next to me, even a little behind me, like a well-trained dog.

It wasn't till we were driving home that it hit me. Prozac. I think his Prozac kicked in!

The other thing to happen at that park was that I was down by the little lake when I heard my name. This woman way up on another trail was all, "JUNE! JUNE!" Waving frantically with both arms and all. "Hi, June!"

"Well, hi!" I said, waving frantically back.

I have no idea who it was. The woman used my real name, and I feel like a reader would say June even knowing my name is not June.

Unsolved Mysteries. Remember that show?

And the first person to say Hey, June, why didn't you also take your phone with you when you had Edsel on a leash and a bottle of water and no pockets? Why? Why didn't you take pictures? Why, June? Why? No pictures, June?

The first person to say that gets snarled at.

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I did take my phone and go all the way next door, to Peg's because her tulip tree is blooming. Which doesn't always happen. And then half the time when it does bloom, there's a freeze and they all die. Tulip tree. A brilliant idea for this region, on someone's part.

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Also, why?

I leave you now so I can go watch more of the OJ documentary, and I'm going to be sad when it's over and I can't think about Broncos and DNA and Ron Goldman's stoicism. Good lord. Go back to your barber shop quartet, dude. Sing about Daisy, Daisy giving you her answer, do.

I'll talk to you tomorrow if I'm still alive, what with dealing with this sore throat and all. Dear Mom: I already did. Warm salt water. Did it.

Throatily,

Juan

62 thoughts on “Be cool, Edsel

  1. My favorite way to have salmon is to make someone else eat it. I think I’m the only person in the universe who hates it.

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  2. Oooh, I have a 12-year-old in my house who does that. And when you try to pry what is wrong out of her, as you suppose she wants, her head spins around and she pukes green pea soup! She’s skeery when she’s mad.

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  3. I don’t have any dog park stories, but I do have three ridiculous cats. SRD!
    I feel you on the whole “eh” about dating. I have yet to be interested enough in a man to even get to a first date, which is why I haven’t, for four years. Definitely not a good dating plan, but I just can’t be interested, right now. I’m sure that someone will come along who will genuinely get your and my interests. Someday. Eh.
    I put you on the prayer chain at my church for your tuberculosis. OK, not really, but I wanted to.

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  4. Told ya. Wait til you get to the last hour of the fourth episode when the guy lays out what he thinks really happened and they show all the crime scene pics!

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  5. I also saw the documentary Made in America. You know I love the documentaries.
    Seeing both that and People v OJ Simpson does make it clear why he was found innocent when he so clearly was not.
    He is up for parole this year.
    I am considering reading Marcia Clark’s book, even though it is 20 years old.
    I am praying like crazy for you, Joob.

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  6. I appreciate your verbal restraint. I use a Caribbean jerk marinade as a glaze that I’ll put on the last few minutes of baking. Super easy and really good.

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  7. We have a saucer magnolia, tulip tree, outside the kitchen window that’s been blooming for a couple of weeks now. I’ve never noticed any sap dripping. So I google fucking it and it seems your tree had scale. It was not sap that was dripping but rather um, excrement!

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  8. Vellichor has been my nom de plume in the past. My Christian name, though, in Vulvaspor, which is defined as the strange listlessness of chain bookstores, especially the mall bookstores of the 1980s, and very specifically the Waldenbooks at the Fashion Square Mall in Saginaw, Michigan from 1983 through 1987.

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  9. Yes, I hate those, too. It reminds me of junior high slumber parties, with the one girl who always acts upset and makes everyone else pull out of her what is wrong, just because she wants attention.
    I HATED junior high slumber parties.

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  10. This is very, very good to know. I was researching whether or not the tree could live here, and after reading your comment, I just stopped.

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  11. Believe me, Ned isn’t looking for a woman with zero hips. Unless he’s looking for a fourteen year-old boy.
    I spent two futile years on OK Stupid trying to find a woman with hips. Two years. To no avail. Something happens to women in their menopause years. Their hip-to-waist ratio nulls out. I mean, once that happens, what’s the point of anything?

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  12. We had a tulip tree. In New York. My (sainted) mother called it That Goddamned Tulip Tree, because it dripped sap (or worse, I don’t really know, but something sticky) on the cars. (No, there was no place else to park the cars but under TGTT.) Then the bulbs would fall off, bonk you on the head, bonk the cars and ultimately, my mother, older but not yet sainted, fell and broke her knee because of a fallen bulb from TGTT.
    When my parents died and we moved here, we had TGTT removed. It was enormous. The tree removal people had to get a special kind of truck carrier thing hitched onto their regular truck because the stump of TGTT was about eight or ten feet across.
    TGTT was pretty for maybe three days every year. We’ve never missed it.

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  13. We had a tulip tree. In New York. My (sainted) mother called it That Goddamned Tulip Tree, because it dripped sap (or worse, I don’t really know, but something sticky) on the cars. (No, there was no place else to park the cars but under TGTT.) Then the bulbs would fall off, bonk you on the head, bonk the cars and ultimately, my mother, older but not yet sainted, fell and broke her knee because of a fallen bulb from TGTT.
    When my parents died and we moved here, we had TGTT removed. It was enormous. The tree removal people had to get a special kind of truck carrier thing hitched onto their regular truck because the stump of TGTT was about eight or ten feet across.
    TGTT was pretty for maybe three days every year. We’ve never missed it.

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  14. We had a tulip tree. In New York. My (sainted) mother called it That Goddamned Tulip Tree, because it dripped sap (or worse, I don’t really know, but something sticky) on the cars. (No, there was no place else to park the cars but under TGTT.) Then the bulbs would fall off, bonk you on the head, bonk the cars and ultimately, my mother, older but not yet sainted, fell and broke her knee because of a fallen bulb from TGTT.
    When my parents died and we moved here, we had TGTT removed. It was enormous. The tree removal people had to get a special kind of truck carrier thing hitched onto their regular truck because the stump of TGTT was about eight or ten feet across.
    TGTT was pretty for maybe three days every year. We’ve never missed it.

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  15. I am south of L.A. and the retention pond across the street is eroding. We had 15 trucks and 27 people out looking it over trying to decide what to do. They put up some yellow caution tape and a Sidewalk Closed sign and drove away. Our government employees in action.
    Oh and I love all the rain. It needs to keep coming. Last year we only had 4 inches the whole year and I don’t care how you look at it 4 inches just isn’t enough. Not in rain and definitely not on a man.

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  16. i miss california orange blossoms. i lived in the loma linda area and there were still several orchards in the early 80s. the smell was divine. i’d drive those back roads with the windows of my 64 buick rolled down.
    also – glad you posted the name of the documentary. i tried watching the people vs oj and i just.could.not.

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  17. My 80 pound lab mix loved our local dog park. Unfortunately, we have Bumpus people who don’t follow the rules and let their aggressive asshole dogs bother others. My dog was attacked by a Bumpus dog. We ended up having to take her to an emergency vet for 30 stitches. The Bumpus reply to their dog tearing a hole in my dog?? “It’s a dog park.” They shrugged and walked away.
    I wish we had a good dog park we could still go to, but I just can’t take the chance again. Sigh.

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  18. There’s a whole family (four generations – at least 15 people from strollers to walkers) that shows up at our dog park (and by that I mean MY dog park) with their Bumpus hounds and several buckets of KFC. They eat their chicken and throw the bones to the baying hounds. Imagine the reaction in at MY high faultin’ upscale dog park to that raucous round up. The best parts are the whole family eating their dinner off the tables that we all know countless dogs have walked all over and all their little kids walking barefoot. It’s a spectacle. When we see them there we just keep on driving to the even nicer park a few miles further up the road!

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  19. I have never heard of a tulip tree. They are beautiful when they flower.
    I remember the old days, when California got all the good weather. Those days are long gone. My backyard is underwater, and my hillside has sprung a spring, and it is pouring out water, drowning all my plants. I wish I learned how to swim better because if the rain doesn’t let up, you will find my (even more) bloated, dead body floating down some creek in the near future.

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  20. Our local dog park separates dogs, too. I took my dogs one time and they both were pretty much “GET US OUT OF HERE NOW!” They prefer the security of being on a leash and being walked to the chaos of the dog park. They don’t even like being walked near the dog park. Gracie Lou will start whimpering and trying to climb up my back if we approach it.
    I, however, have gone into the big dog section by myself to play with the dogs. Because I’m weird like that. They’re always happy to have a new sucker willing to throw the ball and give tummy rubs.

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  21. I watched quite a bit of that documentary yesterday, too. There was a lot I had forgotten. I was in graduate school with my head wedged in my own life and work that I didn’t really tune into the impact of the Rodney King police verdicts on the OJ sitch. Riveting! I was so tickled by the helicopter pilot turned tranny (his/her words).
    Hope you feel better!

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  22. No dog park etiquette!
    I’ve never liked the segregation by size idea – some small dogs are big dogs in their own minds and vice versa. Our Bella weighs 12 lbs and she has no problem with the big guys. Plus little dogs cause way more trouble. Too nippy and nervous for her taste!

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  23. We make a special concoction for our salmon and when it’s cooked to perfection, it cuts like butter.
    Now I’m hungry.

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  24. Sorry your date was “eh.” I am feeling “eh” because of the rain today. In February. In Minnesota. It’s weird.
    Glad Edsel was not barky at the park.
    Lovely post, lovely June!

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  25. That OJ documentary was amazing. It was on Viceland yesterday and I watched it again. I thought I knew pretty much everything about that trial but I learned so much new stuff. I’m glad you are enjoying it. And I’m super glad to hear Edsel seems to be improving. That’s wonderful news. Just for the record, I would probably be so excited if I saw you out and about that I’d call you June. Please don’t die. I don’t think I can take any more stress. I’m about maxed out.

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  26. I’m going to put words into Mother’s mouth.
    “June, the man behind the counter who handles the fish is called the fish monger.”

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  27. Our park separates the big dogs and small dogs. I used to have both so I would have to take the small dog in the small dog park and keep the big dogs on the leash. They would sit all bored and ignore the little dogs. Then I would take the big dogs to their park and the little dog would get all excite and want to play with the big dogs but any dog under 20 pounds wasn’t allowed. It was a shit show. There was a man who would bring all three of his big dogs into the small dog park and here would run these 100 pound mastiff mix all over the little dogs. His excuse was that they were puppies. OK but they weigh a ton and are 5 ft tall. Yes we have the lady who abandons her two little wiener dogs while she goes to Starbucks and the man who goes and sits in his car while his Pug humps all the other dogs.

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  28. Sometimes, if lucky, the skin sticks to the grill or pan and you can wedge the spatula between the meat of the fish and the skin, it is perfection! Salmon is great cooked with Soy Vey!

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  29. I agree. There’s a nice little layer of fat (the good kind) between the skin and the salmon that makes the fish “damp” (don’t want to use that word) and delicious. The skin comes right off after it’s cooked, and the animals love it. Also too, my favorite way to cook it is to marinate it in soy sauce for about 20 minutes, add lemon pepper, and either cook it on the bbq or in a grill pan for about 8-10 minutes.
    I hope Eds is on the way to recovery.

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  30. Junie… get over your sore throat please. You know your mom is right…salt water gargles… hot salt water, of course!
    So what about the date… going on a second one?
    I too am wondering about the Prozac… my Marley has such an obnoxious barking issue… dogs and people! But then… I am one who believe NOT in medicine… too many side effects…but maybe…love you!

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  31. June, we always buy our salmon with the skin on as it prevents it from being so dry. (I almost said that word most readers tend to hate.) After it’s cooked, you can remove the skin.

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  32. I originally wondered why in the world were they doing these remakes of the trial when it was carried live at the time. Hadn’t everyone already seen it? Right then I knew…

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  33. 1994!!!??? That means there are ADULTS out there who did not watch the slo-speed chase. I feel so old.
    I hope you recover, pretty June.

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  34. That’s the one. And her dog is totally out of control, hence the need for the leash. Here’s a tip – if your dog requires a leash, you don’t need a dog park. Just walk on the sidewalk.
    We once watched a woman try to catch her dog for over an hour at the dog park. She told us it happens every time. I’m like “well maybe the dog park just isn’t for you”. She was flummoxed. Because really – unless you just let the dog go and then immediately start trying to catch it, aren’t you spending an AWFUL lot of time here? Geesh.
    Do you have the people who let their dogs go in the park and then sit in their cars and talk on their phones? I’ve called the park ranger more than once on those buttholes. One lady even let her dog out and then went across the street to do her grocery shopping. WHAT THE? I watched her do it and then I called the ranger. “Um… I don’t know but it seems like there’s a stray dog here…” Yup. I’m that person.

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  35. Vaguebooking. It’s the worst. Although sometimes I look at that “Your memories” thing on Facebook and think “what in the HELL was I talking about?” Haha! But that’s more an old age problem than anything. I’m anything BUT vague.

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  36. It’s called Made in America. But I did not live in LA during either the murder or the trial. I moved to LA on February 1, 1997. The murders were 1994, the trial was in 1995.

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  37. What’s the name of the documentary? I’d like to watch it. Have you told your readers you lived in LA during the trial? Possibly the murder? Were you there for that?

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  38. I hate the vague “Need prayers, stat!” posts as much as I hate the vague, attention whore posts of “Heartbroken” which guarantee someone asking what’s wrong and the attention whore replying, “I can’t talk about it.” Then shut your effing piehole, you twit!
    A friend of mine does this on a regular basis and I practically go into contortions to prevent myself from making a snarky comment on her attention whoredom.
    If Edsel’s Prozac kicked in, he’s probably just trotting along, saying “Hey. ‘sup?” and doing the doggy version of the chin lift to the other dogs.
    And Steely Dan. That Darn Cat.

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  39. When someone posts a prayer request I always think of Jim Carey in Bruce Almighty. You know how all the prayer requests are emails and there are bazillions of them? That is what I picture when someone posts a prayer only add Facebook to it. Can’t you see God sitting there with his Ipad, because God of course would have an Ipad, saying “Me damn-it! Would you just tell me who needs prayers for what?”
    Also and too we had rain all weekend for which of course all of us Californians sent out vague prayer requests. Dear God we are really dry and need some rain to recharge our aquifers and lakes because I can’t wash my Bentley or water my Beverly Hills lawn with the grass imported from Italy with the sprinklers imported from Germany maintained by my gardener who is imported from Myanmar. Ahhmen.
    Which brings me to a question do you say A-men or Aw-man?
    Lovely post and I will be praying vaguely for your sore throat and dust mite allergy.

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  40. Oh how I enjoyed this post so much! On the run this morning, too much to comment on, I would just be reciting the whole ding dang post. A dust mite allergy diagnosis and now a sore throat? The world can be so cruel. God is going to wonder why there’s tens of people praying today for sore throat relief for a big haired lady in Greensboro. He’s going to be confused with the blog name and real name being different though. One of us will have to explain it to him.
    Happy Monday, y’all!
    You’re so pretty, Joob!

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  41. “Unspoken prayer request”. Well didn’t you just speak it? I have a whole prayer rant I could go off on that involves God and a Prayer-o-Meter, but I’ll spare you.
    I find that the only dogs that create drama at the dog park are the ones on leashes. I think the leash creates some mental thing that they feel the have to be the aggressor. Our park can have dozens of dogs milling and running around peacefully and then one a-hole shows up with a dog on a leash and all hell busts loose.
    Be well June. I am praying for you.

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  42. “…drop off an Avon catalog…” Flump!
    I was thinking the Edz was feeling the Prozac with him being all mellow at the dog park. Love the photo of SD in the basket. That is so cat.

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