It's a Dog's Life

I'm house sitting for a friend this week. More accurately, I'm dog sitting. My charge? One Harpo, the No. 1 Dog of Deb Klein, formerly of Hi-Fi Records in JP, the Mary Reillys -- and now a New Yorker and part of a new band -- my new band, a veritable supergroup -- featuring members of the Anchormen, the Reillys, the Ergs, and the Kung Fu Monkeys.

But this entry isn't about me. No, it's about Harpo. And taking care of a dog. Harp's an aging Chow mix who's a bit of a Snuffleupagus, as well as an Eeyore, but who's still a champ, not a chump. I woke early this morning to walk him down Second Avenue. And I left work early-ish this evening to do so again. I've never really been responsible for another living thing for a long amount of time before.

He's very smart and loving, and I hope he enjoys my stay in Deb's stead. Several things have been fascinating me. One, dog-walking etiquette. You need to be aware of glass, go where the dog wants to go without being led all over, and remain cognizant of other dogs. There's this whole "Is he cool?" "He's cool," thing that happens with dog owners. Or not. This morning, I think I was overly effusive when I assured a woman that "Mine's nice." She sniffed and walked away.

There's also the whole peeing and pooping thing. Dogs sniff a lot. They smell around a lot. They don't pee everywhere they smell, and they only poop if they smell the ground first -- not a tree stump or fire extinguisher. I feel like I'm overly proud of the Harpster -- proud when he walks where I want to go, proud when he pees if I think he will, proud if I pick up all his poop in a plastic bag.

Anyhoo, we're home now, and I go between trying to entertain myself -- and trying to entertain him. He's this big, intelligent, independent being I can influence. But we can't really interact. And I'm concerned that my attention is just irritation.

"Come on, Harpo. Come on, Harpo. Come on."

"Oh. Just leave me alone, wouldja?"

Rest in Peace VII

Two Media Diet-style musicians on different ends of the musical spectrum passed away recently. Steve Lacy, an innovative soprano saxophone player whose jazz recordings grouped him with such musicians as Cecil Taylor -- and who ended his days teaching at the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston -- died Friday. And Robert Quine, an Ohio native and punk-rock guitarist who played with Richard Hell and the Voidoids, may have committed suicide last week.

Rest in peace, you two.

Free to Be... Freelance? II

Similar to Lingua Franca's reclaiming paid wages from freelancers earlier this year, near-worthless Worth magazine is going after the former independent scribes for the finance magazine, seeking to rescind their already paid paychecks. The law firm contacting the freelancers asked them to repay their wages in a scant six days. Pay to be published, anyone?

Nervy, Pervy XXIV

Spell out your name in naked bodies: Porno Nombre.

The Free-Range Comic Book Project XXXVIII

This is an installment of Media Diet's Free-Range Comic Book Project:

Harley Quinn #5 (DC, April 2001). Writer: Karl Kesel. Artist: Terry Dodson. Location: On a bench near the corner of 23rd Street and Lexington Avenue.

For more information on this project, please refer to this Media Diet entry.

You Light up My Life

Yes, the Hancock Tower in Boston is lit up in a way that means something, but it seems that
the Empire State Building in New York City does, too.

'Course, Boss Town's light, say, tells the weather -- which is eminently useful in New England -- but the Big Apple's has more lights... And a schedule.

Like, tonight's colors mean, um, "New York." Doesn't the Empire States Building? Regardless, I like the idea of an ambient urban signifier.

Music to My Ears LIV

I just realized that the song played by the ice cream truck in my neighborhood is "Barnacle Bill the Sailor." Same on the lower east side. Played and played and played, almost so much that it's played out.

Now, what kind of ice cream truck driver would choose a song about drinking, swearing, and smoking? Mine, it seems.

Cover Story VII

MagazineArt is an online gallery of magazine cover art from the 19th and early 20th centuries. So far the "visual database" collects material from monthlies, weeklies, popular science titles, and pulp fiction magazines. The service draws on a lot of external sources, which makes understanding which elements are MagazineArt-specific somewhat difficult, and it takes awhile to actually get into the cover thumbnails, which are wonderful indeed. Especially this one: "What makes a magazine cover?" Indeed! Come see.

Music to My Eyes XXV

The Lot Six have a new music video available. Shot by guitarist Julian Cassanetti, it's for the song "I Get So Down," and it's well worth your attention.

Zine Seen

Zine World may be looking for several new reviewers soon. If any Media Dieticians are interested in contributing -- and can pledge to submit their reviews on deadline -- email me (contact info on the left), and I'll share your query with the editor.

Pulp Friction

Kudos to Charles Ardai and Max Phillips, ex-CEO and art director for the ISP Juno, for cashing out -- and stepping up with a new media project. Following a merger, the two launched a pulp fiction imprint, Hard Case Crime, with Dorchester Publishing. The publisher's wares will include classic pulp work by folks like Erle Stanley Gardner, as well as writing by new authors. One of those newcomers is Phillips, whose Fade to Blonde snuck in on the first six titles. Let's just hope that Hard Case isn't a vanity project.

The Free-Range Comic Book Project XXXVII

This is an installment of Media Diet's Free-Range Comic Book Project:

Ghost #3 (Dark Horse, June 1995). Writer: Eric Luke. Artists: Tom Grummett, Paul Guinan, Adam Hughes, and Casey Jones. Location: On a bench at the Grand Central stop on the 7 line.

For more information on this project, please refer to this Media Diet entry.