It's sort of the rock equivalent to jazz's Live at Massey Hall. (A live concert in Montreal with Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Charles Mingus, Max Roach and Bud Powell. Arguably the best players on their instruments in the history of jazz.)

Every show I've seen at Massey gave me chills just because of that. (It's Toronto, though.)

I kind of don't get the point of the Broadway show of Million Dollar Quartet. I mean, the reason that people want to listen to the original recording is because of the guys on it -- most people have heard most of those songs a zillion times before, just not played by them in that sort of setting. Having a show where other people play and sing those songs seems to miss something. I mean, from what I saw of them tonight, they're very talented and do very good versions of the songs, but if it were between seeing the show and buying the album, I'd buy the album, no question.

Edit: And not just because tickets probably start around $100, and the more expensive Special Edition CD is $17.

Actually, bonny, I have a friend whose dog is having such separation anxiety that they are close to being evicted because they cannot stop the barking anytime they leave the house. I've been meaning to ask you about it but right now I don't remember the details of what they've tried. I might e you (or have her do so?) in case you have any advice.

My quick suggestions for separation anxiety are to create a quick, emotion-free routine that makes coming and going a non-event. Make sure the routine is exactly the same every time.

Resolve the issues that contribute to overall anxiety and the separation anxiety will diminish by definition.

Bartleby screamed so much when I first got him, he made his throat bleed...and I could hear him at the opposite end of my city block. It was heartbreaking and massively annoying to my landlord, immediately downstairs.

Once we got our routine together and I became the lead dog, all that went away.

The push exercise I recommended upthread also works for this.

More than anything, you gotta check your own energy.

I had a client on Friday with the exact same problem...to the extent that the next door neighbor wrote a letter about how the noise was physically harming her. When I asked about the 'putting away' routine (the dog's range area MUST be very small, dark and cool...which is why I love the crate), the woman described something very effective. When I asked her to show it to me, something else entirely came to light. She was spending 10 minutes 'soothing' (read: transferring her anxious/guilty energy to) the dog and then gritting her teeth as she closed the door.

Coming and going must be a NON-event.

These days, Bartleby sees the 'leaving treat' and runs to the same spot in his room, flops down and wishes me bon voyage. On the days when he doesn't want me to leave and practices civil disobedience (his 'we shall not be moved' stance is tragically unintimidating), I pick up his back legs and we 'wheelbarrow' to the spot. I say 'You be GOOD' in the same exact tone of voice and stride purposely out the door.

In roughly 1.4 seconds, he's jumped up on my bed and buried his nose in my pillow. An activity he would NEVER do if I was present. Everybody wins. If, when I come home, he fusses at all, the door is not opened until he is quiet.

The percentage of times that this routine works? Approximately 98.7. I'm good with that.

Crazy? Irresponsible? Just tired of work?

Sometimes fucking necessary. I'm going to bed now. I should have last week.

Random mememe:

Ugh. I'm 99.4% certain I'm breaking up with my parish. Today's 9:30 homily was pretty much It. The priest (one of the new ones brought in over the last 6 years since Cesar Chavez's spiritual advisor died and his best friend was forced into retirement and the young gay radical priest had to take a medical leave after three heart attacks in his 40s from stress) started reasonably well with a few sentences on forgiving those who've done us great evil, and how there is a special grace in that, and JPII meeting with the man who tried to assassinate him, and it seemed more or less okay. And then he went off about how we need to recognize that we as a society are guilty of not just great evil, but of embracing great evil and calling it good. The next three sentences were the last things I heard before the rage-out descended: "We reward laziness and call it welfare. We kill our unborn and call it freedom of choice. We pollute our air with profanity and pornography and call it freedom of expression."

The reminder that as a pro-choice, post-abortion woman I'm unwelcome pretty well sucked but was as per usual of late; it wasn't even the thing that pissed me off most. I'm still, hours later, STILL gobsmacked over the un-Catholic, un-Christian, uncharitable ignorant cruel nastiness of the welfare crack (does he know one fucking thing about how public assistance works in this country? Does he know how many of his parishioners are on some form of public assistance, or would cry with gratitude at how much easier their lives would be if they even qualified for it?) and the sheer blithering inanity of the remark about bad words and porn. The economy in shambles, the longest war in US history dragging on with no end in sight and with badly damaged veterans treated shamefully, unstoppable environmental disaster about to crush the region Katrina brought to its knees (and whose perpetrators will likely never be brought to more than token justice), and, oh, yes, the continuing pedophilia coverup clusterfuck, and THIS is what he wastes precious time and energy ranting at us about?

Useless. Useless. Small. Shabby. Vile.

And when I got home after this long, long day, the first thing I found on the computer was a despairing stick-a-fork-in-me-I'm-done email from a friend at this same parish.

There's a Newman Center parish near our apartment that's committed to inclusive language and secretly/openly fighting for women's ordination. When Matilda and I go there I don't feel enraged and queasy and despairing. It's kind of refreshing.

(It's Toronto, though.)

I can't keep track of Canadian cities!

Toronto - like Manhattan in the midwest. Across the lake from Detroit.

Montreal - French! Bagels!

Vancouver - the Portland of the north.

Calgary - Stampede!

Winnipeg - Guy Maddin! The Jets! A two year run of Phantom of the Paradise!

Ugh, JZ. I'm sorry you had such a bad experience. I hope the Newman Center can fill the gap, and leave a better taste in your mouth.

Oh, JZ, I know how much you loved your parish -- this has got to be such a blow.

How awful JZ. I'm so sorry that the community you have counted on is letting you down in this way.

I'm so sorry JZ. I know how hard this must be for you, but maybe Newman Center is the better option. (As an aside, I didn't realize that was a thing - there was a Newman Center down the block from our house in Milwaukee.)

I can't keep track of Canadian cities!

Nah, you've got them pretty much down.