Grief.

I still haven't made a slideshow. I have to remember her; it is my only comfort.

Frankie, age 3. 1992. East 19th St., Manhattan.

Me and Frankie, 1996. East 10th St.

This Is Just Too Cute.

Until I hijack Hilary's computer to make a slideshow:

Frankie, March 1997 (Age 7), East 10th St., Manhattan.

Hilary! I need to use your iPhoto. (Do you read this, Hilary?)

Life Of Frankie Part I

You are about to see and hear a LOT of stuff about my dear, from-this-earth-departed life companion, Frankie, who made her final exit one week ago today.

I've thought about that euphemism for dying that I just used above. I actively choose it. I concur with the traditional feeling that "die" is just not right to describe what just happened to someone you loved so deeply, because you know they can't die, if you thought they could die you would have to die too. And "pass away" is just so mamby-pamby.

Frankie was nothing if not a diva. She did not expire or extinguish, she exited, with grace and regal bearing. A legend can never die; you just can't see her anymore except on film. Frankie's up there with Grace Kelly, Marlene Dietrich, Bette Davis. A diva of substance.

She looked great in her black with rhinestones ID collar but unfortunately it's not photographing too well.

Frankie Dodge Fall 1989 - Sept. 27, 2007

Rest in heavenly peace, my sweet angel baby.

Senior Citizen Field Trip.

Hairball Dwarfs Nail Polish Bottle.

More like a hairloaf.
















Produced by Ichabod.

No Happy Fun Time.

Toxins are seeping from my pores. I left work a little early, walked to Chinatown for an hour massage, then had an alternately teary/angry walk home. Blood sugar. Should have eaten something immediately. Of course the large groups of fun-seekers were out in hordes, it being still the holiday season. Of course they like to amble at .000000002 miles per hour in lazy packs of four or more. It's frustrating to live in New York because you can so often feel it is not yours. It gets hijacked by everybody all the time.

Then I come home and my cats start screaming at me. I screamed back. I realized some time ago that I would probably not manufacture babies, in part because the world is a sack of shit and I wouldn't present it to someone I loved, but also because I screamed at Ichabod, one day when he was especially whiny, "Shut the fuck up, you fucking asshole!!!"















Frankie. My longest-term relationship thus far.





























Ichabod. I called him a "fucking asshole."


Frankie is soooo needy lately. Of course she is. She's an elderly lady of 17 with many ailments. In addition to the physical care she needs, she needs my love and affection for reassurance. I am mostly more than happy to give it to her. When I came home tonight, I was needy. The massage and the end of year-ness made me realize how stressful this year has been for me. I wanted one moment when my ears weren't assaulted by some bleating unbidden noise.

Why does Gerald Ford deserve five days of national mourning? And why the hell didn't he come out with his criticisms of Bush before dropping dead? Out of personal or party loyalty? I would have more respect for him now if he had piped up sooner. Was he afraid maybe he would have had zero influence? Wouldn't it have been worth a try? What did he have to lose at age 90 by coming clean? What was the matter with him? Why sit on it?

Speaking of the unevolved, the super in the adjacent building is a hose-aholic. Every day, usually when I am coming home in the evening, he goes to town on the sidewalk with the hose. But not just the sidewalk. Today I saw him spraying the stacked garbage bags. Oh yeah, those bags of trash really need to be gunned down with 20-gallon jet streams.

When I just now looked out my window he was spraying a flattened cardboard box! To make it flatter! A water jet as a trash-smoothing device? How stupid do you have to be? He is wasting so much water, not to mention the entire area is sopping. You can tell he gets really into it too because he won't even stop to let you by. Standing there glaring doesn't do it. One time I said, "Please?! New boots." One morning I was trapped in my lobby while he sprayed my front doorway! I thought it was raining at first and turned around to get my umbrella. This guy is psychotic. I'm calling 311.

Gramercy Cat.

Sometimes the cheap phone cameras surprise you.