I never really understood all the fuss about titles, and really never had the courage to be able to title myself with anything other than some verbose contrived, theoretically sound and grounded itemization of what I thought I should be conceived as...that is, until I decided (stumbled) upon my DOMAIN NAME!

Now really, domain, and all the silly seinfeldian notions of what is a domain, master of...cheesy double entendre of a fascination we have with the Washington Monument and how it moves us. Really, quite, quite silly...but then it happened!


If ever there were a domain that I might call my own it would be in and around, under and on top of; hermetically sealed with; taking baking lessons with; flying silly octopus shaped kites with; scoring Yanni tickets with; handling precisous census material with; mucking through garbage with; cross country yak riding with; thelonious monking with; entering into a political debate against; firing friendly fire at; cahooting with and sometimes against... ... ...

Zoe and Ulysses. The goal for some is to stay cool and calm, and while I mentally subscribe to this tennant of radically diverse alternative thinking, my wiring was installed differently. I know what not to do, and yet as if not knowing, still do it. So too were my congruous canine cavalry the illustrious and good intentioned, if not oft times ill tempered and free willed, the unsatiable "Crime Fighting Dog Duo" of Zoe and Ulysses. If you know me, and in fact I have no proper way of determining whether you do or not...or whether my words can painstakingly steal away from teh canas the purity of it's blank nature to reveal "me"...you can call my cell phone @ 203-927-5920 and undoubtedly leave a message for Zoe and Ulysses if you press "1"!

Back to my wiring{+==---][]=-=} I imagine if I were to dive into my head via my ear cavity, or nostril, ala Spaceballs; or be injected into myself to probe my cerebral cortex and other vast galaxies of the body internal, similar to the now (supposedly) retired Body Wars, you would find the synapses shaped like grammatical symbols, and, undoubtedly they would be conversing with pregnant pauses and in the throws of some wordy rendition of what could be described as a verbal laser light show. Much like the Malkovich of my youth, doors fall prey to windows, fall prey to airplane cabins losing pressure, fall prey to trap doors leading to that wicker basket I suspect cradles the heady remains of the Enlightenment.

So my dogs, Zoe, female...one Black Lab, mixed with Chow Chow, curled tail and black tongue, "wrap it"(<--Glennwood reference for those familiar with the Hummel Hot Dog pushers of Whitney Avenue, Hamden, CT) Ulysses, male...the cross between what some might refer to as the left overs (Twins reference, anyone?) of a American Staffordshire Terrier, Rednose Pit, sone of Blue, Brother of Symbiline and Nemo. I digress, what is the correct nomencalture, is it red nose staffy, is pit bull terrier, I say all of the above when describing him thus keeping up the legacy of others, nodding their head in approval of one or the other without correcting you or acknowledging which one is truly correct.

There you have it, Zoe and Ulysses, the demons of devilish delights, foragers of fountain st, elegaic angels of Ellsworth, Mighty Miscrients of Maple St. These two dogs, legends on earth, gods among mere mortals. My canine companions, wandering the earth, netherworlds, and outer regions of the flemish cap from 2003-2009! May your souls be cast seaward, to waver in the rising tide and rest valiantly in the watery grave with the likes of Mulcahy, Caspian, Icculus and Mr Palmer.

Though this may not be the beginning of it all, it certainly marks a point that can decidedly be considered a beginning. I loved my dogs, I lost my dogs, but always, and mark my words, always, I will be one with my dogs, whereever that may be. This inextricable link that is forged is no match ravenous winds of change which beat their sandy breath at the decay of time. And while we may not the best of all possible conditions, we most certainly are not the worst; and in this sentiment we wallow and take stock on what it is we may have had, if only for a brief moment. I Love You Guys!


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