Ramones.

One of the most affecting things I've ever heard was an appearance by Paul Westerberg on one of the late night talk shows. He played a song called "Let the Bad Times Roll," which was a song that I'd already grasped and added to my own personal collection of adored songs.

On this appearance, Westerberg added the line, "Joey and Dee Dee home..." During a break.

I was affected. There was a passion and pain in his voice that I could understand.

The Ramones are one of the greatest rock bands that the world will ever see. Their first three albums are perfect examples of what was wrong with rock music in the latter part of the seventies, as well as a plan for correcting it. They took the sounds that the loved, and the sounds that made sense, the Beach Boys, the Beatles, Dion, Buddy Holly, Carl Vincent, the Beach Boys, it was all there.

Ramones made the sounds their own. While Rock Star Dreams might have existed, my sense is that all they wanted to do was make the music that they wanted to hear.

It's what I want to hear, as well.

My brother gave me the "Weird Tales of the Ramones" box set for my birthday, and while I already have all the music, the gift itself was special. It was a reminder of what the Ramones have always meant to me. They were comic book figures whose weirdness would always ensure that I was okay; as strange as I might have felt at any time during my life, I'd always be at home within their Cretin Family. It was a lovely gift, that of remembrance of times when I walked through high school in a Ramones t-shirt, and was hassled for it.

It's a far better time than now, where the corpse-fuckers have churned out t-shirts, lunch boxes, and the like now that Joey, Dee Dee, and Johnny have died. I walk through town seeing folks in Ramones shirts who would have tried to kick my ass ten years ago for wearing the same. And, now I can walk down the streets and see 14 year old girls in Ramones gear. Hot Topic makes a killing on the dead, and the kids just don't know any better. They like to be different, which ends up meaning that they want to be just the same as every other "punk" out there. They want their own identity, so they'll throw their lot in with the Dead Ramones.

It's great, and it's too bad. It's great that folks will continue to appreciate Ramones, and it's too bad that they'll appreciate them for the wrong reasons. So, it goes. Play "She's a Sensation" for a 15 year old in a Ramones tank top, and the best you can expect is a blank stare.

Meh.

Joey, Dee Dee, and Johnny- God bless. My apologies for the fashinistas who fuck your skulls.

Did You Know They Get Urine By Sticking a Needle Through the Belly?

I didn't either! But, they do!

This must have been what they did last time, too. They told me they used ultrasound, and I naively believed that they used the ultrasound to somehow coax the cat into peeing. Kind of like tickling, I thought. I thought this because I could not believe that someone would stick a needle through an animal's belly.

Live and learn, live and learn.

So, it was a pain in the ass. But, we'll see what the test results show. They said it tasted normal, but the tests run by the lab give a better picture.

Time to find something to eat.

The Cat's Going to Need to Get a Job.

Back to the vet tonight for a 6:30 appointment, and I'm sincerely dreading it.

Last time I went, they said his neck looked like it was getting worse and that they wanted me to go consult with a specialist. In order for me to see the specialist, they wanted to do bloodwork. Following the bloodwork, they were unhappy with the results, and wanted to do urinalysis. The conclusion? Completely unrelated to the sore on his neck, it looked like he had a urinary tract, bladder, or kidney infection. So- more antibiotics.

It was an expensive day.

So, the purpose of tonight's follow up is to check his urine again to see if his infection's cleared up.

More expenses.

And, I never got out to the specialist. Truman's neck was starting to look a lot better over the next couple days as I made sure to religiously apply the steroid/antibiotic spray to his neck, despite the hiding, hissing, and scratching. It was looking like the problem was that he just wouldn't let it heal. I still think that that's the case. On Saturday night, the spray ran out, and as I slept, he scratched the wound on his neck open again. I was beside myself Sunday morning.

When I go back tonight, I'm going to have to explain that I didn't go to the specialist, and I dread a lecture. And, I dread even more having to say that a consultation with a specialist at $150 is something that I really can't swing right now, especially after all the other expenses this whole thing's entailed.

So, the hope is that the refill his prescription for the spray, that the urinalysis comes back clear, and that his neck finally heals up after two months of this nonsense. Nagging in the back of my mind are the concernst that they had about his bloodwork. So, we'll just have to see, I guess.

Dammit.

This issue's been tearing me up for a while now.

Hump Day.

But, there is no humping to be had.

But, there is another so-so 100 Words.

Sometimes, kids, you've just got to take what you can get.

I'm doing laundry and trying to get a handle on domestics now that I'm back from this weekend's wedding in Cleveland. It feels like there's been lots of traveling lately, but I guess that that's not really the case. There will be more in the future, for certain. I can say that there have been a tremendous amounts of trips to and from airports, once you factor in visits from AMF. These, too, shall continue.

Rock on. I'm an airport pro. No one can take that from me.

The wedding was great, and it was wonderful to see Brendan as happy as he was. Too, I was proud to be a part of the wedding party. My first time as a groomsman was by all counts successful. Should anyone require my services in the future, I can provide a reference.

The Straw that Slit the Camel's Throat.

Great Lakes Science Center, Cleveland OH. Body Worlds 2.