Ah, yes, Christmas—a magical time of year, when a doughy blogger belts out your favorite classics with lyrics modified to fit his own eccentric brand of chubby humor.
Ah, yes, Christmas—a magical time of year, when a doughy blogger belts out your favorite classics with lyrics modified to fit his own eccentric brand of chubby humor.
It’s hard to believe looking back at this post that Dr. Wife was Dr. Girlfriend around this time one year ago. It’s wild to contemplate how much can change in a year.
Dr. Wife and I have this conversation frequently, especially when enduring some trial or difficulty: it doesn’t last forever. Indeed, things can change very quickly. It’s also a reminder to enjoy the good moments—and with Dr. Wife, there are many of those!
We’re honeymooning, so I actually wrote this post while Dr. Wife was still Dr. Fiancée! I’m thrilled that she is not the former. I’m very thankful for her, my family, my friends, and God.
With that, here is 25 November 2024’s “Memorable Monday^4: Thanksgiving Week!“:
After years of misspent youth, during which time I considered animals little more than fleshy, occasionally cute, robots, yours portly has learned the error of his ways and become an animal lover.
Don’t get wrong—I love to eat animals as much as I enjoy keeping them as pets, and I possess a realistic view of animals: they exist to serve us, not the other way around. I love Murphy, and I’ll make sure she is fed, watered, and (when appropriate) medicated. But the day that the vet says, “we can keep her alive another two weeks with this $4000 experimental canine chemotherapy,” it’ll be time to give the old girl a heartfelt goodbye. By comparison, I’d sell my left kidney to the gay mafia if it’d add one day to the life of one of my family members or Dr. Fiancée.
All that said, I now very much see animals as a gift from God. Every child in Sunday School knows that the first job of the first man was to name the animals; God Spared the animals along with humanity when He Commanded Noah to build an ark. Clearly, our relationship with animals is meant to be a fruitful and productive one.
Further, anyone who has ever owned a dog (or even a cat) knows that these creatures have personalities. Sure, I imagine jellyfish don’t lead rich inner lives, but it’s wild and amusing to me how dogs can possess such a range of personalities. Murphy is aloof and anxious, but very much the queen of her domain. Dr. Fiancée’s three-legged mutt is sweet and loving, but has her sassy moments like Murph. My parents’ two rat terriers are cousins and/or half-brothers of some kind (I think they share a grandparent), but despite their genetic similarity, their personalities are nearly opposite (much like human siblings at times).
Do I think dogs have souls? Perhaps not in the way that humans do. But there is a life and intelligence behind the eyes of a dog. Even the most forlorn, neglected mutt possesses something of a shimmer behind his sad eyes. The fact that the eyes can even express emotions suggests there is something deeper there.
Of course, the evolutionist wags will snarkily remark, “we just bred them to reflect qualities we like.” Perhaps. Nevertheless, I’m struck by how human dogs can be, while also being something quite different—in some ways, something even better.
All points worthy of speculation, idle or otherwise. What do you think, dear readers?
With that, here is 12 September 2024’s “TBT: Remarkable Animals“:
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With apologies to Ponty—don’t worry, mate, I’ll have more shorts of me playing piano and hamming it up for the camera soon—I’m sharing an old original composition this week, “Funky Sax I” from Electrock III: Euroclydon (50% off with promo code “storm”). I think this piece dates back to Fall 2004, when I was in a saxophone sextet at the University of South Carolina.
I don’t have access to score for this piece anymore, just the MIDI file, and I can’t remember if I wrote this for six saxes (soprano, two altos, two tenors, and baritone) or fewer, so I’m not exactly sure, but it has the hallmark of my college era material for saxes: funk, blues scales, countermelodies, etc. As far as I know, my college saxophone sextet never played this piece, but it would be fun for a sax ensemble to try.
Regardless, I slapped together a video for the piece late Sunday night (I actually uploaded it to YouTube while drifting off to sleep) and here is the glorious result:
Yours portly hasn’t uploaded any original compositions to YouTube lately, nor have I actually been to an open mic night in many, many months. But I have been enjoying playing covers of tunes on my grandmother’s old Kimbrell console piano, which I had moved to my house this summer.
My High School Music Ensemble is working on Loverboy’s “Working for the Weekend,” so I decided to take some time to attempt my own, abbreviated piano cover of the classic ode to the weekend.
Here’s something a bit different for today’s Open Mic Adventures. I’m never one to let anything go to waste, and that includes silly, improvised cover songs that I send as voice texts.
One morning a couple of weeks back I sang a “cover” of “Riders on the Storm,” the song by The Doors, but changed it to “Murphy on the Storm.” I amused myself so much with my shenanigans that I texted a rendition to my older brother. I then took that audio and plugged into iMovie on my phone, along with a picture of Murphy.
The result is absurdist hilarity.
About four years ago this week I got Murphy, my chunky bull terrier. She was eight at the time, and is twelve now.
Quite a bit has happened in the intervening years, but good old Murph has always been there. And now she’s getting a mom in Dr. Fiancée and a canine sister (about whom she is probably less enthusiastic).
The life expectancy for bull terriers is between eleven and thirteen years, but Murphy seems to be doing well. She spends her days relaxing and enjoying treats, and she still baffles me with her love of sunning herself in 100-degree weather. Murphy is enjoying her golden years in relative luxury and comfort—at least, the meager kinds of luxury and comfort I can provide her.
With that, here is 11 July 2024’s “TBT^4: Big News: TPP is Going to the Dogs“:
My chunky old girl, Murphy, turned twelve last Sunday, so I figured I should give the girl a bit more attention (both on the blog and in real life) with some recent Murphy posts:
Happy Sunday—and Happy Belated Twelfth Birthday, Murphy!
—TPP
Other Lazy Sunday Installments:
In a continuing celebration of my chunky dog Murphy’s twelfth birthday, I’ve got some more Murphy videos for your enjoyment. These videos are feature Murphy doing what she does best (besides eating): lounging like a French duchess.
My old bull terrier, Murphy, turned a whopping twelve-years old this past Sunday. The average life expectancy for bull terriers is between eleven and thirteen years, but Murphy shows few signs of slowing down. Granted, she’s always been pretty slow, but she still gets the zoomies before bed and loves her rawhides (now she eats “rawhide-free” pork chomps, which are safer and better for her stomach).
Murphy has relaxed more as she’s gotten older, but she gets anxious around other dogs. I’m going to inquire about putting her on canine Prozac—Dr. Fiancée assures me it exists for dogs, and that Murphy would benefit from it—just so she can relax a bit more when she’s in unfamiliar environments. Like most modern Americans, and especially American women, Murphy may soon be taking an SSRI.
Regardless, Murphy is relaxed when it’s us hanging out. She spends more time sleeping now than she used to, and enjoys sticking to the bedroom, especially since I tossed the rug in the den (she doesn’t like the wood flooring on her nails and paws). But she is still a sweet, albeit sassy, old girl, and I love her dearly.
With that, here is “TBT^2: Happy Birthday, Murphy!“: