American Fez

A Brief Rant Upon an Unimportant Subject Before Thanksgiving

You can call me shallow and philistine but I always judge a classical music CD by its cover. Beaming bald lute players with Amish style beards or unimaginative photographs of autumnal trees will never capture my dollar. I suppose I can understand an image of the musicians, however ugly they may be, but many CD manufacturers seem to think that they can simply stick on some sort of picture resembling an anti-anxiety motivational poster and everyone will be happy. Wrong. Dreary pictures of violins nestling amid sheafs of musical notation and seasonal fruit are also unacceptable. Likewise, anything decorated with rosy-cheeked cherubs or gilded angels. In fact, classical CD manufacturers should probably forgo any type of visual representations whatsoever and just sell their wares in clear plastic cases. Meanwhile, thank God for mp3 audio files that don't require horrible printed covers. That's what I'm truly thankful for this Thanksgiving.

Next week: more dog stuff I'm afraid.

The Canine Couch Potato

The canine couch potato, despite its lack of comfort foods and fizzy drinks, is a particularly lethargic type of vegetative entity. It is the type of dog that any quick, brown fox has always dreamed of jumping over. Only a single, quivering, antennae-like ear gives any indication that life exists within the furry frame sprawled on the cushions.
The canine couch potato is not vexed by questions of space and time; there are no bone burying deadlines to meet; that artisanal cheese crumb under the dining room table will still be there tomorrow; those sounds and smells from outside must growl at their own provocations this afternoon.

I've tried preaching to the dog with Biblical proverbs: "The soul of the sluggard craves and gets nothing, while the soul of the diligent is richly supplied." But, like the prodigal pooch in the kennel of its breeder, the canine couch potato merely responds with a drooping eyelid and a short wrinkling of an apathetic snout.
Perhaps the canine couch potato believes that it has entered a state of suspended animation; that it will wake at some future date when dogs have mastered the art of opening the fridge and making a chicken sandwich for themselves. It is mistaken, obviously, but you can't convince a canine couch potato that the truth is actually very different.
The irony here, of course, is that the canine couch potato should not be on the couch in the first place, but such flagrantly flouted rules of law are topics for another post.