Dear Dr. Ruth

Dear Dr. Ruth,
Recently I was on vacation with my boyfriend in beautiful Kauai. We had had a marvelous day of strolling the beaches hand-in-hand, hiking the breath-taking views of Waimea and were preparing to go out for a romantic supper. Supper was postponed by spontaneous loving, the culmination of which was punctuated by my boyfriends empassioned gasp of "Wow! That's a cool house!" That is when I realized that he had been watching HG TV over my shoulder. So, now I am wondering Dr. Ruth. Is my boyfriend gay? Do I need to go through the house and throw out all the Dwell, Architectural Digest and Metropolitan Home magazines? What do I do to make myself attractive to him? Dress in expensive laminates? Lacquer my hair? Clothe myself in Scalamandre? I am so afraid that I might lose him to a smart pair of wall sconces or a sleek Delonghia espresso machine!

The gag reflex of muppets

So at the very least, odd dreams make for good blog material.

I dreamed that I was among a guided tour group that was walking along the wooden piers of some lakeside or seaside shore. The group consisted of about a dozen people and about a half-dozen muppets. Yeah muppets. Our guide had explicitly warned us not to stray from the group or go poking around due to the neighborhood harboring some characters of a dangerous and derelict nature. A fellow tourist and I fell behind the group and were "poking around" when I discovered a huge purple seashell. the shell was wedged in a back ally ditch and was the size of a vanity garbage pail. I could see the top few inner inches of pearly pink insides from my point of vantage. I reached in and pried it free. Upon looking inside I discovered, to my visual and olfactory dismay, that the beautiful shell was about half full of human feces. The "dangerous and derelict denizens" had been using the shell as a latrine. After fighting down the urge to vomit my buddy and I decided to play a prank. "Hey." I said. "Let's get a couple of the muppets to "discover" this. You know muppets can't vomit but they have a super sensitive gag reflex! It could be hilarious!" So we lured a couple of unsuspecting muppets over and led them to "find" the fabulous purple shell. The rest of the dream was of me and my partner in crime rolling on the ground laughing while the muppet victims hacked and retched dryly and violently at the shells contents.

Some dreams just don't mean jack do they?

Are you a good bum or a bad bum?

Last night I left the San Diego Convention Center late, around 11PM. I walked back to the hotel down the picturesque streets of the Gaslamp District. I popped into the 24hr Ralphs for some snacks and juice and immediately made accidental eye-contact with a bum.

Now some bums are obvious bums. They appear heavily accessorized with several hats, fingerless gloves, multi-layered clothing and shopping carts. Some bums are of the subtle variety. They appear normal, if sometimes a bit shabby, and only the creeping sense at the back of your head informs you of their true status.

This was the latter type. Dressed in an orange t-shirt, tidy dreds, backpack and jean shorts. He could have been one of the college guys just finished with his meal at Dick's Last Resort. But as soon as are eyes met I knew. And I knew he was not going to be easy to shake. He followed me around the store just shy of obvious stalking and when our proximity was inevitably achieved he started conversation. "How are you tonight?" "Are you from here?" "How long are you staying?" All the while I pretended to seriously contemplate the ingredients in a Naked Juice and tried to keep my answers light but not inviting further discourse. Eventually I had to pretend to espy a friend and walked briskly away from him. On my way back to the hotel I saw him further on down the street, making his way with a kind of crippled swaying progress. My heart gave a pang at the picture of this lonely soul without the resources I had been blessed with and wondered if I had made the right decision to blow off this person. But in recounting past experiences with the disenfranchised class that resulted in highly uncomfortable and often invasive predicaments I once again felt at peace. But how does one know the "good" from the "bad-if-only-in-the-smelly-stalking-trying-to-get-more" type? And is it really our responsibilty to help?