Alfie and I were at the dog park the other week when there was a 60 degree day and bright sun. I decided to let him go and run while I would work on my school portfolio at one of the tables in the park. When we got to the park there happened to be a pack of four dogs already running around and playing so off Alfie went, to play with the other dogs. I set up camp at a table and began working and it wasn't long until this guy with a camera came up to me and asked to take my picture for the local paper, the Arkansas Democrat Gazette. I said sure and just went about my business. Then, Alfie, inspired by Gisele Bundchen, decided to climb up to the table and start bashfully playing with my paint brush as I painted, licking my face, turning this way and that and generally hamming it up for the camera. When the guy was done he came over and asked if that was my dog. I told him yep and apparently he has aspirations of becoming an elite fashion model and is never shy in front of a camera. The photographer told me to look in the next day's paper for our picture. Below is what was printed.

Kate Lynch of Little Rock paints while her dog Alfie, a redbone coonhound, keeps an eye on a pack of dogs at Paws Park in Murray Park in Little Rock on Monday afternoon. Lynch was using watercolors and painting from a photograph she took in New Zealand.

When it was printed it was a space filler in the paper on the Arkansas section, thrown in between a story about a fiery bus crash and a convenience store robbery. Alfie could usually care less about visiting with me when he is running around the dog park so I thought it was funny that he decided that day to come over and interact with me all cutesy and what-not. Just so we're clear, it's an act. He's a charlatan, don't trust him for one second. I'm still not clear what his motives were but I believe it might have been to buy a one way ticket to stardom and outta this one horse town. I will keep you apprised.

I thought that the extent of people recognizing me would end at the three people I know here in Arkansas. Turns out, more people read the Dem. Gazette and read the captions of random pictures, than I thought. For instance, I dropped Alfie off at doggie day care (yes day care, I'm not working and I use dog day care, I'm that person) and the first thing the guy at the place said to me was "hey, I saw you guys in the paper!" But they were dog people and had watched Alfie at their center so it wasn't so unusual. About three days later I was throwing some trash into the dumpster in the back lot of my townhouse/apartment unit when Reno (named by me, not his given name), the homeless guy that sifts through the dumpsters for redeemable cans and bottles, scared the living shit out of me and then proceeded to tell me that he had seen my dog in the paper too. At which point he jumped out of the dumpster and started playing with Alfie. I found it a little weird that the dumpster diving homeless guy recognized my dog and knew him by name but I figured it was fine and heck, we're sort of neighbors.

Today I was walking Alfie, the weather was a balmy 25 degrees and we were sliding across and ice sheet that was the intersection near the local bar Juanita's when a gentleman donning bright red pants with chili peppers printed all over and a black bandanna with a confederate flag placed conspicuously in the center of his forehead, crossed the street and met us at the other side.
"Hey, is your dog friendly?" he then bends down and starts petting Alfie and Alfie starts licking the day old salsa off his knees and I needn't say that he was friendly. "Boy he is a good lookin' dog" confederate flag kitchen worker says and I say" thanks, his name is Alfie."
"Alfie?" says kitchen guy, "I saw him in the paper! you're just so cute, yes you are, you are cute, ooohshy, booshy boo...." and this goes on and I'm thinking, hello? I was in the paper too. Aren't I friggin' cute? why don't people cross the street to come and hug me? Why does Alfie always get the overly affectionate conversations and kisses from perfect strangers?

Then later, at the library, I am sitting on a bench outside with Alfie, getting ready to walk home when one of the many homeless guys that patronize the library during the cold months, stopped, looked at me and said "hey girl"
looking up I realized he too recognizes Alfie and wants to wrestle on the frozen ground with him here in front of the library and I say " oh yeah, this is my dog Alfie, you can pet him if you want, I'm sure you've seen him in the paper"
and homeless library guy says "nah girl, i ain't care 'bout your dog, I like your shoes." He smiles at me, winks and walks inside.
So it seems that not everyone is in love with Alfie, some people still notice me and more importantly, my shoes.

SEE BELOW

Alfie's Christmas Goose

Hi everybody! It's Jamey, and I need your help. I run a rodeo website (what?!?!?!? I know, trust me, no one is more surprised than I am.) The link to the website is http://www.espnrodeo.com/ or http://www.espnbullriding.com/ . I need you all to please, please come to the website and click around on stuff so that I can keep my job.

And forward these links on to anyone you know who's either
A.) interested in rodeo or bull riding,
B.) curious about the strange customs of cowfolks,
C.) compassionate enough to take some time and click around for a good cause, or
D.) afraid that if I lose my job Kate and I will come live at your house for an extended period of time (you know who you are!).

The best time to visit is now and everyday after that - http://www.espnrodeo.com/ . The best thing to do while you're there? Whatever you want - read one of my incisive articles about steer wrestling, bareback riding, or team roping, for example - but, the easiest and best thing for our traffic numbers is to go to any link that says photos, open a couple of photo galleries and click through, and then open another one and click through, etc...

The deal with our traffic is that we get to count every click, no matter where it comes from, so if I sat here at my computer and clicked through photo galleries (which I'm doing right now as I write this) and viewed 1,000,000 photos, we'd get 1,000,000 clicks. People buy ad space on our website depending on how much traffic there is and my boss' boss' boss decides that it's worth keeping Jamey on staff for at least a little while longer.

Thanks in advance for your support - each photo gallery you view means that Alfie (our dog) is that much closer to getting that Christmas goose and getting off those crutches... God bless us, every one.

It's a bit out of character for me to have several blogs just days following each other but i feel like i need to shout from the mountain tops or the Ozarks or the ghetto liquor store down the street. I am, like many, many people in this country, so relieved and elated to witness Barack Obama take the presidency. Win, out and out, no bullshit, win the presidency. No recounts, no supreme court and no accounts of voter fraud or corruption. How freaking refreshing. I feel like this oppressive scary stranglehold from this Bush administration has been lifted. As soon as the CNN projection came on the screen and the cheers went up i knew everything was changing and it was really, finally happening. I could breathe again!

For those of you who don't know I live in downtown Little Rock, a predominately black and poor part of town. It is as we speak being "revitalized" and what that means for this town isn't yet clear. I'd like to think Jamey and I are mavericks (just to use that word one more time) and we are singlehandedly reintegrating downtown Little Rock but alas, I can not take credit. My street for example is all med students or law students of different styles and persuasions but just one or two blocks away you get abandoned lots, abandoned Victorian homes and abandoned people living off the street or under the overpass on I630. This is the reality of this town. It isn't perfect, its an ugly American reality and we live here deliberately because we don't want to hide away in the white neighborhood and pretend that things like poverty and homelessness don't exist. We also know that by just renting a place down here we aren't going to change these realities but at least we think about them on a daily basis and we are constantly challenging ourselves to find solutions and sustainable ideas to address them as citizens of this city. And the people in this part of town know what it is to struggle for a myriad of reasons and so the Obama victory is felt on such a deeper level. It gives people an ounce of hope where there may have been none before.

Anyway, the other night we had a choice in locations for the election results parties but we heard that the UALR black law students were congregating at a bar close to our house so we decided that is where we wanted to be, surrounded by a sea of exceptionally smart people who understood the meaning of hard work and success. So it was me, Jamey and our friend Seth and we headed to our neighborhood Mexican bar to watch an African American man elected president. I wanted to be surrounded by people who were feeling this momentous occasion so deeply and to see on their faces the enormity of the event. Obama being elected was big for everyone in Little Rock and I have been feeling it for some time.

I was really reluctant to move to the South because of many reasons but facing the reality that racism and all the ugly trimmings that go along with it are still very much alive in this part of the country was one of the things that scared me the most. Our trips to Mississippi this summer were eye opening, scary and amazingly beautiful all at the same time. Living here has helped me to understand our sordid past as a country and the deep thriving culture that abounds here in the deep south. It was not lost on me that as I was celebrating in the streets after the projections were made, that I was just blocks away from Central High School and where the Little Rock Nine paved the way for social change and integration in 1957, 51 years ago. 51 years ago my parents were living the reality of the civil rights struggle and here I was today living the reality of what the brave people of that time had given me and the generations to come. Hope! Success without barriers.

By no means do I think that the struggle has ended. We may have leapt a large obstacle but there are many more battles to be won. Especially evident by the fact that most of the citizens of California still believe in taking away the rights of people based on their sexual orientation and that Arkansans believe that homosexual couples should never raise a child together. I wish that they would just wade through the bullshit talk and put what it is they really mean on the ballot:

Issue 1: Because the person proposing this bill is ignorant and scared, gay people and heterosexuals who don't want to get married should never raise or foster a child-
check yes/check no.

Anyway, I digress. I just feel so damn proud. I feel proud of my country, finally. I feel like I can travel overseas and not pretend to be Canadian (although I never did because I wanted to prove Americans were cool cats like me). I feel like I can believe that the leader of my country has its people in its best interest and understands the word democracy and community. I feel like this administration doesn't believe in governing using fear and oppressive scare tactics. I feel like the youth is finally AWAKE! I feel like dancing in the streets and hugging random people! oh wait, I already did that! And I was here, in Arkansas, voting for an African American President. Oh I see that promise land, indeed I do.

(this is sort of a random picture but I saw it on shirt in Provincetown once and I thought it was hilarious, just sharing the hilarity with you)

Even today, two days after the election I felt like I could walk into the Community Bakery, stand on my chair and yell "OBAMA" and I would have a chorus of whoops and hollers ringing along with me. It wouldn't be weird it would be an jubilant expression of how most of the people in this town feel. Usually when I stand on my chair and shout things I get food thrown at me so this has been a refreshing time. Although this state went Red, its very core is blue. Right smack in the center, here in Little Rock. And damn it, if Virginia can vote for a Dem anything is possible.

So I have learned several things over the last few days not excluding the Obama shuffle, which if you don't already know you apparently don't belong to an African American Fraternity at a state university. I have learned to trust the American people again and to believe that really, it is all possible. Anything we believe in and work for we can achieve. And we may not have a woman president now but I tell you what I'm voting for Michelle Obama in 2012. Hey, we don't even need to change our yard signs! Recycle!

Just a quick thanks!

Hi Y'all!
Thanks to all of my friends and family that supported me in the Little Rock Walk to support the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. Little Rock raised enough money ($28,000.00) to start a chapter of the AFSP in the state to help fund research and support for people struggling with depression and other mental health problems. I think this is a pretty big feat for only 500 people raising money the first year. YEE HAW ARKANSAS!
I attached a picture of me in my Out of the Darkness shirt so there is proof the money went to the walk and not to buy a new keyboard to practice my Roberta Flack songs. Also, my mom was here this weekend and she went on a really tough, long hike in the craggy terrain of Petit Jean mountain with me and my hound dog Alfie. Alfie was born near this mountain and I wanted him to remember his roots so he got to sniffing early and his nose never left the ground. I'm very proud of my mama and how healthy she is now. Congratulations to Rosemary for hiking her second trail ever! (she is from the Bronx after all) Kick ass!

my momma in da grotto

reflections

Just finished and still peppy!

nite nite after the long hike

Oysters, bar fights and Red Sox heartache

We took the most beloved weekend on the cape and made our journey to enjoy the festive delights of the annual Oysterfest in Wellfleet. Wellfleet is the town where Jamey and i first met. i handed him a basket of dirty laundry and asked him to bring it to my room to which he looked at me and said nothing. What a jerk. It was total love at first site. Wellfleet was the first town I ever lived on my own, out of Virginia and it will always have a piece of my heart.

Wellfleet was our stomping ground for about a year. We frolicked and played along the towering golden sand dunes, drank good new england beer by bonfire on chilly nights and howled at the full moon in the dead of winter. There is nothing that is more Cape Cod to us than that crusty fishing town squeezed between the bay and the Atlantic ocean. In one afternoon you can surf with the harbor seals and in a matter of minutes be digging oysters out of the bay for a salty seafood smorgasbord. And that is why we worship the wellfleet oyster. They are much like the salty people of its town. Its tough exterior and rough edges can cut you but if you are careful enough you can cajole one to open up and reveal to you the glory of a surprisingly loving core. If oysters can have a loving core that is, which for this metaphor, they do.

Oysterfest started the year before we moved to Wellfleet. Ever since we lived up there, whatever our situation, we always made it out to Wellfleet for the festival. It was a chance to catch up with old friends and neighbors and of course, drink a beer at the Bombshelter. The bombshelter is this little gem of a bar, underneath a restaurant called the Bookstore. Yes, the Bombshelter is in fact underground and ever there was a reason to need a fall out shelter I would hope that it would have a full bar just like this one, and of course a pool table and a juke box and a really surly bartender that has worked there FOREVER. The first night of the Oysterfest we met up with some friends a new restaurant on the waterfront that was spinning some good music and had a great laid back atmosphere however we were soon itching to leave because we knew the Sox were playing game four of the ALCS against the Tampa poopy Bay Rays. After a couple of drinks from the hot pink punch, a bunch of us moseyed over to the Bombshelter to watch the game. This year we were excited to actually be in Mass. when the Sox were in the finals. Every year prior we have been either in a car loaded with ALL of our belongings headed south for the winter or, well, yeah, usually that is what we were doing. Moving. Again. So this year we did things backwards and we were actually going to Massachusetts and we were psyched to be able to celebrate with local fans.

(Go Wellfleet!)

After ordering a round of beers and I think there was some tequila thrown in there for good measure, we were enjoying the game and the sox were up three runs. It was all fun and games until all of the sudden we started feeling a great pressure and pushing from the crowd smushing us up against the bar. I looked back at Jamey to try and figure out what was wrong and low and behold a short but very round woman was throwing her weight into the crowd. Now, mind you, I wouldnt have thought twice about it except that she was about 250 pounds, about 45 years old and clearly hell bent on getting to the bar to order another drink, oh yeah, and there were 5,000 people in the bar already. When this beauty finally did reach the bar, after much rolling and sloppy grossness, she started stringing words together, from which we could only deduce she was ordering another drink, because clearly she hadn't had enough already. For whatever reason the bartender did not see her or chose to ignore her or was unable to understand flobbersloselnoodlelam, the drink she ordered. At this point we were thoroughly grossed out and annoyed at the amount of space she was demanding and we started trying to push her away from the bar and out the door. Her poor friend, clearly sober, was embarrassed and asking her to stop acting that way and to leave but doing nothing to really help the situation.

Well, then it got really interesting. We just wanted to watch the Sox, not this disgusting drunk blob. When we were against the bar this lady started caressing Jamey's hair and fondling his back as she attempted to keep herself standing using the bar and the crowd to right herself. It was at this moment that Jamey had had enough and started shouting into the crowd for people to help get her the hell out of there. Ummm, gross about sums it up. After trying to call attention to blob drunk lady and no one seemed to be responding, Jamey decided to take matters into his own hands and force her away from him. He was able to push her about 12 inches before all hell broke loose and she went from loving Jamey to wanting to kill Jamey with her fist. And she tried. As he pushed her she whipped around and cold cocked him in the face. Stunned, Jamey kept shouting to get her out of the bar and proceeded to use a modified hog tying technique by grabbing her flailing fists and locking them together and using all of his weight to push her out the door. Somewhere in the middle of all of this her elbow caught his lip and drew blood. At this point I realized that I wanted a piece of her because I knew Jamey would never hit a "lady" if that's what we want to call her. So I started to charge the woman because I really wanted the opportunity to defend my mans honor with physical violence. I mean, I am never in that situation, I was ready to throw down. This was a good cause and it was the Bombshelter and behavior like that is generally permissible. So as I went into a dive to land on top of her like a wrestler, Jamey caught me and lifted me back behind him with little difficulty. It was a futile attempt. At this point, my friend Amy had informed the bartender that there was a lady throwing punches. When he heard this news he was surprisingly agile and leapt over the bar, landed near the scuffle and began to drag the lady out while Jamey kept pushing her from behind, hands still hog tied.

Now the question I ask now is, does this lady wake up in the morning and have a good laugh about her crazy night out or does she hide in a hole for the rest of her life because she's an embarrassment to women and mankind in general? All in all the night was a success, the Red Sox won that game, we danced and caught up with friends we hadn't seen in years and we beat up a drunk lady or a drunk lady beat up Jamey. It was all I could have asked for, it was an authentic Massachusetts night out.

For a clearer picture of what this lady looked like I have rendered a drawing for dramatic effect.
This picture shows the bartender that eventually helped us boot the drunk lady out. He's in the background, never mind Amy and I enjoying the rinds of our limes. Yum.

oystershucking on main street

Below are some pics I took on the plan ride up there of the fall colors! enjoy! and Please keep the peace, fight with your minds not your fists people. It only gets you fat lips and bruised eyes.

Boston on approach

dead people in a cemetery enjoying the fall colors

golf course!

This Ain't My First Rodeo, no, It's My First "Bullnanza"

Now I imagine the title being read with enthusiasm and the "Bullnanza" part accompanied by Jazz Hands. If you don't know what Jazz hands are I suggest you Google that because I bet the urban dictionary definition will be funny.

Recently Jamey was assigned to work one weekend in Guthrie Oklahoma at a little event called "Bullnanza". For all of you rodeo freaks out there, I'm sure you know what Bullnanza is and probably have even had some dirt kicked on you from an enraged bull, so you can appreciate the story I am about to tell. We arrived in Oklahoma on a Friday night after a 6 hour drive from Little Rock. I accompanied Jamey with the intention of helping him with a portion of the Rough Guides research that was to be done in Eureka Springs Arkansas, hands down, the coolest town in Arkansas. Sorry Little Rock people. We were going to stop in Eureka on the way home from OK. Until then we were hangin with some cowboys in Guthrie.

On Saturday, I decided I couldn't miss out on this cultural phenomenon of bull riding in the heart of the USA. I wanted to experience the cowboy culture surrounded by people who's passion for bull riding could be likened to the European passion for cricket or the other American passion of drinking bud light at a Nascar race.

The competition wasnt an actual rodeo. It was an event called "Bullnanza" which I guess is more of an exhibition of the best bull riders in the country. The Bullnanza competition was judged and the whole holding on for dear life for 8 seconds did apply. The bulls were angry and aggressive and ready to kill. The cowboys were more than willing to jump on them in a cage and then ride them into the arena, get thrown off and sometimes pelted so hard in the spine that they are unable to coordinate their thoughts or motor skills for a good five minutes. And then you win $50,000.00. How this is different from a real rodeo, I have yet to figure out. Nevertheless, it was Bullnanza and I was a part of this grand tradition in Guthrie Oklahoma.

The evening started with Jamey, his co-editor Melanie and I being allowed press access because Jamey and Melanie work for some media outlet called "ESPN", a sports network which apparently is really popular or something. So we had all access to the cowboys to ask the important questions and pick their brains about their love of this sport. Turns out, most of them speak Portugese so there was a little bit of a language barrier. Brazilians make up some of the most successful competitors in this sport. Who knew? I was there as a fake reporter and basically just walked around wide eyed and confused looking because I have never been to anything like this in my life. I did realize at one point (about the time I saw the guy get hooved in the spine) that I had been to a similar event before. It was called bullfighting and it was in Valencia Spain. There were shinier costumes, big red capes and more blood, so it wasn't exactly the same but the two events had remarkable similarities.

Jamey brought up at one point that we were watching a gladiator sport. Spectators waiting for the thrill of blood, the adrenaline rush from the infinite possibilities of injuries and perhaps seeing your hero reduced to a comatose vegetable or end the night with a bull horn through the windpipe. What a thrill. I was amazed, despite the mixed feelings of disgust and joy, that I was actually beginning to learn the riders names and differentiate the mean bulls and the not as mean bulls.

The beginning of the show started with a tribute to a bull riding announcer who had recently passed. During his tenured career he was known for telling life stories about inanimate objects. We were introduced, in first person, to the American Flag. This Flag has lived a hard life and made it through wars and blah blah blah and "I was born for freedom and God willing in freedom I will die". All this while in the spot light following Mr. Flag riding atop a horse (well a person holding it but it would have been much better showmanship if a flag itself riding on the horse alone, maybe next time). Next we were introduced to the stars of the show, two enormous raging bulls. The lights went out and the smoke machines blew smoke into the arena and the two bulls were let out to strut and warn the crowd of the possible maimings in the next few hours. They walked out, were obviously trained to stand and blow smoke out of their enormous nostrils and then saunter back into the cage thingy. It was weird and exciting all at the same time. The scary bull was named Voodoo Child, which coincidentally is the name Jamey and I were going to give our two person folk-synthesizer band. Once they were back in the pen the competition was on. The lights came up and the cowboys began to ride and clutch the rope thing for what seems to be an interminable 8 seconds.

(One of these guys isn't a cowboy, can you guess which one? You guessed it! It's the guy wearing the backpack and running shoes to a rodeo.)

The next few hours went by with little blood and the competition ended with a winner and prize money and lots of oohs and aahs. Towards the end of the competition I followed Jamey to the super exclusive press/family/cowboy area behind the bull cages. I was standing near the exit door for the cowboys once they have been bucked off and all of the sudden I felt I was getting pelted in the head. I immediately looked up to blame the crowd for throwing popcorn and trash at the confused looking yankee in the bull pit but to my relief it was only dirt chunks being spewed from an angry bull charging the exit door five feet away. It was one of those moments in my life where I take pause and wonder what the hell I'm doing and how I got there. I've had a lot of those during my 20's.
After the competition we decided that we needed some tall boys so we headed to the upstairs bar for a drink and some two steppin'. We rocked out to some G&R and traditional country hits and then called it a night. All in all it was a great, authentic, weird, American experience.
I'm still not sure how I feel about Rodeo or Bullnanza's for that matter. I'm stuck somewhere between letting it be what it is, another bizarre sporting event or being adamantly against the exploitation of bulls. I'll let you know when I figure it out.
Meanwhile, on the domestic home front, after a brief goopy eye illness, Alfie is better and the countdown is on until his surgery to lose his physical manhood. We've recently taught him to "shake" which we are now regretting because he has enormous paws and his "shake" generally turns into a right hook to our face. We'll be working on this one. Below are some recent pictures of Jamey and Alfie wearing life vests dangerously wrong.
I hope everyone is well. Stay on the look out for Jamey's blog. I know I said he would be writing one but he's slow and we don't want to read some lame dribble so we have to give him time and no pressure. The Panama book officially went to the typesetter so that one is in the bag! YAY! Be well and be happy friends and family!