I listened to Lou Reed’s Coney Island Baby today. It was the first time since I lost my cassette copy back in 1990. I was in Lawrence, Kansas walking down Mass Street, when I saw a spare-changer tripping out of his gourd. I’m pretty sure he was trying to ask me for money, and as I was trying to slide up change from my pocket (I was an easier mark in those days), I noticed some patrolmen on foot heading our way. Lest the guy get pinched and taken in for, at best, public intoxication, I grabbed his elbow and took him into a nearby sandwich shop. I bought him a sandwich. He was grateful and held his head together while I sat with him.

I walked hurriedly away afterward, having set him up with a warm meal — I was late to meet my group. Once I was in a vehicle and on my way out of town, I realized I had left my Walkman at the table with the tripping guy. I hope he was coherent enough to take it with him and that Lou kept him stable through the rest of his journey.

Anyway, it was pretty nice to hear that album again and it’s funny how quickly it took me back to the way Lawrence was in those days. Before the Gap and Starbucks.

I updated the gallery on my Facebook art page – two new pieces under “Digital Imagery.” Try it, you’ll “Like” it!

Last night I was awoken at 4:30 to the sound of clawing at the kennel door. Ava needs to go outside? At this hour? It was unusual insofar as recently, I’ve had to drag her out of bed in the mornings, sometimes as late as 10.

And so we went outside. Business was handled and we returned to our respective beds.

Until 5:30, that is. More clawing at the door.

I got her out and looked at her, wondering if she really needed to go out. Her immediate location and acquisition of her tennis ball indicated that this was, indeed, meant more as an early morning play date. Fetch? At this hour? In the kitchen? In my underwear? I tersely returned her to her kennel to much umbrage.

When there was more clawing at 6:30, I decided she could just tough it out.

Walking the bread aisle today in Wal-Mart, just trying to get the hell out of the store, I had one of those moral dilemmas. From behind me, I heard a six-year-old beckon her sister, “Sissy, look at that funny hair!”

I was the only other person in the aisle aside from her mother and her sister.

So the question becomes, do I walk on and not make the situation worse or do I turn and cast a sharp look (like I know I’m very capable of doing) that reinforces the point that saying rude things in public sometimes has negative social consequences? Sure, one should trust that the mother made the point after I left, but you know some parents are apathetic and as Hillary reminds us, it takes a village sometimes.

Many people think me quite sadistic (ask my students) and have already probably posited that one of my trademarked scowls was volleyed. They would be wrong.

As a dear friend of mine once observed, despite the gruff exterior, I am pretty much a teddy bear. My instincts were the sharp look, but my heart immediately recognized that it might scare or hurt her feelings and maybe a six year old deserves a break for being six. And what am I — an asshole? I can’t take a snarky remark about spiky hair? I’ve been getting snarky jabs about my hair since I was six.

Honestly, with this hairdo, I probably have it coming.