When we first told our friends in Maryland that we planned to move to Vermont, most responded by asking “how will you deal with the cold!?” Since we honestly had no clue what the answer to this question was, we eventually established a sort of party line response: “We don’t mind the cold, it’s the commuting in the cold that we don’t like.” This is true. Sarah and I are both more comfortable when we are cold than when we are hot, whether it is inside or out. We also hated commuting to our jobs in the city on cold days.
On cold works days we had to bundle up to walk a mile to the Silver Spring Metro stop, where most days we had to wait on the elevated platform while the wind whipped around us. Once we were on a train, it would inevitably be blasting the heat, and as more people got on at each subsequent stop the train would get very warm. The fact that more people took public transportation on colder days—especially if it was snowy or icy—meant that in addition to being hot, one would have a great deal of difficulty removing layers for the 30-45 minute ride due to the extra bodies, all of whom were wearing extra layers themselves.
Once we arrived at our respective stops, we had to walk various distances to our offices, again bundling up against the cold and or wind. Once at our offices, we would strip our layers to work. I can’t speak for Sarah’s office, but mine was frequently warmer than I would have liked. (My office mate next door to me, however, was always cold and blasted the heat in her office.) If we didn’t bring lunch, we had to also bundle up to go out for food as well. At the end of the day, we’d turn around and do it all again in reverse.
Josh and Lori brought Ginger over to romp in the yard with Haley this past Saturday, and much fun was had by all. Haley was completely knackered afterwards, and spent most of the next day snoozin’… which was a nice break for us, as well.
Here’s yet another music video by our toxic-arsed dog masquerading as content. (Note: Quicktime video with sound. 8MB)
While this is the first real snow storm of the season, we got our first snow (an inch or so) earlier in the week. Haley wasn’t sure what to make of it, but she seems to have enjoyed herself (Note: Sound & Quicktime video: 6MB).
If you have wondered where we have been, all I can tell you is that we have had one crazy summer. But mostly we have been holed up in the studio while Haley finished her newest music video. As you can see, it has been a while since her last release, but she thinks this project was well worth the wait. And who are we to argue with a diva of her stature? Plus, Haley has graciously included special extra footage of her singing with her vocal coach during a break on the set.
Sure there were some creative differences, and Haley and the lighting director did nearly came to blows over some silly little thing, but rumours of Haley hitting the hard stuff were greatly exaggerated. The only weeds she ever messes with are the ones in the garden, and that goes for the herbs too! As for Haley’s relationship with a certain long-haired chihuahua, she blames youthful indiscretion and wishes Ms. Chica well.
And now, without further ado, Haley, in her most recent video extravaganza ….
Riot Grrrrrrrrrrl! (Note: Sound and Quicktime video)
Dogs don’t speak English. They don’t speak French or German, for that matter, either. And yet I, and many, many others, continue to speak to them as if they understand what it is we are saying in our native tongues. There’s nothing wrong with speaking English (or any other language) to a dog—it is the only way we have to communicate after all—but it does seem a bit silly at times. Especially when one finds themself not only speaking to a dog, but speaking to them as if they are baby humans.
Despite the fact that so many people seem determined to claim otherwise, Haley is not a Training BabyTM. We didn’t get her to find out if we are somehow meant to be parents or to prepare us for parenthood. Still it is a bit disconcerning when I find myself muttering under my breath to the dog at 6 AM, saying things like “Go potty, Haley. Good puppy, go potty outside. Goooooood puppy, go potty outside!” or “Where’s your ball? Where’s you little ball, Haley? Where’d it go?!”
Why do I speak this way? The dog doesn’t speak English; and it certainly isn’t going to pick up—or repeat—any “bad” language we may utter. So why am I not saying things like “Take a shit, dog. Good dog. Take a shit, girl.” Why don’t I tell her to “Cut that shit out, Haley!” or to “stop eating those f#@ing worms!”
I mean, the dog does not speak English, after all.