Thursday, March 4, 2004

Mouth to mouth.

Jonathan Richman, sans his Modern Lovers, is sitting in my childhood living room giving my adult self a private performance of a few of his songs. Then he breaks into 'Girlfriend' to close the show:

"If I were to walk through the Museum of fine arts in Boston..."

At this point, my dad's dog - a silly little chihuahua with some aggression issues - starts having a heart attack. It doesn't take long before he's on his back with his legs straight up in the air.

"Well first I'd go to the room where they keep the Cezanne..."

In a panic, I find myself on the floor pumping his tiny chest, giving him CPR.

"But if I had by my side a girlfriend..."

I check again for breathing and a pulse, but he's still unresponsive. Ignoring the dog breath, I proceed to give him mouth to mouth.

"then I could look through the paintings..."

This does the trick, and soon enough the little mutt is coughing and struggling to his little stick-legs. We then just sit and enjoy the rest of the show.

"I could look right through them."

I've had two days in a row with eight-hour sleeps!


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