Blaize Clement

The same media that fawns over a famous athlete or movie star will turn on him like rabid wolves if there’s a crime involving one of his friends or somebody in his family. Sweet adoration does a U-turn and becomes sour contempt, and all the voices once raised to cheer a star will shriek for that same star’s execution. It almost seems as if hidden blood lust is the fuel that creates the cult-worship of the famous.

I am both blessed and cursed with an uncanny ability to tell when a person is lying. I don’t know if it’s some genetic trait or the fact that I had an alcoholic mother who lied as skillfully as she put on lipstick.

A human is usually at the gate, but at that hour the gate was unmanned. I guess the security people figure robbers work nine to five.

Even though Billy and I go through the same routine twice a day, I’m always impressed at the way he glories in the fact that he’s designed for speed. The animal kingdom has its natural athletes the same way humans do. And, like humans, if they’re not allowed to be what they were designed to be, they get depressed or mean.

Now, men open the hood and peer in and scratch their heads. They say, “Damned if I know what’s wrong. You’ll have to call a mechanic.” Because it’s all computers now, and not a man alive understands the car he drives. Women don’t either, but then we never did.

Billy met me in the foyer grinning and wagging his tail in absolute ecstasy. I love that about dogs. They don’t stand back and make you work at being friends with them, they’re your best friend the minute they see you.

For a second there, inhaling the siren scent of fried hog fat, I drifted off to my own personal nirvana. Some people escape pain through watching TV, some through smelling bacon.

Still muttering, I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As soon as water splashed on me, I shut up and enjoyed. Personally, I think water was one of God’s best jobs.

Sport fans always know where sports stars came from. They may not know where their best friends grew up, but they know all the statistics about their favorite athletes.

We used to call people who had an unhealthy interest in other people’s private business window-peepers. Now we call them social networkers.