FAQ: My Dog

That's my dog, Pixol. This picture was taken at LAX. She is sitting in her soft dog carrier (read: celebutante dog purse) after having made me chase her through the concourse, knowing neither "come" nor "stay." What's a Pixol, you ask? Why, a pixol is a three-dimensional pixel in Z-Brush. A Pixol is also my dog. Why Pixol and not Pixel? Because my dog has three legs. Ba-dum tish. And what a good way to kick off my FAQ! Whenever I take my little one out for a walk in our Santa Monica neighborhood, we are bombarded with questions and comments concerning her handicapability. I decided to create this FAQ and direct people here to make our lives a little easier. In descending order of frequency:

MY DOG, AN FAQ

Q. Oh my God! He only has three legs!
A. This is not a question. It's a (rude) statement. I already knew that. And he is a she. But thanks for pointing that out. You're good at seeing stuff.

Q. What happened to its leg?
A. Wait... what? Where's your... bad dog! Bad dog!! Let's go back to the dog park...

Q. No, seriously, what happened to her leg?
A. Shark fight. You should see the other guy.

Q. Are you only going to give sarcastic answers to these questions?
A. Mostly. Actually, she was hit by a car and it had to be amputated. There. Don't you think "shark fight" is way cooler?

Q. Was she "like that" when you got her?
A. Yes, I adopted her with a missing leg. And yes, "good for me" for taking her in. I am awesome and the angels smile upon me.

Q. Aww... well she gets along just fine, doesn't she?
A. No, she doesn't. It's a daily struggle, and I'll thank you not to bring it up again. Actually, yes. She doesn't even seem to notice. She slips on the hardwood floor, but then so do I after a glass of wine. Of course, I only have two legs, so you be the judge of who is more coordinated...

Q. Are you ever going to get her a prosthetic?
A. If I ever feel that she needs one, absolutely. Or if I ever want her to be a pirate for Halloween. I will go as her parrot. It will be awesome.

Q. How long have you had her?
A. It's funny how often people ask me this question. Is this a question asked of all dog owners or only the owners of dogs with missing legs?

Q. Does it ever bother her?
A. Not really. I mean, when she gets tired of walking she just flies. Like everyone.

Q. What's her name mean? Why didn't you name her Tripod or Hoppy or Stumpy or some other stupid thing? Heh heh.
A. I don't know. Why didn't your parents name you Rude or Baldy McAsks-a-lot-of-dumb-questions? Isn't "Pixol" bad enough?

Q. Have you seen the dog with only two legs?
A. OMG Yes!! It's the worlds cutest YouTube video and it made me cry liek a lawt. ^_^

Q. What kind of dog is she?
A. She's a Chispangledoodle mix. And also part cat. Somehow.

So there you go. Everything you ever wanted to know about my dog. If you can think of any other questions, please feel free to ask them in the comments section.

I Heart Writing

Most of what I write has no place in the public sphere, but I do enjoy writing and I do enjoy telling stories.  I've always thought I have a knack for both, but beyond this blog and a few online videos, I've never really sought to publish any of the things I've written. That is about to change.

I've been reading my journal a lot lately, trying to figure out who I am and what I want.  Wedged between the pages of "mean people suck" and Zoolander-esque "who am I's," I have found several fictional story lines that I have been juggling over the years.  The one that currently has my full (or as close to "full" as my mind allows) attention is one I have been pondering for about six years.  I think it would actually work best as a television show or miniseries.  I have begun the difficult task of translating my journal jotting to screenplay format in the hopes that I can film the pilot this summer.  As an important first step, I purchased a copy of Final Draft 8 (a screenwriting word processor).  So far, I'm loving it.  I'm still in the process of learning the ins and outs, but below I have posted my first "screenplay" written with the program.  I'm hoping that more... interesting... things result from this software purchase, but reading through this, I giggled enough to think that maybe it was worth sharing.  Enjoy:

"larningfinaldraft" by Courtney Hoskins

Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.

---

INT. CAFE IN BOULDER - DAY

   A WOMAN sits in a cafe, learning how to use Final Draft. Four
   WAITERS from a nearby high-end restaurant enter.
   The woman attempts to focus on her tutorial, despite the fact
   that the waiters are relatively cute and talking loudly.
   The waiters order their breakfast from the hipster BARISTA.
                       WAITER 1
             Do you have bacon?
                       BARISTA
             No.
                       WAITER 1
             Oh! Are you kidding?
                       WAITER 2
             Dude, you should totally get a
             Bhakti chai.
                       WAITER 3
             Yeah, man, that stuff is awesome.
             It's like total Taj Mahal.
   The barista smiles, but rolls her eyes.  The woman
   attempts to decipher the intricacies of why the hell isn't
   this putting in proper line breaks?
                       WOMAN (V.O.)
             Writers often draw their inspiration
             from observing people and their
             interactions in real life.
             Sometimes, they realize that doing
             so is a bit of a waste of time and
             is actually just keeping them from
             writing the pilot episode to their
             television show that they know will
             be awesome if they can just get the
             damn thing filmed.
   The woman considers this for a moment and stares at the
   screen, still unable to comprehend the line break situation.
   She wonders if it has to do with the "Hour TV Drama" template
   that she is using.
                      WOMAN (CONT'D)
             I wonder if this looks weird
             because it is a funky template. Do
             people not use line breaks in TV
             land?  You know who is cool? Joss
             Whedon.  Joss Whedon is insanely
             cool.  So is Damon Lindelof.  They
             are awesome writers.  I bet they
             never waste time like this.
   She takes a swig of her cappuccino.
                       WOMAN (CONT'D)
             I really need to stop drinking
             dairy.
   She looks up and realizes that the cute waiters are gone, as
   is fifteen minutes of her life.  The result of both missing
   elements in her life is this one page of inane script.
                            END

---

Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.

American Quilt Part 8- Lloyd's Place

I write this conclusion shortly after the July 4th festivities of this country. Traditionally, we gather in groups to celebrate our "freedom" by eating potato salad and hot dogs cooked over an open flame, drinking carbonated malt beverages, and then lighting explosives while inebriated. For some reason, I wasn't in a festive mood. Perhaps it was the recent commutation of Scooter Libby's "unfair" punishment of a couple of years in prison (why did we freak out when Paris Hilton was allowed to serve the remainder of her sentence from home, resulting in her being thrown back in the slammer, yet this is somehow excusable- driving on a revoked driver's license is, I suppose, somehow more punishable than outing a CIA agent). Or maybe it was a friend's recent experience of having his Internet access at work censored, despite the fact that he is a web developer and needs access to such risqué sites as CNN and Google.

My point is that I can sometimes get irritated at the goings-on in this country that I call home. I get upset when "I'm an American" begins conjuring images of people behaving badly and loudly in restaurants and foreign countries, certain that only here can we drink beer and coke, buy a car and/or gun, vote, drag our country's flag behind our trucks, and not give a damn about any other place in the world that might not like these things. This results in the criticizing from behind a curtain of "patriotism" any citizen who finds this behavior appalling. "If you don't like it, leave," I've heard, as if disagreeing with the government is now unpatriotic, rather than the backbone of the Bill of Rights, or as if your home is akin to a football team that either kicks ass or loses and if you don't like they way they play you should uproot your entire way of life so that you don't spoil the fun of the game. This was the feeling I got from Mt. Princeton Hot Springs.

There are, however, times when "I'm an American" can actually mean something to me beyond what I say to the customs agent when traveling abroad. Arriving at Lloyd's Bed and Breakfast was one of those times.

My initial feelings about the place were mixed. I was looking forward to quiet. It seemed very small and peaceful. However, it came across as an odd mix of "military compound" and "vacation spot." The property was surrounded by a tall, unflattering chain-link fence and contained a man-made pond upon which sat a large plastic paddleboat shaped like a swan. A spotlight illuminated an American flag at the front entrance (reassuring me that I hadn't driven to Mexico or Peru- I was, in fact, still Stateside).

Despite the odd outside decor, I knew I was at least going to get some sleep. I parked my car and beeped the alarm, securing my chips and soda. To my surprise, I was immediately greeted by a smiling man in his slippers. He was soon joined by a woman in her bathrobe. Both of them welcomed me with open arms and offered to take my bags.

I was led through the entryway. It became clear that I was to be given the customary tour so that I could offer my approval of the place before accepting the room. This amused me. Quite frankly, a cot would have satisfied me at this point. I was, however, happy for the tour.

The hallway was decorated with oil paintings of Native Americans, black and white photos of trains, mining towns, and post offices, and various rusted tools that, unlike the random bits of junk that decorated the walls of the Mt. Princeton Resort Restaurant, seemed infused with history and importance. Of course, there were still dead animals on the wall, but they had a sternness to them. There was no faux happiness on their faces and their presence seemed purposefully haunting. These animals were hunted by the person who owned the place, not purchased at a flea market to fill an empty space on a wall.

I was led through the common room where the family sharing the bed and breakfast with me was playing a board game by the fireplace. I was introduced to my fellow vacationers who welcomed me and greeted me warmly.

"She says there were too many spring breakers down the street," the woman explained. My new housemates shook their heads. "Oh, that's too bad! What a way to ruin a vacation. We promise to be quiet, though."

I was led into my room. It was decorated with old furniture and smelled of fabric softener. I had two large widows, one with a view of the swan pond military compound, and the other with a breathtaking view of the collegiate peaks, which I was sure would light up as if they were on fire at sunrise. Most importantly, it had a large, clean, soft bed.

"Well? What do you think? I can give you the same rate as the place down the street if you want it for the night."

"For the night? I'll take it for the next three days!"

Phun with Photos

Do brothers and sisters ever grow up? My brother, spinning with the slow shutter on:

Me, doing the same thing:

More slow shutter fun- Headless siblings:

Only sisters can see the demon sides of their little brothers:

Uh, touchee!

An Optimist's Confirmation

I just received my beautiful e-postcard from the Spitzer Space Telescope:

What you are looking at is Stephan's Quintet. Four of the five galaxies in this image are colliding. The green arc in the center of the image is actually one of the largest shock waves ever seen- it's a shock wave bigger than our own galaxy! It is being produced by one galaxy falling toward another at over a million miles per hour.

Now what you might not see is actual scientific proof of a long-held belief! Now don't be hard on yourself if you don't initially see it, I am an astronomer and have been trained in image analysis. I know the proper equations to apply to this image to glean the truly necessary information. Using complex number wave functions and a little bit of scientific ingenuity I have come up with this:

God truly does have a sense of humor.