Manson and Me

Manson and meI recently took my son, Stuart on a graduation trip to California. While there, we spent a good bit of time in the San Francisco area, hanging out in Chinatown, Fisherman’s Wharf, Golden Gate Bridge and the Muir Woods. Then there was a day trip up to Napa Valley. God times, great food and the best of company! We had a blast! And he deserved it, having graduated Cum Laude from College with a double major (though I’m not a proud dad or anything!). Anyway, while in SF, I (being a former hippie, and still hippie at heart) had to visit the Haight-Ashbury District. Home of the anti-establishment, Summer of Love and just about every kind of “groovy” thing in the late ’60’s, it still carries much the same atmosphere it did back in those days. Rock star clothing boutiques, head shops, music stores, bizarre bazaars and just about anything you’d want can be found. And of course, weird people. Burned out old hippies, nouveau hipsters and homeless druggies are in plentiful supply.

Mac, the Wonder Dog

Mac(kenzie) is the Kinley family Labradoodle. She, like many of our current and past family pets, is named after a Beatle character, naturally (I know I’m sick, but my doctor says there’s no cure). Six years ago, Mac joined a long line of assorted pets ranging from Ringo to Pepper to Lucy. But Beatle obsession aside, I’m also biased because I believe Mac is one of the smartest animals on the planet. She obeys. She loves. She hugs and kisses. She understands voice commands. She herds her psycho golden retriever sister back home when she wanders down the block. She checks in on you if you’re sick. She keeps the bed warm for you before you crawl under the covers at night.  And yesterday Mac even read my lips.