I went to the Westville last night with my friend E to see Valorie Miller. It was a lot of fun and the music was totally amazing. E was hilarious; she is a huge, huge fan of Valorie Miller and was just sitting there gushing like a schoolgirl. Kind of the way I behave at a James McMurtry gig, actually.
I was out back smoking cigarettes with my friend R for a while as well. There was an idiot girl there with an intact young male pit bull and it's purely because he was so young and essentially sweet natured that nothing bad happened. Jesus, drunks with dogs: that girl didn't even know there was a dog at the end of her arm. She kept sort of dropping the leash and cooing, "ooooh, he's so cute." Uh huh. He was cute but jesus - there were other drunks with dogs there as well.
My opinion of all this was validated by R, who is a total dog expert and owns the Soapy Dog (which is where you should all go to wash your dog in Asheville, right now, immediately) which made me feel better and also pleasingly expert like. I have nothing against pit bulls who are properly socialized and trained - there's one in Baltimore I purely adore, actually - but they are dog aggressive, there's no getting away from it, and the interactions this one was having with other dogs were right on the borderline of getting very bad indeed. Fucking idiots. My dogs are, of course, perfect. Yeah. And R is going to loan me a crate for my Buddhist dog to prevent him continuing with his teachings - the teachings that inform me that attachment to material possessions, particularly of the delicious pillow and quilt type, is futile. Fucker ate a case of CDs yesterday and really crunched down on Lucinda Williams. Fortunately it was Essence not Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, but still.
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