The Harmonica Man

Quote of the Day: "It insisted upon itself."
Peter Griffin of Family Guy, on The Godfather

There is an old homeless man that stands at a local freeway off-ramp and plays harmonica. At least I think he's homeless because he stands at a freeway off-ramp playing harmonica.

What interests me about this man is that, for such a cliche image, I've never actually seen a homeless man playing the harmonica, bobbing his knee to the bluesy whine of his instrument.

I found it a little thrilling, suggestive of a sort of free way of life, an "on the road," romantic hobo existence. In the end, though, I'm not sure he was even a very good harmonica player, and the dreary lines on his face and the stains in his denim suggested something more sad.

Mining for Gold

Quote of the Day: "We called him Mother Superior on account of the length of his habit."
-Renton, Trainspotting

I read manuscripts submitted to UNM's literary magazine. I pull a small pile of manila envelopes from a larger pile, and I read as many as I possibly can over the course of a week or two. Then I grab another small pile and do it all over again.

After reading the manuscripts, we place them in three other piles: "No," "Maybe," and "Yes." It's an easy task, but it can get so incredibly monotonous. What gets me is the amount of typos I find. I haven't submitted anything to a magazine yet, but you can bet that when I do, their will be no typos on my manuscript. Isn't that considered rude? The editorial board does mind, you know.

Also, I find that those with the most impressive credentials in their cover letter submit the most shoddily written work, as if the credentials give them the right to overlook easy editing. It's totally pretentious.

And another thing: The longest short stories, the ones that take the longest, are often the worst, they beat the same metaphors over your head over and over, as if you won't get the half-baked concept in the first 10 pages.

And I'm so tired of cliches. Oh my God, I feel like I've come across the same stock characters, situations, and phrases that they won't be showing up in my stories not because I'm good at avoiding cliches, but because I am so damned tired of them.

But, sometimes there's a real gem in that manila pile. That's the stuff that needs to be submitted, that (in my opinion) is ready to even be discussed. I'm not expert, and I haven't yet submitted anything anywhere, but all I can say is this: it's a good thing I don't write those rejection letters. Especially now that I'm out of coffee.

Blog Neglect

Quote of the Day: "No. No, Mother, I have not been drinking. No. No. These two men, they poured a whole bottle of bourbon into me. No, they didn't give me a chaser."
-Roger Thornhill, North by Northwest

This is my 171st post. Unfortunately, I've been a pretty lame blogger lately. I didn't blog yesterday, and I also skipped a day earlier this week. I think this may be because I've drastically cut my coffee intake, and I've been incapable of completing most motor functions, let alone stringing together a complete sentence.

Still, that's no excuse. I've gone from an "everyday" blogger to a "as soon as I get a chance" blogger, and I'm dangerously close to becoming a "whenever I feel like it" blogger. Now my blog feels "patchy," like the time I tried to grow mutton chops. I need to work on that. Step one: Brew a pot of coffee.


Simon's Current Obsessions:

Anodyne Bar
Just a cool hangout. Low ceiling, low couches, killer jukebox.








Really, REALLY Bad Movies
Sometimes, giving movies the MST3K treatment is as good as any moviegoing experience.

Bummer

Quote of the Day: "But that joke isn't funny anymore
It's too close to home
And it's too near the bone."
-The Smiths, "That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore"

I turned in one of my final term papers for the semester. So that's one paper down, two to go, followed by one last final exam. There's a light at the end of the tunnel.

So the semester is drawing to a close, and I'm ready to take a breather. In other, more morose news, an inoperable mass was found today on my uncle's liver.

This coming after the Virginia Tech shootings have hit me harder than I ever would have imagined that they could. It's been a very difficult week and a half, and for once I must admit that I'm having trouble dealing with it.

I'm don't feel that I belong to any particular religion, but I find myself turning to the Bible, a book that's best when it comes to portraying life as it is. Ecclesiastes especially, where it is made clear that things happen that we can't change, that we mustn't dwell on changing things we know we can't. It's a lesson that comes in terms that don't talk down to you, and that's the beauty of this controversial tome. Anyway, I like to think that I could do something for myself, for my uncle, and for my family dealing with uncertainty.

And here we are, waiting for more information, something more concrete from the doctors in Houston, where my uncle has been admitted. Sometimes, waiting is all you can do. Maybe that's an early step in this mourning process: realizing that sometimes waiting is the only available option.

Journal Neglect

Quote of the Day: "Everybody knows that youve been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows youve been discreet
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes."
-Leonard Cohen, "Everybody Knows"

About a month ago, I began carrying a journal everywhere with me. I use it to write down random overheard conversations, anecdotes, various thoughts and musings.

Yesterday, I failed to write in it. I felt like a terrible journaler. Then, when I went to school today, I accidentally left it in my car for the nine hours I was on campus. When I returned to my car I wrote, "4/23/07--I am a terrible journaler."

I remember in high school the kids that took the child-rearing course in which they had to carry around this doll that electronically monitored the "parents" treatment of it. I feel that my journal is like those dolls. There is a record of my neglect, just as the blank page from 4/22/07. I feel guilty, like I've let my child down, like I'd planned on taking it out for ice cream and then forgot. Okay, lame analogy, but you get my drift.

Now, I'll be keeping it with me no matter what. I don't need anymore of these reminders of how "non-writerly" I've been lately.

Maybe I Need a Cubicle Job

Quote of the Day: "This is a... fuck!"
-Samir, Office Space

We all have one of those type of bosses that likes to knock us around simply to illustrate their authoritative position.

Today, our district manager showed up at the restaurant for our "inspection," a monthly event in which he bitches about whatever he can--like the wrong size spoon in the roasted garlic, which happens to be a tablespoon (as it says in our recipe books), and yet he insists that it needs to be a teaspoon. So he pretends that his DM title makes him the expert chef, and then he has us make him a mac and cheese that he proceeds to smother in ketchup.

At one point, he pulled me off the line to berate me for not putting the pickle in the correct position on the plate, which is not only downright silly, but also completely moot--our menu is completely changing in a week. But whatever, he's the man in charge, and I guess that's how it is. I just love how he pretends that nobody can see through his nonsensical corporate facade as he strolls through our kitchen (not his kitchen--that line belongs to the cooks that have made it their second home). He can turn is nose up and float around with that smug swagger and in his condescending way he can dwell on a fucking pickle spear, and I can rest easy knowing that, though I may not place that stupid pickle on the correct portion of the plate, I don't smother everything in ketchup. He the district manager for rapidly growing chain of restaurants, and yet whenever he stops by he can't think of anything else to order but a mac and cheese? Is he four years old?

Maybe I'm being too judgmental. Maybe I should have gotten more than two hours sleep last night. Or maybe he should've just fixed the damned pickle and let it go. But whatever. Again, in the words of Mr. Vonnegut: And so it goes.

Woe is Me

Quote of the Day: "But with every Jeep I see
My broken heart still skips a beat
I guess it's just my stupid luck
That all of Boston drives the same black fucking truck."
-The Dresden Dolls, "The Jeep Song"

When I was flipping through my journal earlier, I noticed that my writing had gotten very dark and sad. I thought, "Wow, I sound so emo." Maybe I should dye my hair black. I could shave my entire head except for my bangs, which I will grow long so they hang over one eyeliner-rimmed eye. I'll wear really tight black pants that will ensure I never father any children.

Wow, making fun of the whole Emo phenomenon really makes me feel better. I just smiled for the first time in a few days. Why? Because I'm not Emo, so I guess that means I'm allowed an occasional smile.

Defining Disturbing

Quote of the Day: "I think there's something attractive about extreme stories, but it's not a conscious desire to try and find something shocking or miserable or tragic."
-Michael Winterbottom

I told myself I was done blogging about Virginia Tech, but I think I'm going to be shaken up for quite a while...

I'm worried about the effect this is going to have on Creative Writing programs in universities around the country. I'd hate to have my work scrutinized for the wrong reasons. I've taken several writing workshop courses at UNM--nonfiction, fiction, and scriptwriting being my areas of interest--and I've encountered endless pieces that could be considered "disturbing"; from classmates and myself.

But how would an instructor gauge something like that? I've read the two plays of Cho's that have been posted online, Mr. Brownstone and Mr. McBeef (I think that's what they were called), and though they were stupid and quite amateur, but they weren't any more disturbing than anything I or my classmates have written (though I'm sure he has far more unnerving stuff that hasn't been released).

In nonfiction, my writing focused on my father's rather violent suicide attempt, and I describe a tendon sticking out of his wrist as being "a shiny gray noodle." In a following semester, I wrote a short story about a young boy dealing with the horrific rape and murder of his own mother and how the event shapes a small town. This story uses a police photograph of the crime scene as a central image.

Gun violence has always been a concern of mine, and this always finds voice in my work. This semester I wrote a story in which a line cook tries to detain a man robbing the restaurant, only to be shot in the gut. "He bled out right there by the bakery rack," I wrote, and the story goes on to tell how his stepbrother's deal with the death.

And here's the real "disturbing" one: For my scriptwriting classes, two others and I worked on a T.V. pilot about a high school called "American High." The show's hook? The school is dealing with the aftermath of a Columbine-style shooting. We worked so hard on this show, for hours and hours on end, until we had a pilot that we considered "filmable," a show in which we made all our characters real and a show in which we do everything we possibly can in order to not exploit the Columbine tragedy. With our show, we were going to try to explore these tragedies in new ways, not to find answers, but to maybe open different dialogues. Then, Monday's tragedy occurred, shedding things in another light. Mike, one of my writing partners, said to me, "I think we need to re-evaluate 'American High.'" And he's right.

Here's what concerns me: What if my writing were to be misconstrued? I couldn't ask for better writing instructors, and I have faith in their abilities to recognize work that needs revision and work that needs counseling. But will universities be forced to enact regulations regarding "disturbing" work in English programs? And another nagging question, one I've lost sleep over, is one that regards both "American High" and NBC's choice to air Cho's video: What is in good taste and what is exploitative? Where does one draw the line? A re-evaluation is needed indeed.

Anyway, it's time for my Thursday feature, but first I must say that my heart goes out to VT students.

Simon's Current Obsessions:

Homemade sushi.
Check out these California and Caterpillar rolls I made the other night. How awesome-looking is that? So artful I didn't even want to eat it (but of course I gave in).






iPod Video.
I finally got an iPod. How did I go so long without one?

Breaking a Leg

Quote of the Day: "Last night i dreamt
That somebody loved me
No hope, no harm
Just another false alarm"
-The Smiths, "Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me"

I have to act this semester. Thinking it was a literature class, I registered for English 421 (Roman Drama). Now I'm playing the part of the porter from Petronius's Satyricon.

I'm a writer. I'm film buff. I'm a neurotic mess and a drinker. I'm an English student, not a drama student, and I'm not an actor.

But oh well. At least in the scene we're performing, I'm a drunk porter. At least I can pretend I'm having fun.

Dwelling on a Dark Note

Quote of the Day: "But even your company must complemen the Feng Shui."
-Gnarles Barkley, "Feng Shui"

The most surprising aspect of yesterday's incident at Virginia Tech is that this type of thing is no longer surprising. It's "another campus shooting." Besides, in a country so war-hungry, carrying such a "guns a-blazin'" attitude, why would this surprise. I'm very uncomfortable with the fact that I'm more or less deadened, numbed to violence. I was downtown the other night, and after last call I watched a man in the street get knocked unconscious. He was punched in the face and fell to the ground, his head making a sickening thud against the pavement. The group I was with and I reacted with a shrug as two police cars arrived at the scene. "I guess that's downtown for ya," one of us said, or something like that.

So I guess that's the state of affairs. Involvement in another war in the Middle East. Another racial dispute here at home. Another campus massacre.

On my way to UNM yesterday, just after I heard the news of the shooting, I witnessed a woman vomiting on a sidewalk, right next to a busy street. "I know how you feel," I thought. And I kept on driving.

A Lone Gunman

Quote of the Day: " Give me crack and anal sex
Take the only tree that's left
and stuff it up the hole
in your culture
Give me back the Berlin wall
give me Stalin and St Paul
I've seen the future, brother:
it is murder."
-Leonard Cohen, "The Future"

At the tail-end of my middle school career, two shooters invaded Columbine High School only one state away.

Today, I'm nearing the tail-end of my undergrad career, and at Virginia Tech a "lone gunman" wreaked similar havoc. In the past hour or so the death toll has been raised to 32, more than twice the toll of the incident in Littleton.

The air feels still, cold and brisk, and even the softest sounds seem harsh and unwelcome. It's as if, yet again, something far too complex for me to ever understand has come to a head. The death toll rises, and here I am in New Mexico, away from the echoing gunshots, the dead and the wounded. But that death toll certainly resonates this far away, that heavy, dulling sensation of somebody else's unimaginable pain. Unimaginable but, apparently, horrifically possible.

In the past couple of years, these shootings seem to have increased in number (the Amish victims come to mind), and every time we attempt to find reasons. But by this point I don't think even CNN attempts to find reasoning. A "lone gunman," a "shooter" with a muddled statement. That's it--just a lone gunman, a man with a gun on a rampage.

Foggy Morning. And Ankle Injuries.

Quote of the Day: " The clouds are turnin' crimson
The leaves fall from the limbs an'
The branches cast their shadows over stone
Won't you meet me out in the moonlight alone?"
-Bob Dylan, "Moonlight"

I awoke before sunrise to some very eerie fog this morning. I couldn't see a foot in front of me. On the road, even headlights were difficult to see.

Albuquerque's weather is just getting odder and odder. It's been snowing lately, as well as raining...and it's the middle of April. It was freezing when I went out to my car, and I had to scrape off a layer of ice so I could see--not that it helped, for this fog even made other cars' headlights difficult to see.

Then, this afternoon, the sun came out and everything was warm and gorgeous, so much so that I put on some shorts and played some tennis. Then I violently rolled my ankle, and now I'm bedridden. I hate to say this, but I kind of hope it still hurts in the morning, and it looks painful and swollen. Why? Because then I would have and excuse to skip work on our busiest day!

So it's been a very surreal day. Would have been cool if the fog came yesterday. I like the idea of fog on Friday the 13th.

Sushi, With a Side of American Idol

Quote of the Day: "When a country has five percent of the world's population but spends fifty percent of the world's military spending, that country's persuasive power is in decline."
-Prince Nasir Al-Subaai, Syriana

Last night, I attempted to make sushi for the first time. I made California rolls and, lo and behold, they looked like California rolls! Next time, now that I've begun developing some confidence in my sushi-making skills, I shall attempt Caterpillar rolls...

In completely unrelated news (my mind is all over the place tonight), Halley Scarnato, the leggy one from American Idol, has been booted off of the show. So now we have to suffer through even more Sanjaya. Like Halley, the guy can't sing. But he doesn't have those legs either.

Simon's Current Obsessions:

The whole Don Imus debacle.
Such an icky, ugly situation. It's like a car wreck, and I can't look away.






Arrested Development
It took me long enought to finally rent the (sadly) cancelled show, and now I'm hooked. My God, I haven't laughed this hard since Sanjaya was sent to Hollywood.

Eulogy for Kurt Vonnegut

(Normally, on Thursdays, I post my Current Obsessions. But, out of a somber respect for Mr. Vonnegut, I shall postpone until tomorrow.)

Quote of the Day: "You talk about the gluttonous Roaring Twenties. That was nothing. We're crazy, going crazy, about petroleum. It's a drug like crack cocaine. Of course, the lunatic fringe of Christianity is welcoming the end of the world as the rapture. So I'm Jeremiah. It's going to have to stop. I'm sorry."
-Kurt Vonnegut, RollingStone, August 2006

As usual, in the above quote Kurt Vonnegut hints at an imminent apocalypse, and he's been doing it since before I was born, and yet I still agree with him. I'm convinced, and somehow I'm able to deal with it due to the healthy dose of cynicism instilled in me by Vonnegut himself.

In addition to his darkly humorous way of helping me cope with my dire environment, Vonnegut provides a new, fresh perspective, which is why Cat's Cradle or Slaughterhouse-5 sits on so many dormitory bookshelves. In high school, I think most of us have that experience where we get high with friends and discuss how time is a man-made concept, and it seems like a huge epiphany. Then we graduate and realized that pretty much everybody has had that same discussion.

So it's a simple philosophy. But in Slaughterhouse-5 Vonnegut makes it a complex one. Billy Pilgrim becomes "unstuck in time," and we're presented a world in which time actually is an uncontrollable confinement. It's undeniably brilliant.

And so it goes. Vonnegut's work, "deceptively simple" as my father so eloquently describes it, forces the reader, in compulsively readable terms, to acknowledge the barriers humans create for themselves. It's absurdly profound.

Through his dark subject matter, his frightening apocalyptic visions, and his portrayal of self-consuming human nature--that strange tendency to lock ourselves in--one is suddenly liberated, and we can breathe again. God bless you, Mr. Vonnegut, and thanks for the real epiphanies.

Burning Sensations

Quote of the Day: "You know, we're not the only ones destroying trees. What about beavers? You call yourself an environmentalist, why don't you go club a few beavers?"
-Lindsay, Arrested Development

Last week, after some extensive Yoga, Kim's calves hurt so much that she walked slowly with stiff, bow legs, like some kind of old cowboy. Naturally, I made lots of fun of her. This afternoon, my mocking of her came back to bite me in the ass.

You know that crushed red pepper you put on pizza? And it adds a nice bite? Well, my friend's grandfather grows habaneros, and with every year's harvest he dehydrates the peppers and makes a crushed, dried concoction much like the red peppers, only hotter. He gives me some every year.

This afternoon, I sprinkled some on my enchiladas and hash browns, making the meal spicy and even exotic. Then I took a leak. I must've had some habanero remnants on my hands.

Now I can't walk. I figured, since I'm not moving, this would be a good moment to write a post for my blog.

Procratinators Unite Tomorrow!

Quote of the Day: "That was so fucking money. That was like the Jedi mind-shit."
-Mike, Swingers

First of all, I wanted to treat you to this photorealistic painting by Marylin Minter. It's a stunning piece, totally eye-catching. Also, I hope everybody enjoyed last nights premier of The Sopranos. I know I did. Speaking of HBO, why are they playing two Keanu Reeves movies back to back? The Lake House just ended, and Constantine just started.

Anyway, yesterday I promised myself that I would make a trip to the library during today's break from classes so I could begin research on a paper. I also told myself that a response paper would be done before I went to bed last night.

Well, the response paper didn't get done last night. Therefore, I had to finish it during my break from classes today, and therefore I've had to postpone my trip to the library.

Why can't I get things done semi-early? What's with this addiction to procrastination? Like other procrastinators, I tell myself that I work better under pressure. This is bullshit. I just can't seem to find some motivation.

Five more weeks left in the semester. Now there's some motivation.

Easter Musings

Quote of the Day: "A lot of Christians wear crosses around their necks. You think when Jesus comes back, he ever wants to see a fucking cross? Kind of like going up to Jackie Onassis with a rifle pendant on."
-Bill Hicks

I had to work today. I figured that I would have Easter Sunday off, especially since they gave us Christmas Day off. It seems reasonable, you'd think that they would even switch it around and schedule us on Christmas and give us Easter off to rejoice. Christ's birth is one thing, but his resurrection--that's miraculous. Everybody has a birthday, but not everybody gets a resurrection.

In any case, I hope everybody enjoyed their Easter Sunday. Let's rejoice by...pretending a giant bunny hid some painted eggs?

Homework Hell

Quote of the Day: "Explain the situation? Yes. 'Excuse me, sir, my friend was the one balling your wife couple of hours ago. Really sorry. He seems to have left his wallet behind. I was wondering if I come in, just poke around, I don't know.'"
Miles, Sideways

For once, I exhibited some self control last night. We purchased two bottles of wine, and both of them have remained unopened. I wish I could apply this same discipline to homework: The semester is quickly drawing to a close, and I've 15 pages of response papers due in Film Theory, as well as a seven-page paper for Women of the Bible, and a short story for Creative Writing (thankfully, this one I've started).

Meanwhile, I've got that wine sitting in my utility room, saying "C'mon, put it off for just one more night."

Warfare at the Tire Store

Quote of the Day: "I accidentally let somebody come home with me. And stay there. In my bed."
-some girl in one of my classes, as she rationalized a one-night stand that she regretted.

This is why I don't want kids. When I was at Discount Tires today, there were three young boys playing war in the waiting room as the sister, maybe one or two years older, followed behind. All of them were loud and obnoxious, and they kept bumping into my feet as they rummaged through the magazines on the coffee table. Meanwhile, their father, a gray, run-down old man kind of drifted among them, too beat to even attempt to quiet these kids.

Kim told me that one of her students had a father that shot himself dead in front of his kids. I thought the act was a strange combination of cruel and curious, but seeing this poor guy at Discount Tires made me understand the act just a little bit more.

On a completely unrelated note, I also saw a man wearing a black Slayer shirt that read in read letters "Do You Want To Die?" I sure do love the subtle nuances of heavy metal.

A Cream-Filled Eclair

Quote of the Day: "FIRST RULE: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you've been to college."
-Kurt Vonnegut, "A Lesson in Writing"

Today at work, we discovered that the bakery had sent us a very phallic eclair. It was more than likely a mistake, but the thing really did resemble a dick and balls. It wasn't just us kitchen staff with our minds always in the gutter--our counter staff and management refused to even put the pornographic pastry in the display case. As far as I know, it's still sitting in the back room, never to be sold to an unwitting customer.

Simon' s Current Obsessions:

Basil mojitos
Much crisper than the mint variety, making it an even better summer beverage. Yes, I often indulge in "girl drinks." And I watch America's Next Model. Speaking of...









Natasha from America's Next Top Model
She's adorable. She does grate on the nerves like the rest of them, but I'll be damned if she's not the most impressive model on the show.

Christmas Memories on a Warm Afternoon

Quote of the Day: "I talk to God but the sky is empty."

-Sylvia Plath

I've had this lingering image on my mind since childhood. One Christmas Day, my father took the family out for a drive. It was one of the only Christmases in which it actually snowed in Albuquerque, so we had a more traditional sight of Christmas rather than our usual odd images of yucca and cacti adorned with Christmas lights. Hence the desire for a drive.

Anyway, we saw this lone little old man standing in the falling snow, and trying the door to a restaurant, which of course was closed. It was a heartbreaking sight, though a little cliche, and one that I haven't ever forgotten.

(Why, with Albuquerque's current onset of warm weather announcing Spring, am I suddenly thinking of Christmas?)

Suspension of Disbelief

Quote of the Day: "How many people had I already killed? There was those six that I know about for sure. Close enough to blow their last breath in my face. But this time it was an American and an officer. That wasn't supposed to make any difference to me, but it did. Shit... charging a man with murder in this place was like handing out speeding tickets in the Indy 500. I took the mission. What the hell else was I gonna do?"
Willard, Apocalypse Now

Apparently there is a huge suspension community in Albuquerque. By "suspension community," I mean those that partake in suspension shows, shows in which people pierce their skin with hooks and hang from a warehouse ceiling.

Among our main focuses in Film Theory is sadism and masochism. A Japanese classmate, Taka, informed our professor that he was working on a film about the topics of sadism and masochism, and he asked for permission to show some of his film. What followed was several minutes of suspension show footage.

It started with the sound of a synthesizer, some kind of simple music that sounded like a heartbeat. On the screen was a man, a pained look on his face, hanging by hooks from the ceiling. His skin stretched like silly putty.

Next the music changed to delicate piano sounds as we watched two tiny vixens--two girls in lacy black underwear and electrical tape over their nipples--hanging from hooks and floating two and fro like some kind of sick ballet.

What was so odd was that I actually recognized these girls (no, I've never been to a suspension show--they seem a little unsanitary). I remembered them from high school. One of them even joined me on a middle school trip to D.C.

It's so strange wear we run into past acquaintances. I told my manager about the incident, and she laughed and told me a similar story. There was this girl she once hooked up with--nothing serious, just a one-night fling that lead no where. Apparently my manager and the girl went different ways, until one day when my manager went to Vegas.

"So I'm walking down the strip," she said, "and I find her picture...on one of those little cards they hand out at the corners."

Doggy Dumplings

Quote of the Day: "do you understand? i'm a garbageman. aw, jump on and ride... yeah it's just what you need when you're down in the dumps. one half hillbilly and one half punk"
-The Cramps, "Garbageman"

We changed our dog's food. Unfortunately, the cocker spaniel has a weak stomach.

She is house trained, but she thinks that it is OK to bend the rules when she has diarrhea. Last time she got a stomach bug, she jumped on the bed in the night. I pushed her away and squealed "Oh my god, why is she all wet?!" when my hand pushed against some liquid in the fur around her bottom. She also managed to spray my leg like a skunk.

This time around, she left a wet pile on my laptop. Luckily, the computer was closed and all was well, but you'd think that if you could teach a dog to do their business outside, you could possibly teach them to feel guilty.