Streaming again! Except not just classic games this time. Going to try something new and just casually stream when I have time. Today I’ll be playing Hearthstone. Check it out if you feel so inclined!
Hey folks it's been awhile and I wanna let you know about the shows SEACATS and Elch have got coming up. SEACATS are putting on a play and Elch are putting out a tape, and we want you to come see what is sort of our first live garbage town event. On May 15th were playing Seattle and on May 16th we'll be in Bellingham. Hope very much to see ya there!
We're rebooting our podcast! For the last few months, we've felt like we needed to refocus the podcast into something more specific and tangible, and the result is:
Castalgia: The Garbage Town Nostalgia Podcast. The premise is that one of Garbage Town boys (or a special guest) will bring something (movie, TV show, album, game, etc.) to the table from years past and we talk it out to see how everyone else responds to it. Is what they bring really that good? How accurate is their perspective? Have their personal feelings towards the content changed now that they've revisited it? We'll be exploring these questions AND SO MUCH MORE on Castalgia.
The first episode is on Weezer's Pinkerton, brought to you by Josh and Seabass.
Hope you enjoy! We'll be posting a new episode every Thursday!
Today is a solemn day. It’s Friday, February 20th, and my dog passed away at an unspecified time last night. The last day I saw her was Monday, February 16th.
I took her on a walk, the last walk I would ever take her on. She had been weak, and not feeling very well, so I let her lead the way for the first couple blocks. When she would stop, I would stop, and wait for her to decide where to go next. After a little bit of aimless wandering in a nearby neighborhood, going from front lawn to front lawn, she sat down to rest. I stood next to her, asking her where she wanted she to go, but she wouldn’t move. I knew this wasn’t her usual stubbornness, so instead of tugging her in one direction or the other, I just stood next to her. Finally, a cat made its way into the middle of the road, about ten feet away from us, and Lilly got up to run after it. Like always, the cat got away, but after that Lilly was done. She had used all the energy she had that day, so I picked her up and carried her home.
I carried her onto our big family room couch and put her on one of her favorite big blankets. I pet her for a little while before she decided to retire to her bed on the floor. I laid next to her, with my head on a little corner of her foot by foot-and-a-half bed, and took a nap with her. I don’t think she liked when I would do this, but it was just a way to get a little friendly payback for her miraculously taking up so much room in my bed when she would sleep in my room. I woke up about an hour later, aching from the awkward positioning of mostly sleeping on the floor, but partially in a little dog’s bed, and went to sleep on the couch. Too tired to go back to my house in Seattle, I stayed the night and slept in my old bed. I woke up early the next morning, hugged my older sister as she was getting ready for work, and pet my gentle, tired dog before finally saying goodbye.
My dog, Lilly, was diagnosed with enteropathy about a month ago. I remember my mom texting me with the news, but because I didn’t see any scary words like “cancer” or “tumor”, I didn’t pay too much mind to what that actually meant. She was seven years old, and it’s hard to imagine that a nine pound dog, who still looked like a puppy, could be harboring anything serious. I visited home for the super bowl, and before the game started my mom told me that if she didn’t make it past this first little while of medication, she wasn’t going to make it. I was carrying Lilly around when she told me this, and I tried desperately to swallow my tears as to hide them from my younger sister. When my dad came down from his room though, I couldn’t take it and cried immediately upon seeing him.
It was the first time I had seen my dad since I knew about her condition at all, and he loved Lilly arguably as much as me. He was one of the primary dog-walkers of our family, and how much he loved her came through every day. He would send me pictures of Lilly on his bed, or looking out the window to keep watch on the neighborhood. Despite lecturing us about how we shouldn’t feed Lilly human-food, I think he was ultimately the biggest culprit of doing so. Not even he could resist the charming, sad way she would tentatively put one paw on you while you ate to see if you would be so kind as to give her just a little bit of potatoes, chicken, or carrots. Knowing that we both knew the gravity of her situation, it was too much to keep tears in during that moment.
It was with my dad that we found Lilly online, through one of the various half-broken dog adoption websites that we would scour night after night when my mom finally gave into the idea of owning a small dog. I’ll never forget how it was so hard to find her, and how quickly every dog we were thinking about adopting would be snatched up by some other owner. Lilly was the last puppy left in her family, and we were fortunate enough to call and secure her for adoption. From here, my family’s relationship with Lilly truly began:
I’ll never forget my mom and I driving to Puyallup to pick her up. I’ll never forget how small and nervous she was when holding her in the car. I’ll never forget my little sister coming home, without the knowledge that we were even going to adopt a dog at all, and seeing her face light up when she saw the timid 5-pound mass of black fur that we all came to call our family dog.
I’ll never forget placing her among all the stuffed animals our family owned from years gone by, and how you absolutely could not tell that she was not merely one of them.
I’ll never forget when my dad brought home her first rubber chicken, and how she went absolutely ballistic over it. We laughed and laughed as Lilly would run from one room, to the other, and back again, making the duck squeak just once every time she sprinted past it.
I’ll never forget installing our dog door, and how excruciatingly hard it was to teach her not be scared of it and actually use it when she needed to.
I’ll never forget telling my mom about my “preference for larger dogs”, and how Lilly quickly broke that down and showed me how fantastic owning a little small dog can be.
I’ll never forget my dad getting her first collar, and in keeping with family tradition, spelling her name slightly unconventionally—“Lilly” instead of “Lily.” I don’t think my family has ever come to an agreement on how her name is “truly” spelled, but I always preferred my dad’s silly spelling of her name.
I’ll never forget how calm and well-behaved she was, and how she never exhibited anything but complete trust to anyone and everyone.
I’ll never forget how she would always roll over when someone would be nearby, just hoping that they would take the time to scratch her belly for a few seconds (or minutes, or hours). She would even do this on walks when passing other dogs, which was truly bizarre and a little embarrassing.
I’ll never forget the couple of times her soul-sister, Zoe, would come visit, and how much fun they would have together, even when Lilly wasn’t feeling up to it.
I’ll never forget pointing to a squirrel or bird that had made its way into our backyard, and having her sprint after it so fast that she would sometimes hobble back from moving too fast too quickly. Going from nap-to-sprint is truly a tough task.
I’ll never forget my mom, somewhat begrudgingly, taking the time every few weeks to bathe her because “she reeks!” even though no one else really thought so. It was only after her baths that I would come to realize how truly frail she was, with legs that almost disappeared once the water from the tub would mat her fur down.
I’ll never forget the uncountable amount of walks I took her own, and how close of a bond we established from doing so. Even up to her last days, she was always excited when she heard “walk”, and wouldn’t be able to contain herself when her leash and harness would get brought out.
I’ll never forget how when school would become tough, and I eventually moved to Seattle, how the rest of my family, but especially my older sister Hillary and my dad, really took good care of her and would walk her just as much, if not more, than I did.
I’ll never forget how much she comforted me when I was having a tough day, or week, or month. She made me never feel alone, and was one of the primary reasons my anxiety is as under control as it is today.
When my sister called me early this morning, I already was afraid of what she had to say. She has been Lilly’s babysitter for the last week, and a great one at that. She would give Lilly her special medication, alongside cooked chicken and rice, and has been closely monitoring her all week. Unfortunately, there is not much more anyone can do to save the ones you love. My sister had the immense hardship of having to call our whole family this morning and deliver the news, and when I picked up and heard her crying, I already knew what had happened. I can’t thank my sister enough for what she did this week, and what she had to do this morning.
Lilly was nothing less than a great dog. I didn’t know how much I would grow to love her, and be able to say in all honesty that she is truly one of the best friends I’ve had in my entire life. I told my sister that I just wished I could have said goodbye one last time, and when she asked if I wanted to come over to see her this morning I told her “I don’t know. I don’t know what good it would do for me to see her at this point, and I am very scared to. I don’t know if I could take it.” The reality is, I wanted to say goodbye to her while she was still alive, and I wish she didn’t have to pass away today. I really, really wish she was just still alive. She died early, very early, and even though she’s only been in my life for seven years, she has left me with a lifetime of memories. And I love her very, very much.
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