I haven't been watching a lot of TV these past few months, except for a couple of shows on the Discovery Channel and TLC, so imagine my surprise when my little HBO widget says that the 1989 movie K-9 would be showing at 9pm tonight. This movie is so special to me for so many reasons. First of course is that I love late 80s and early 90s comedy cop movies with odd pairings. Tango and Cash, Lethal Weapon, etc. Then there's the awesome, totally 80s instrumental soundtrack (bum bum oooohh yyyeeeaaahhh). Next is that I watched K-9 over and over with my Dad as a kid. I remember that he would laugh so hard that he would snort.

But I love this movie mainly because of Jerry Lee. Watching it even now reminds me so much of my first dog, Bear. I miss that dog so much. My dad got him for me when I was about 7 or 8 years old and he stayed with us until I was 15. My Dad couldn't give me a brother to play with, and my cousins were all either irritating, older, younger or lived too far, so he gave me Bear. And even though I've had other dogs after him, and they were all great, none of them could ever compare to Bear.

When my Dad had a project in Zambales, my Dad took Bear with him. And when his project stretched until the summer vacation, he took me along too. My Dad liked staying as close a proximity to his job sites and since the house he was building in Zambales faces a beach and a huge sandbar, we would camp out on the beach and build a campfire and everything. In the morning, when my Dad would go over to work, he would leave me in the camp site with only Bear standing guard outside the tent. He would sit and wait there, no chains, and he wouldn't move until either I woke up or my Dad would come back to cook me breakfast.

I dressed up Bear like a doll in clothes, rode on his back like horse, made him pick up stuff for me from across the room. I even talked to him about my problems. I was a lonely kid, at home alone most of the time, and the other kids in school weren't so nice to me. But Bear, he would just sit there while I poured my heart out, just staring at me. Of course I have no delusions that he understood anything I said. But to him, the sun rose and set out of my ass, so when I would call, he would come. When I would talk to him, he paid attention.

Bear kept me company and watched over me. I wasn't the only one attached to Bear. My Dad spoiled him so much. Wherever we went, Bear came along with us. Big, big German Shepherd riding along in whatever small car we had at the time in a 2 hour or more car ride. My Dad would feed him huge, thick pieces of grade A steak. He was so smart, he figured out how to pierce a raw egg with one tooth and suck out the insides while keeping the rest of the shell intact.

He was such a hotshot! He also had a substance abuse problem: Livestock. At one point, my Dad had paid thousands of pesos to the farmers in Matuod because Bear was slowly depleting the chicken population of the area. One day, a random chicken flew into the house. Big mistake. Because he was in Bear's territory now. Bear chased the chicken into the middle bathroom and I chased after him. But I was too late. By the time I caught up with Bear, the chicken was dead in his mouth. I let out a loud gasp and Bear quickly dropped the chicken, and I swear to God, he had the guiltiest look on his face.

Bear was loyal and funny. He was a dog, but he was totally human to me. He was a tough, scary dog, but he was always like a puppy. And no offense to the friends I do have, but Bear is truly the bestest friend I've ever had, and I miss him so much.

Airports bring out the worst in me. I'm all at once defensive and self-deprecating. All the waiting around and laying out every aspect of your life and luggage for inspection just gets to me and makes me think of all the things that I hate about people in general. You're pretty much left to find ways to entertain yourself in between lining up just so you can wait around again to wait in another line. I love to travel, I just hate to TRAVEL.

And I hate flying.

Best commercial I've seen in a while. Look out for Stephen Hawking's cameo appearance.

No one's perfect. Some people appear to be perfect, but me, you can tell right away that I'm not perfect. It's in the way I look, the way I present myself and the way people perceive perfection, they just know: I am definitely not perfect or anywhere even near the vicinity of perfect. But I don't pretend to be, I never have.

I am flawed and I could apologize til kingdom come for my flaws, but I don't have the energy. I'm not doing anything to pursue perfection, and why should I? I'm never going to BE perfect, so why aim to be perfect?

This is the way I am. I am abrasive and defensive. I am attached to my things and to people and to memories. I want so much but do so little to get what I want because I lose interest pretty quickly. I run hot and cold at a snap of a finger, I lie, I get angry and I am so disgusted by perfection.

Why should I have to try to be perfect? I don't see it written anywhere that perfection is the path to happiness.

I'm not jaded, I know that imperfection is not an excuse for certain mistakes. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm not saying my imperfection is a reason for forgiving me for things I've done wrong. I'm saying that if my imperfections don't affect you directly, then leave me the fuck alone! Because you're not perfect either, are you? And sure, maybe you LOOK like you've got it more together than I do that YOU look like you're closer to perfection than I am, but then there's this: While you're busying yourself with trying so hard to be perfect, I am fine being just the way I am. Which makes self-improvement so much easier, because if I fail or hit a road bump, I don't have to hate myself.

When you go running around and doing all this stuff trying to be the perfect boss, the perfect employee, the perfect adult, the perfect child and the perfect parent, the perfect example of a model citizen and the perfect person that could be the messiah of us all, do you like yourself as much as I like me?

Didn't think so.