Outis

That’s the only kind of insurance we could afford to buy for our shipment. If a big wave is threatening the safety of the cargo ship, and they need to throw a few containers overboard to save the lives of the crew, or, if the train that will move our crate from California to New York City should derail, and spontaneously combust, we’re covered.

Mostly covered, that is, as we opted to insure our cargo against “total loss” for only two-thirds of its estimated value. If insurance were fashion, we’d be wearing a halter top or, say, a two piece suit with a t-shirt and sneakers. Had we opted for full coverage the insurance would have doubled the total cost ($2,500) of the port-to-port service.

As is, it will cost about $1,100 to move the items shown below. We had to pay a bit extra because we did so with a credit card. It’s cash prefered at International Shipping, located in the back of a large electronics and appliances store about a block away from the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit.

The owner, a handsome man in his early 50s with a neatly trimmed white beard and a Le Tigre sweater vest, has decorated his tiny, windowless office with large, colorful posters of the Haj as well as intricate arabic calligraphy.

On the shelf beside me were various shipping and business-related books along with audio and video tapes labeled by hand in English and arabic. The ones I could read were mostly recordings of championship NBA basketball games from the last decade.

I learned two very important things today: 1) if you make the Haj, you get to add it as prefix to your name (i.e., like Mister, Licensiado, or Doctor); 2) our equipment will arrive in Madrid a full month after we do, on or around March 10, 2005.

For now, I ask any and all of you to pray that our shipment is not damaged in transit, whether by an errant forklift or an overturned vehicle. Because, if it’s not a total loss, we’re not covered.

In my prayers, I’ll try to concentrate on the strong warm handshake I got from Haj Mehdi as we left. That and his smile when I asked him how often accidents happened in the shipping business.

“The odds are like you going outside and getting hit by a car.”

Having been hit by a car twice in the last eight years, I’d say our cargo is going to be just fine.

Oh, and, I noticed the other day that “International Shipping” is not actually the name of the company moving our cargo across the ocean—it’s Al Manakh. Say it slowly. Yes, it’s almanaque. As in alfombra and algebra.

Pepito is moving to Spain. While the human (and canine) members of our musical troupe are traveling by plane, the rest of Pepito, shown below, is traveling by cargo ship.

We are using a company called Shipping International. Their representative, Nadia, who has been very helpful, gave us a receipt this morning, and told us to take our stuff to Safepak International shown below.

20 units. Itemized. Labeled. 3pm.

Fully loaded.

Marc Phu & Ana discussing the route.

Marc’s car, loaded.

SafePak International. The palletizing place by San Francisco airport in South San Francisco.

One-half of our shipment.

The contents are being taped together before the “palletizing” experts do their Tetris® magic sometime next week.

The other half of our shipment. When I asked how a single crate would be made from these two palettes, I was told that professionals would expertly arrange our belongings by weight and the writing on the boxes.

I wish I could photograph them at work. Do they use x-ray glasses to stack my boxes? Because, they didn’t ask me for my itemized list.

Back to San Francisco. 5pm.

At the Cow Palace just south of San Francisco in Daly City. A popular event. Particularly for owners of the “light-truck.”

Why not just say “Dog is my God” and be done with it?

Like so.

Legend has it, the Frankfurter was renamed “hot dog” either at a world’s fair in Chicago, during World War I or WW II.

The Jacksons played here in 1981. Neil Young and Neil Diamond have both heard their voices reverberate off that ceiling. In 1999, Marilyn Manson and Hole brought down the house.

Think of a circus, only much smaller, much slower and really, really quiet.

“Give us a few seconds, OK?” In fact, this was one of the few touching scenes we witnessed in a span of four hours. For the most part, the proceedings were sterile, heartless.

Roughly speaking, there were three kinds of people at this dog show: visitors, amateurs and professionals. This guy was one of the few professionals. His manner and the exchanges I watched him have with a few other professionals suggest a world where status clings to the hide of an animal. He’s a hunter—of animal souls, not pelts.

I will say this, though: he was dressed better than 95% of the other owners, breeders, trainers, visitors, etc.

Is this the future of America? Those are Italian Greyhounds, by the way.

One of my favorite moments—and one of very few with an air of spontaneity. The dogs are tested for their patience. When I walked upon this corral, a few of the animals looked like they were napping. In general, seeing dogs interact with their masters in displays of obedience reminds me of magic. As odd as it may sound, a well-trained dog is a free dog. In the moment photographed above, it was hard to tell who was the master and who the slave.

About an hour into the proceedings, an image came to me that I was unable to shake for the remainder of my visit. “Why are there even dogs present? This show is entirely about people.” I would love to make a 30-minute video documentary of a dog show with the superfluous canines painted out. Without the dogs, the viewer can focus on the real show.

Ana suggested we could even break the show up into segments, focusing on each (absent) breed.

Not surprisingly, there were representations of dogs everywhere. I was particularly impressed with the variety of portable DVD players on display. For the most part, the videos were of dogs in outdoor settings.

The. Greatest. Country. On. Earth.

Outside the main arena there were two warehouse-like buildings devoted to breeders and vendors. Some breeders pulled their chairs out to face the crowds, others would create semi-circles facing inward. This woman and her cohort were watching a video of a dogshow.

A photoshop. Really. She uses the Adobe product of the same name to produce her wares.

Who can say “no” to folk art, the purest expression of “yes.”

A little girl was sitting on one of these dog couches just left of my frame. She was delighted. Her mother was saying “They’re your size, aren’t they?” Once again: USA #1.

Not quite. But, what I love about dog breeding is that it’s so shamelessly classist. Here you have a past-time, like botany I suppose, where you cultivate yourself via a living proxy, and the kind of organic matter you use and the results you achieve reflect back upon you, the cultured person. I believe the Doberman, named after its “inventor,” was an invitation-only club for many years.