pathetic, I know

I hesitate to make this post for two reasons: 1) the accompanying picture tends to bring both my dog and myself to an even lesser state of dignity, and 2) I just did a post on my dog, and as such I now run the risk of being repetitive.

Damn the torpedoes. Here I go anyway, caution to the wind.


mmm, lacquer...

Our pug knows he isn't allowed to chew things. This, however, doesn't stop him, and unfortunately, he also seems to prefer belongings that were bought in places we will likely never visit again. He's a connoisseur of destruction, if you will.

Generally he saves his dental indulgences for when we are not at home, but every once in a while we catch him chewing something while we're there. Of course we tell him to stop, which is when the entertainment begins.

First, he drops the object from his mouth and stares at you, trying to understand what in the world would make you suspect him of intentionally chewing anything. Then he trots away, only to turn around and trot back toward the object, giving it a passing glance as he walks on by. A few more seconds, and he'll walk by it again, this time sniffing as he passes. Then, another pass, this time actually stopping to sniff the object. Again, back towards the object, this time stopping by it and laying down. Then nudging it with his nose. And then (here's the fun part), he yawns. Opens his mouth wide, even makes the little yawning sound, and closes his mouth, only to find that somehow, unbeknown to him, the object placed itself in his mouth while he was yawning. And of course, if the object placed itself there, what's a little pug to do but chew?

Scold. repeat.

I wondered how unique this kind of behavior was until I saw the clip below. Apparently it's in the genes.



Poignant? Did I really use that word in my last post?

I have a list of words that I have vowed never to use in serious conversation, and poignant is one of them. For me, poignant lies somewhere between exquisite and pretty much any word a rich person would use to describe food or wine.

I'm sorry. It will never happen again.



Sick, poignant, or something else? Discuss.

I would tell you that you can see more of this guy by clicking on one of the links on the right, but you already peruse those regularly, right?

if you loved me, you'd kidnap me

I have a friend who, when he was a boy, was kidnapped by his father. And made to live on a bunny farm. This seems pretty neat to me -- I'd like to be able to drop into casual conversation, it reminds me a little of the time I was kidnapped and living on a bunny farm. Even now when he talks with his dad, he can start sentences by saying, you know when you transported me illegally across state lines, just to stay one step ahead of the feds?

Part of what I thought was so cool about this was that it seemed like an uncommon occurrence. With this in mind, the wife and I were talking with two of our friends and somehow the subject of kidnapping came up. Hey, we said, we actually have a friend who was kidnapped. By his dad! At this point they looked at as, and she said, actually, ---- (the other friend) was kidnapped by his dad, too.



So apparently I have two different friends who have been kidnapped by their fathers. And the other friend, the second kidnappee, was actually snuck across international borders. I always suspected I had led a sheltered childhood.


mr. toad's wild ride

Was driving my wife's car the other night, which I don't like to do. This is due to a few facts:

1) First, it's somewhat of a chick car, and I'm only so comfortable with my masculinity. Granted, it's a sporty chick car, but it's still a chick car.

2) Second, the gas pedal is in a somewhat narrow space between the brake and the center divider, making it so that when I wear my (somewhat wider than normal) Doc Martins, my foot will sometimes get stuck while accelerating.

3) Third, the low beams aren't all that strong for some reason. This last one is the important one.

It was night, and I was driving a stretch of highway that is under construction. As a result, the lanes are constantly jogging left and right. This is OK during the daytime, but at night it can sometimes be hard to tell which reflectors are telling you to turn, which reflectors are telling you that you're about to drive on the shoulder, and which reflectors just happen to be left there because the construction people didn't think to put them away for the night. Driving back, I had my low beams on at one point because a) I was following someone, and b) I'm not a jerk. Hence, my vision wasn't all it could have been.

At that point, the story got interesting. Driving happily, driving happily, what? Oh s**t, the road's turning. Why weren't there any arrows? Turn wheel gently. Make the turn, but don't overcompensate and lose control of the car. Oh s**t. The road's not turning. That's why there were no arrows. Damn reflectors. Turn wheel back, so as to not drive straight off the side of the road. Turn more, you aren't going to make it. Be careful, since the studded tires will slide easily on the dry asphalt. Phew, I'm going to make...s**t. Fish tail. Gently turn into the skid. Regaining control...oh bugger, never mind.

And as I recommence my fishtail, the thought running through my mind was, crap, this is going to wear the studs down and I might not get another season out of them. Then a one-eighty, followed by the realization that I'm headed straight for a mile-marker sign, followed by thoughts of how damage to my own car isn't covered on the insurance.

Thankfully, I somehow managed to almost drive off the side of the road at 65 miles an hour, turn back onto the road, do a one-eighty, dodge a series of reflectors and a mile-marker sign, and land safely on the shoulder (though by this time I was facing oncoming traffic).

Luckily, I had listened to my wife last winter when she insisted she needed a full-sized shovel in her car in case she ever got stuck in the snow, and while I was stuck in the gravel, the end result was the same. In fact, the only downside to there being a shovel handy was having two separate people who stopped to help me ask why in the world I was carrying a shovel in the back of the car. What kind of crazy person does that? Married crazy people, that's who.

lord, vanquished

So how will this affect my quest to become Lord T.M.?