I think we should see other people

September 26, 2008

People say they love their dogs because dogs are non-judgmental. They love you unconditionally. They don’t care how much money you make. They don’t care if you’re in your underwear, or if you say something stupid, or somehow embarrass yourself.

I don’t know if I ever believed that.

Our Corgi is a couple of years old, and I swear that I’ve seen her plenty of times give me a look that I can only describe as a cross between “Are you crazy?” and “What kind of a dimwit are you?”

Now MSNBC confirms my suspicions, reporting that your pet can be unfaithful or even decide to leave you for greener pastures in a story they call Getting dogged: When your pet cheats on you:

Some upwardly mobile pets may look for another home if they meet someone who has tastier food, more time for affection, better toys or a softer couch.

One bright note to this. Maybe when your pet ran off that time and never came back, he didn’t really get run down in the street or shot by the mean old coot who hates animals. Maybe he got adopted by some rich patron and right now he’s lounging on an overstuffed couch, eating Canine Carry-Outs and feeling sorry for your cheap sandwich-eating no-dog-having ass.


Want some pie?

September 9, 2008

ALPHA: You want some pie?

BETA: That sounds good.  What kind is it?

ALPHA: Strawberry rhubarb.

BETA: Really?  I’ve never had that before.  What’s it like?

ALPHA: I don’t know what you’re asking.  It’s like pie.  If you like pie, you’ll probably like it.

BETA: Okay … well, I don’t know.  Strawberries I like.  Not too sure about the rhubarb.  What is that, anyway?

ALPHA: It’s just a vegetable.  Kind of tart.  Goes good with strawberries.

BETA: Well, I never heard of it.  It’s a little strange for me.  Unusual.  Exotic.  Alien.

ALPHA: Tasty.

BETA: Yeah, says you.  I detect a hint of pro-rhubarb bias.

ALPHA: Honestly, there’s nothing wrong with it.  Just because you’re not used to the idea—

BETA: You got anything else?

ALPHA: Not really.  I could always go out in the yard and whip up a mud pie for you if—

BETA: Okay, I’ll have some of that.

ALPHA: That?  What, mud pie?

BETA: Yeah.

ALPHA: I assume you’ve had mud pie before.

BETA: Oh, many times.

ALPHA: And did that ever work out well for you?

BETA: No.  That’s not the issue.  There’s a principle involved.

ALPHA: The strawberry rhubarb is right here.  It’s perfectly good.  You’ll like it.

BETA: But I never had it before.  Too much of a risk.  At least I’ve had mud pie before.  Not since I was three, but still.  There’s something to be said for familiarity.

ALPHA: Even if the thing you’re familiar with is not an acceptable alternative?

BETA: That’s your opinion.

ALPHA: But you admit the mud pie sucks.

BETA: But I’ll know what I’m getting.  It will suck to a known degree.

ALPHA: [Sighs]  Suit yourself.  Can I ask you something else?

BETA: Sure.

ALPHA: Are you voting for McCain?

BETA: Yeah!  How did you know?

ALPHA: Lucky guess.

WTH of the Day Dept.

September 4, 2008

I was shopping for a new book bag/briefcase online when I stumbled across the Zero Halliburton 4″ Carbon Fiber Attache. Evidently something like an aluminum case except made with ultra-high-tech super-spy carbon fiber.

List price: $3,000.00. A bargain at 25% off, or $2,250.00.

This is a degree of sticker shock that I haven’t seen before, the kind severe enough to require medical treatment. And I wondered what the connection was to Halliburton, a company that knows a thing or two about overcharging for what it provides.

Wikipedia to the rescue. Zero Halliburton was once a division of Dick Cheney’s favorite meal ticket but has changed hands a couple of times and is now owned by a Japanese company that probably isn’t on your radar—unless you have two or more Cabinet members on speed-dial.

And here’s the best part:

Famously, the Nuclear Football (the briefcase used to order a nuclear attack) is a modified Zero Halliburton case.

Imagine being the guy who spends that kind of money on a briefcase that won’t even do the job without further modification. It’s just a reminder that some people live in a parallel world that doesn’t ever intersect with the one you and I live in.

If they ever covered this kind of thing in Consumer Reports I must have missed it. “Top Ten Nuclear Footballs Rated.”

Making mistakes the Republican way

September 3, 2008

As usual, Mark Evanier has it all figured out:

There are rumors swirling that McCain may dump Sarah Palin as his running mate. I don’t believe them. She could admit to having killed a nun when she was younger and he wouldn’t throw her off the ticket…and it isn’t just because the “Republican base” loves her. It’s because that base doesn’t like a leader who ever admits he was wrong. Amidst the dwindling hordes that defend George W. Bush, there’s a strong sense that never admitting a mistake is just as good as never making one.

No wonder the Republicans hate science so much. It’s based on the idea that finding and correcting mistakes is a good thing — not just a good thing, an ESSENTIAL thing. But if you’ve already decided what you want to believe, and you don’t want it to change, EVER, then you can’t allow your mistakes to surface.

While he was here

September 2, 2008

I think Jerry Lewis has the right idea:

I don’t go to funerals. I happen to think it’s uncivilized. I don’t go to funerals if he’s the best friend of my life. He died, but I felt pretty good about not going to the funeral because I told him how much I loved him WHILE HE WAS HERE. What am I gonna do at the funeral and the box? He can’t hear me. I gotta go get dressed up and get sad? I don’t need that. I’m not gonna have one, that’s for sure.

My own dad said many years ago that we should “just set me out with the trash.” I didn’t feel any better after his funeral, or any other one I’ve been to. And if I had my way I’d never go to another one.

I’ve never been a party person, either. To me it’s just a period of enforced fun. And a funeral is a period of enforced grief. Screw that. I’ll grieve when and how I want to. And I do, every day.