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Sunday, November 20, 2005
Information for Sheltie Families.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
2 Ton Slidey Chunk of Death...
Dang.
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Old Meets New
Friday, November 04, 2005
Giggle-Worthy
Musical Theatre
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
The Hobgoblins Stood us Up Again
Information for Sheltie Families.
Meet the Shetland Sheepdog
(or
Sheltie):
He is a cousin of the Border Collie, a working dog extraordinaire. He is not a "miniature collie." Really, we mean it:
Here's what a Sheltie is: a helper. Shelties love to help. It's their raison d'être. Is your sheltie barking like a maniac at the walkers passing by? He's helping. This is news you need, folks. How can you just sit back here and let these, these people so near the house! I mean, what with the walking and all! It's anarchy!
Is your sheltie sitting by you as you eat chips on the couch, so close that you can feel his warm breath on your knuckles as the chips practically graze his whiskers? Helping. You might drop a chip, and then where would you be? You'd have chips in the carpet, and we can't have that! See how helpful?
Hello there? Are you doing something interesting in the kitchen? Hey, you're really focusing there - that looks complicated. How about I walk in between your legs and the cupboard? I'm just reminding you to stand back a bit from the countertop. After all, if you're chopping something and you move back away from the countertop (say, to accommodate a Sheltie-sized dog just passing through), then perhaps you might drop something. And then I can prove how helpful I really am! (Seriously, see "helping re: chips" above - it's the same principle).
Sheltie logic: read it and weep.
He is a cousin of the Border Collie, a working dog extraordinaire. He is not a "miniature collie." Really, we mean it:
Here's what a Sheltie is: a helper. Shelties love to help. It's their raison d'être. Is your sheltie barking like a maniac at the walkers passing by? He's helping. This is news you need, folks. How can you just sit back here and let these, these people so near the house! I mean, what with the walking and all! It's anarchy!
Is your sheltie sitting by you as you eat chips on the couch, so close that you can feel his warm breath on your knuckles as the chips practically graze his whiskers? Helping. You might drop a chip, and then where would you be? You'd have chips in the carpet, and we can't have that! See how helpful?
Hello there? Are you doing something interesting in the kitchen? Hey, you're really focusing there - that looks complicated. How about I walk in between your legs and the cupboard? I'm just reminding you to stand back a bit from the countertop. After all, if you're chopping something and you move back away from the countertop (say, to accommodate a Sheltie-sized dog just passing through), then perhaps you might drop something. And then I can prove how helpful I really am! (Seriously, see "helping re: chips" above - it's the same principle).
Sheltie logic: read it and weep.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
2 Ton Slidey Chunk of Death...
...shussing past your local stop
sign.
(John sent this to me, knowing how much I like blogging and how much I hate SUVs).
(John sent this to me, knowing how much I like blogging and how much I hate SUVs).
Dang.
I'm sorry, but
when
are they going to do a soundtrack for House?
This show has some terribly cool music.
</geekery>
This show has some terribly cool music.
</geekery>
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Old Meets New
Our local hardware chain, Strosniders,
has a blog.
We love this place. You can walk into a Strosniders, tell them you want, "a plastic thingy that holds the mumblefrob in place under the whatchamacallit," and not only will they know what you're talking about, but they will lead you to the aisle and hand the thingy to you, explain how it works, and not charge you an arm and a leg for it.
Real, old-fashioned hardware store. With a blog. I kind of love this century sometimes.
We love this place. You can walk into a Strosniders, tell them you want, "a plastic thingy that holds the mumblefrob in place under the whatchamacallit," and not only will they know what you're talking about, but they will lead you to the aisle and hand the thingy to you, explain how it works, and not charge you an arm and a leg for it.
Real, old-fashioned hardware store. With a blog. I kind of love this century sometimes.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Giggle-Worthy
Musical Theatre
I have a college friend who was probably only second to
my parents in forming my long-term musical tastes (sorry, buddy - James Taylor
still beats everyone out in my book). Taking me under his wing in my freshman
year, he started making me tapes. He remedied the deplorable lack of R&B in
my musical lexicon. He noted that I had a musical funny bone and struck it
often and with great aptitude.
He occasionally left messages on my answering machine that consisted of The 1812 Overture played on the telephone touchpad, followed by an Animal-like "bwa-ha-ha." (No need to leave his name - there was only one person I knew who could or would spend the time to figure out how to use the telephone as a musical instrument - it was the same person who would merrily tap out his ATM password as "shave-and-a-haircut," knocking "two-bits" on the side of the machine). He probably inspired a pair of chemically-enhanced mutual friends to make a late-night call to me, leaving a message based on Was/Not Was' "Hello Dad, I'm in Jail."
It had been years since he had introduced me to new music. A few months ago, he remedied my lack by producing a three-disc set of musical tomfoolery. I have been listening to it in the car almost nonstop, now that my commute is short enough to make recorded books irrelevant. I have developed some new musical obsessions:
- Bleu (You Know, I Know, You Know) - the only song I have ever heard that uses the phrase, "That don't mean dick."
- Great Big Sea (Consequence Free) - a great "Na na" chorus and bouncy hook: a get happy tune like no other.
- John Cameron Mitchell (Wicked Little Town) - from the soundtrack of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch." Melancholy and lovely.
I also learned lately that I introduced him to a musician once. Neat.
He occasionally left messages on my answering machine that consisted of The 1812 Overture played on the telephone touchpad, followed by an Animal-like "bwa-ha-ha." (No need to leave his name - there was only one person I knew who could or would spend the time to figure out how to use the telephone as a musical instrument - it was the same person who would merrily tap out his ATM password as "shave-and-a-haircut," knocking "two-bits" on the side of the machine). He probably inspired a pair of chemically-enhanced mutual friends to make a late-night call to me, leaving a message based on Was/Not Was' "Hello Dad, I'm in Jail."
It had been years since he had introduced me to new music. A few months ago, he remedied my lack by producing a three-disc set of musical tomfoolery. I have been listening to it in the car almost nonstop, now that my commute is short enough to make recorded books irrelevant. I have developed some new musical obsessions:
- Bleu (You Know, I Know, You Know) - the only song I have ever heard that uses the phrase, "That don't mean dick."
- Great Big Sea (Consequence Free) - a great "Na na" chorus and bouncy hook: a get happy tune like no other.
- John Cameron Mitchell (Wicked Little Town) - from the soundtrack of "Hedwig and the Angry Inch." Melancholy and lovely.
I also learned lately that I introduced him to a musician once. Neat.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
The Hobgoblins Stood us Up Again
Yep, same as last year, except this time I was on my
own with my very own Baskerville Hound to keep from going ballistic when the
doorbell rang (John had a class last night). So there were around five or six
doorbell rings. MacIntosh got very tired of being shoved into the ground floor
lavatory at the sound of "ding-dong," but I didn't really want him scaring the
kiddos.
By the time John came home, the teenage contingent was the only group prowling the streets and I was feeling thoroughly grumpy about the rude, grabby ways of some kids and the parents who stand behind them and beam beatifically at their darlings' proof of worthiness to someday run an oil company. I'm not much for Halloween as a holiday, but I suppose I got into the spirit by that point: I was the witch at the end of the street.
By the time John came home, the teenage contingent was the only group prowling the streets and I was feeling thoroughly grumpy about the rude, grabby ways of some kids and the parents who stand behind them and beam beatifically at their darlings' proof of worthiness to someday run an oil company. I'm not much for Halloween as a holiday, but I suppose I got into the spirit by that point: I was the witch at the end of the street.